Unintended teasing - Four vignettes

One thing I love about being into female plumpness is when ladies make entirely innocent but often quite candid remarks about their weight, waistlines or eating. 

If only they knew the effect these seemingly innocent words have on me. It almost makes me pity people who have more “traditional” turn-ons. You’ll never (unless she's incredibly subtle) hear a young lady suddenly start simulating a blowjob or talking dirty in the middle of a nice family meal. But she might well slap a hand onto her belly, puff her cheeks and groan about how she’s eaten too much.

For me, such occurrences - though fairly tame by WG community standards - can be even more of a turn on than a sizzling stuckage passage in a weight-gain story or a video of a girl stuffing herself with cake. Perhaps it’s because the real-life stuff is... well, real. Perhaps it’s because I usually prefer unintentional overeating and accidental chubbiness to deliberate gaining. Or perhaps, as they say in Team America, feelings are called feelings because we can't explain them.

Who knows! At any rate, I thought that to atone for my lack of posts recently, I'd share a handful of vignettes from real-life.  The temptation to embellish them was strong, but I decided to stick to the truth, as that's what made them enjoyable for me. Only the names and irrelevant details have been changed.

I hope you enjoy them. And yes, I know number 4 sounds a little far fetched, but it really did happen!

NB Updates to TLWL and TPD are coming soon, I promise! I’ve been set back by a few things recently, but I’ve still managed to do a fair bit of writing. I just haven’t managed to get anything publication ready. I'm really hoping to have the next part of TWLW out by the end of the month. (If so, it'll be available here free, as this post is being charged for.) 

I've a special Thanksgiving story nearly finished too.

1. Falling off the gym wagon
A snippet from a WhatsApp chat between me and a girl I used to work with. A description of her follows.

Em: Been up to much this evening?
Hal: Not a lot. Bit of reading, made it to the gym.
Em: Argh, don't mention that.
Em: I've fallen off the gym wagon again.
Em: Hardly ever have time for it now.
Hal: It's unnecessary, I assure you.
Em: What a gent you are.
Em: But it is!
Em: I’m developing a gut!
Hal: 😂 You really aren't.
Em: Aww, thanks Hal x

She was though. A slouchy party-girl potbelly that jiggled in time with her tipsy giggles and swelled like an overripe fruit whenever she sat down. Her thighs were pretty chunky too. 

You only had to watch her at a social gathering to see why. In addition to having fallen off the gym wagon, Emma had greedy fingers that reached too fondly and too frequently for the salty nibbles and sugary cocktails. In fact, I suspect she hadn't so much 'fallen' off the gym wagon as lazily rolled off it after a few too many drinks, and then found that trying to catch up with it again was more trouble than it was worth, especially with a sloshing tummy and pounding head.

Final note on this one: I loved how she said she was 'developing' a gut. There seemed to be a kind of subconscious denial in there. As if she didn't want to admit that it's a gut yet, but couldn't avoid the fact that it was getting there. A gut under construction?

2. The korma coma
Ahh you can't beat a good takeaway curry at university! Five or six of us planted on sofas around a coffee table, watching crap on TV while gorging on an obscenely oily mountain of Indian delights. On this occasion, I’m sitting across from two girls in the aftermath. One had a Korma, the other Tikka Masala.

‘Uuuhhhh,’ groans the Korma, collapsing sideways so that her head lolls against her friend’s shoulder. Bleary-eyed, she surveys the remnants of the feast. Silver foil trays with shallow pools of curry in various colours and the odd protruding rock of chicken. Sauce-smeared bowls. Scraps of poppadom... Puffing her cheeks, she slaps a lazy hand to her modest belly and leaves it there. ‘We’re the only two who finished our curries,’ she observes, her voice thick and food-sotted, but with a hint of pride. 'We ate more than the boys.'

Hands limp and upturned by her sides, the equally sleepy Tikka Masala makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. ‘I can feel my belly pushing against my jeans button,’ she moans, breathing heavily.

Within minutes the curry-glutted pair were asleep, bellies rising and falling in time with their peaceful snoring.

 

3. Proper chips
A group - about ten of us - are in a posh restaurant for someone’s birthday. We're all perusing our menus, when the girl next to me turns and asks what I'm thinking of having.

‘Hmm. Probably the fillet steak,’ says I. ‘You?’
‘Hmm. The burger with goat’s cheese,’ she replies.
‘That does sound nice,’ I concur, considering it myself. ‘Looks like you can get it with sweet potato fries.’
At this, she screws up her pretty face.
‘Ugh, no,’ she says, looking back at the menu.
After a few seconds she adds, almost wistfully, ‘I'm having proper chips.’

And have them she did. Perhaps a few more than she’d bargained for. There was a very well-fed sigh after she’d cleared her plate - though it didn't stop her from topping up her tummy with a big slice of raspberry cheesecake for dessert. Noting how nicely her bottom was stretching her dress as we left the restaurant, and how it spread over the sides of a barstool later on, I raised my rum and coke in a silent toast to 'proper' chips.

4. Ceris likes a big plate
A wedding I attended around a year ago had an especially sumptuous buffet. Standing in the queue, I was watching the wide and fulsome rump of a tall, curvy young brunette stretching the pattern of her dress as she bent forward to ladle a generous helping of potato salad onto her already very well-mounded plate.

‘Ceris always did like a big plate,’ I hear some relative murmur, in a tone of affection spiced with a sneer.

Well, Ceris certainly still liked a big plate. In fact, she liked it so much she went back for another. And later on I spotted her helping herself to a second dessert too, an eager gleam in her eye as she shuffled an enormous wedge of chocolate gateau off the cake slice and into her bowl.

Alas for our greedy heroine, things were about to take a turn for the worse. Quite literally. For after dinner we were all asked, unexpectedly, to take part in a Ceilidh.

I guess there must've been some Pictish blood on the bride’s side. Essentially, a Ceilidh is a traditional Scottish dance that consists of linking arms with someone and skipping round in circles, then linking with someone else. And repeat, and repeat, and repeat.

Needless to say, this wasn’t welcome news to our buffet-bellied young belle. 

‘I’m too full,’ she protested, eyes looking up imploringly as her boyfriend stood and gallantly offered her his hand. She placed a protective palm on her swollen stomach.

She made a few more weak objections, but to my slightly sadistic delight, she eventually grudgingly consented to join in. I didn’t manage to get an arm link with her, but I did spot her fixed smile quickly giving way to a clamped-jaw look, and saw her overfull tummy and thick thighs jiggling beneath her dress as she lumbered around in woozy circles. I winced in sympathy, imagining all that rich food churning and bouncing heavily inside her. She lasted through the first round and then had to go and sit down.

Any fear that she might've learnt her lesson was quashed when I saw her at a party a month or so ago, hips stretching her jeans to bursting point as she made short work of the Swiss rolls.

(I may adapt this into a short story.) 

5. Bonus
Most of my friends are, like me, in their thirties, so casual laments about hair loss and weight gain are fairly common. A few of us were standing around a table at a party just the other week, grazing on bowls of Pringles, peanuts and other savoury snacks, talking about winter weight. A very glamorous, very blonde fellow-snacker (friend of a friend) nodded in agreement.

‘I tend to get a bit chubby in winter,’ she said softly, placing a hand on her faintly protruding middle in her curve-hugging autumnal dress. For a few seconds she stared down thoughtfully at her own abdomen. Then in a voice barely above a whisper, she added, almost to herself, 

‘Sometimes I don’t actually mind it too much.’