Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, Eating, Stuffing. Romance, ~SWG - A vignette about nothing more than a big Thanksgiving dinner and what it does to one man's tummy.
Jamie Foster wanted to be on his best behavior. Hed repeatedly asked his fiancée, Anne Moody, to tell him a little more about her parents, but she was typically reticent.
Theyre nice, was all she could come up with.
Well, fudge: Ted Bundy was nice. That didnt tell Jamie anything. In consequence, he was nervous as they approached her parents house.
Thanksgiving dinner as a first meeting was a potential social bomb. He wiped his hands on his jeans before getting out of the Jeep.
How do you do, he managed to say, shaking hands with Annes parents.
They looked nice, Annes description. Mrs. Moody had a kind face framed with salt-and-pepper hair and wore an apron over her blouse and skirt. Mr. Moody, a history professor, had mostly gray hair and a matching mustache and beard. He was, stereotypically, smoking a pipe, and the sweet-acrid smell perfumed the room.
Their timing was perfect; Jamie and Anne had arrived just before Mr. Moody was setting the turkey on the table. He was, it developed, an expert carver, and the meal was quickly underway. Jamie was eager to please, so he piled his plate high. After his first bite, it was more than just politeness that kept him eating. Everything was absolutely delicious.
Dinner conversation was cheerfully noisy and enjoyable. Jamie and Anne, her parents, and her several siblings, sibs-in-law, and nieces and nephews kept things lively. Before he knew it, Jamies plate was empty. He paused to gulp some iced tea and rested a hand on his normally flat stomach. It stuck out some, pushing against his belt.
Dishes were being passed around again, and Jamie took some of just about everything before handing bowls on to Anne, on his right. Swallowing some more tea, he took stock of his belly and decided he was verging on pleasantly stuffed. He began a well-organized attack on his second plateful, pausing now and then to gulp the cold sweet tea. He felt himself slowing.
He had become pretty full, his belly distended with food and his waistband slicing into his bulging gut. Discreetly, he loosened his belt a notch. It was all so good, he wasnt quite ready to stop eating. He was enjoying the conversation as well, and found his fork hitting an empty plate before he quite realized it.
He drank some more tea, quite enjoying the sensation of the icy liquid plummeting down his throat and washing through his tightly stretched abdomen.
Almost abstractly, he found himself piling his plate again. His tummy was expanding with every swallow, becoming achingly taut. He loosened his belt two more notches, surprised at how little room there was, then unbuttoned his jeans. His bloated gut surged into the small bit of extra space.
Slowly, dreamily, he ate bite after bite, gulping the seemingly endless supply of tea. His once-flat waist was now hugely distended, protruding below his now-snug shirt. He longed to unzip his pants to gain a little more breathing room but doubted his shirt would cover the distance.
Mrs. Moody took his plate away and placed a large wedge of pumpkin pie and whipped cream in front of him. He started to take a deep breath and couldnt. Instead, embarrassingly, he hiccupped loudly.
Excuse me, he murmured, feeling a blush suffuse his face. No one seemed to notice; the conversation level was still high. He pressed a hand to his swollen and aching middle. Bloated and sore, it was tight as a drum. He wondered if it was medically possible to explode.
The scent of the pie was irresistible. He took a sip of the hot coffee now at his place, then another. He picked up his fork and sliced off the tip of the wedge of pie. The tangy smoothness slid across his tongue and down his throat. God, he was full! The second that first bite hit his loaded stomach, he felt a belch rumble up. With a huge effort, he managed to stifle it.
Slowly, aided by sips of coffee, he forked bite after bite of spicy, silken pie into his belly, stretched and gorged. He was so full he was short of breath, able to breathe only with his mouth open. Gingerly he pushed his chair back and tried to stand. He managed, grunting with effort, then grabbed the edge of the table. His stomach was so loaded down he couldnt quite straighten up.
Oof. He excused himself no one noticed and hobbled down the hall to the bathroom.
Door locked, he immediately unclasped his belt and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down around his ankles and out of the way. He pushed his underpants down as well and tugged his shirt upward. Holy cricket. His gut looked like something grafted onto him from another, much fatter person.
Cartoonishly round, it swelled out from just below his pecs, describing a huge perfect arc. With nothing to hold it in, his overloaded stomach sagged, heavy and sore, feeling about to burst. He tried to press his abdomen in with his hand, but it proved hard and unyielding, like pushing against a boulder.
Automatically he started to bend down to pull up his pants. Ow God ow (urp) THAT HURT. Far too stuffed to bend over, he resignedly shuffled from the bathroom to the guest bedroom. Awkwardly, he heaved himself into a chair and sat, head tipped back, hand resting on his ballooned midsection. Anne came in after a while and found him there, spaced out, dopey, stupefied with food.
What happened to you?
Dinner (urp!) happened, Jamie grunted. Ate (urrrp) too much.
Anne frowned. Is that why youre sitting here with your pants around your ankles?
Yes, Jamie puffed. Cant (hic!) bend over.
When Anne stopped shaking with laughter, she obligingly pulled off Jamies now useless jeans and underpants. I was wondering where you disappeared to, she said. Can you come back out and visit for a while?
Jamie belched. Not dressed uff like this.
Hmm. Anne put her finger on her chin, thinking. While the thought, she gazed at Jamies belly. Shed never seen anything quite like it. His normally flat waist made a huge tight mound. On either side of his ribcage, the skin was indented, flaring to the protruding, taut abdomen. He looked as though hed swallowed a watermelon and the huge pendulous fruit now stood on end inside him, swelling his belly from pecs to south of his navel, now hidden, a sloping vee within the rounded tummy.
Ill just tell them you had a bit of a headache, Anne finally said. Between the conversation and the pipe smoke, it wont be much of a stretch.
Ooh, Jamie groaned. Please (hic!) dont say (hic!) stretch.
Sorry, Anne said lightly. She patted his taut belly lightly and left.
Jamie must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, it was morning. He blinked, trying to focus. He was still in the chair, with a pillow behind his head and a blanket over him. He kicked the blanket off and instinctively looked down. His belly was back to almost normal, only a little distended and no longer tight and aching.
Good morning, sweetie, Anne came in from the bathroom and kissed him on the cheek.
A gleam in her eye, she added, Hungry?
Jamie looked down at his stomach, empty once more. Starved.
(Click here for next installment)
Turkey Day
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Jamie Foster wanted to be on his best behavior. Hed repeatedly asked his fiancée, Anne Moody, to tell him a little more about her parents, but she was typically reticent.
Theyre nice, was all she could come up with.
Well, fudge: Ted Bundy was nice. That didnt tell Jamie anything. In consequence, he was nervous as they approached her parents house.
Thanksgiving dinner as a first meeting was a potential social bomb. He wiped his hands on his jeans before getting out of the Jeep.
How do you do, he managed to say, shaking hands with Annes parents.
They looked nice, Annes description. Mrs. Moody had a kind face framed with salt-and-pepper hair and wore an apron over her blouse and skirt. Mr. Moody, a history professor, had mostly gray hair and a matching mustache and beard. He was, stereotypically, smoking a pipe, and the sweet-acrid smell perfumed the room.
Their timing was perfect; Jamie and Anne had arrived just before Mr. Moody was setting the turkey on the table. He was, it developed, an expert carver, and the meal was quickly underway. Jamie was eager to please, so he piled his plate high. After his first bite, it was more than just politeness that kept him eating. Everything was absolutely delicious.
Dinner conversation was cheerfully noisy and enjoyable. Jamie and Anne, her parents, and her several siblings, sibs-in-law, and nieces and nephews kept things lively. Before he knew it, Jamies plate was empty. He paused to gulp some iced tea and rested a hand on his normally flat stomach. It stuck out some, pushing against his belt.
Dishes were being passed around again, and Jamie took some of just about everything before handing bowls on to Anne, on his right. Swallowing some more tea, he took stock of his belly and decided he was verging on pleasantly stuffed. He began a well-organized attack on his second plateful, pausing now and then to gulp the cold sweet tea. He felt himself slowing.
He had become pretty full, his belly distended with food and his waistband slicing into his bulging gut. Discreetly, he loosened his belt a notch. It was all so good, he wasnt quite ready to stop eating. He was enjoying the conversation as well, and found his fork hitting an empty plate before he quite realized it.
He drank some more tea, quite enjoying the sensation of the icy liquid plummeting down his throat and washing through his tightly stretched abdomen.
Almost abstractly, he found himself piling his plate again. His tummy was expanding with every swallow, becoming achingly taut. He loosened his belt two more notches, surprised at how little room there was, then unbuttoned his jeans. His bloated gut surged into the small bit of extra space.
Slowly, dreamily, he ate bite after bite, gulping the seemingly endless supply of tea. His once-flat waist was now hugely distended, protruding below his now-snug shirt. He longed to unzip his pants to gain a little more breathing room but doubted his shirt would cover the distance.
Mrs. Moody took his plate away and placed a large wedge of pumpkin pie and whipped cream in front of him. He started to take a deep breath and couldnt. Instead, embarrassingly, he hiccupped loudly.
Excuse me, he murmured, feeling a blush suffuse his face. No one seemed to notice; the conversation level was still high. He pressed a hand to his swollen and aching middle. Bloated and sore, it was tight as a drum. He wondered if it was medically possible to explode.
The scent of the pie was irresistible. He took a sip of the hot coffee now at his place, then another. He picked up his fork and sliced off the tip of the wedge of pie. The tangy smoothness slid across his tongue and down his throat. God, he was full! The second that first bite hit his loaded stomach, he felt a belch rumble up. With a huge effort, he managed to stifle it.
Slowly, aided by sips of coffee, he forked bite after bite of spicy, silken pie into his belly, stretched and gorged. He was so full he was short of breath, able to breathe only with his mouth open. Gingerly he pushed his chair back and tried to stand. He managed, grunting with effort, then grabbed the edge of the table. His stomach was so loaded down he couldnt quite straighten up.
Oof. He excused himself no one noticed and hobbled down the hall to the bathroom.
Door locked, he immediately unclasped his belt and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down around his ankles and out of the way. He pushed his underpants down as well and tugged his shirt upward. Holy cricket. His gut looked like something grafted onto him from another, much fatter person.
Cartoonishly round, it swelled out from just below his pecs, describing a huge perfect arc. With nothing to hold it in, his overloaded stomach sagged, heavy and sore, feeling about to burst. He tried to press his abdomen in with his hand, but it proved hard and unyielding, like pushing against a boulder.
Automatically he started to bend down to pull up his pants. Ow God ow (urp) THAT HURT. Far too stuffed to bend over, he resignedly shuffled from the bathroom to the guest bedroom. Awkwardly, he heaved himself into a chair and sat, head tipped back, hand resting on his ballooned midsection. Anne came in after a while and found him there, spaced out, dopey, stupefied with food.
What happened to you?
Dinner (urp!) happened, Jamie grunted. Ate (urrrp) too much.
Anne frowned. Is that why youre sitting here with your pants around your ankles?
Yes, Jamie puffed. Cant (hic!) bend over.
When Anne stopped shaking with laughter, she obligingly pulled off Jamies now useless jeans and underpants. I was wondering where you disappeared to, she said. Can you come back out and visit for a while?
Jamie belched. Not dressed uff like this.
Hmm. Anne put her finger on her chin, thinking. While the thought, she gazed at Jamies belly. Shed never seen anything quite like it. His normally flat waist made a huge tight mound. On either side of his ribcage, the skin was indented, flaring to the protruding, taut abdomen. He looked as though hed swallowed a watermelon and the huge pendulous fruit now stood on end inside him, swelling his belly from pecs to south of his navel, now hidden, a sloping vee within the rounded tummy.
Ill just tell them you had a bit of a headache, Anne finally said. Between the conversation and the pipe smoke, it wont be much of a stretch.
Ooh, Jamie groaned. Please (hic!) dont say (hic!) stretch.
Sorry, Anne said lightly. She patted his taut belly lightly and left.
Jamie must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, it was morning. He blinked, trying to focus. He was still in the chair, with a pillow behind his head and a blanket over him. He kicked the blanket off and instinctively looked down. His belly was back to almost normal, only a little distended and no longer tight and aching.
Good morning, sweetie, Anne came in from the bathroom and kissed him on the cheek.
A gleam in her eye, she added, Hungry?
Jamie looked down at his stomach, empty once more. Starved.
(Click here for next installment)
