Chapter 3 - part 1 cont

It could have been my imagination, but I felt like the waistband of my jeans was pinching a bit as we left Oklahoma City and drove out to Little Rock. I had no doubt that a few days of eating Southern comfort food would only cause it to get worse.

It turns out that I was quite correct. We ate our way through the city with barely a pause for digestion. I became quite an expert at surreptitiously adjusting my clothes as I ate - pushing down the waistband below the swell of my overfull stomach, loosening my belt a notch to make room as yet another heavy platter was set before me, or even using a hair tie to keep my pants on after I was forced to unbutton.

"I do declare I am about to pop!" Bren said in a horrible southern accent as we were leaving a restaurant on our last night in Little Rock.

We were all stuffed to the gills after overindulging in the richest Southern comfort food that Arkansas had to offer. While I had grown used to feeling bloated after a large, heavy meal, I felt as though I was lugging around a bowling ball on this occasion.

"Yeah, that was really *brrp* a ton of food," Jill agreed, one hand resting on a belly that was jutting out far enough that her shirt no longer completely covered it.

"No kidding," Marcy moaned, swaying slightly on her feet.

Poor Marcy looked like a wreck. Her belt was sticking up out of her purse, she had to take it off before she attempted a ridiculously large dessert of Bananas Foster. She was definitely in rough shape, waddling slowly along with her engorged stomach sticking out in front like the bow of a ship. With glazed eyes and hair matted to her forehead, I worried that we may have an ugly incident on the return to the hotel.

Fortunately, she managed to keep it all down. Once back in the hotel, she unfastened her bra and laid down immediately. Jill got her a cool washcloth for her forehead and Bren and I helped her out of her restrictive pants.

Marcy spent the rest of the evening comatose, occasionally groaning or belching softly. The rest of us weren't much better off, changing into sweat pants and laying around listlessly.

"This has been harder than I thought it would be," Bren admitted.

"It really has," I agreed. "I mean, all the food has been fantastic, but I just feel bloated all the time. Maybe we should take it easy tomorrow."

"That may not be a bad idea," Jill nodded. "We'll be traveling some of the day anyway, and maybe we can do a bit of walking around the city once we get in. We didn't have any big places planned for tomorrow anyway, and then we can start fresh the next day after our stomachs have recovered a little."

"Does that sound good to you, Marcy?" Bren asked.

We looked over at our friend, her eyes were closed and she was breathing shallowly. Her shirt had inched its way up and almost the entirety of her swollen stomach was bared.

"I think she'll be okay with that plan," I stated.

The next day we left Little Rock for Memphis, eating only a light breakfast before we left. We got to spend a good amount of time walking around Memphis taking in the sights. Even as all the wonderful smells of barbecue assaulted our noses, we remained resolute and had salads for dinner.

The next morning we woke up feeling refreshed and very, very hungry. We then set out to see exactly how much barbecued food four girls could eat in two days.

Quite a lot, it turns out. I'm not sure exactly how much pork, beef, and chicken was consumed over those two days, but it was enough to transform four fit, energetic young women into four bloated messes. We were retaining so much water thanks to all that salt that even our faces looked puffy and the rings on our fingers felt snug.

It was probably almost comical from an outside perspective. We were four attractive young women in obviously good shape, but we spent our times between meals staggering around and groaning about how full we were like a bunch of truckers.

Our condition really became obvious to me on our last night there. It was a muggy evening, so when we returned to the hotel after a disgracefully large meal, I announced I was going to take a shower.

After I disrobed in the bathroom, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Audaciously round and swollen, my belly jutted out in front of me in a truly shocking manner. I was almost fascinated by the sight as I stood for a few moments in front of the mirror, my hands gently rubbing the sides of my sore, taut midsection.

I tried to reassure myself that I was just bloated from the salt and this wouldn't stick.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

St. Louis. What can I say about St. Louis? I'm pretty sure at least a couple restaurants had to hurriedly restock their larders after we laid waste to them. No meal was too big for us to try, and we finished them more often than not.

A ritual developed. Belts would be loosened and pants unbuttoned as our stomachs filled. Words of encouragement spoken to each other as we faltered, bellies aching, stretched, and sore. Low moans and stifled belches as we forced ourselves to clean each plate. The feel of overstuffed stomachs clutching and sagging as we rose to our feet, unable to fully straighten up.

Then a couple hours later we would begin again. I'm pretty sure none of us envisioned the experience to be so taxing, both physically and mentally. Truth be told, I think we would have thrown in the collective towel if the food itself hadn't been so ridiculously good. No matter how little appetite I had, my stomach would start growling when I caught the first whiff of my food. And then I was a slave to my stomach, shoveling it all down until I couldn't manager another single bite.

After the blur of gluttony that was St. Louis, we proceeded to Kansas City to cause further gastronomic damage. It was very warm and sunny while we were there and fortunately we mostly patronized casual restaurants so there was no problem wearing shorts and tank tops.

On our way to one place, I found myself staring at Bren's legs as she walked in front of me. Were they jiggling? Maybe it was my imagination, but I was suddenly aware that her formerly toned thighs looked noticeably softer than usual.

Then I became aware of my own thighs' slight jiggle with each footfall. Was that always there? Was I overreacting? Did the waistband of my shorts feel snugger than usual? Were those tiny love handles spilling over the waist of Jill's shorts?

I put all those questions away once we arrived at the restaurant. As I ordered yet another absurdly large meal, I told myself that at least we were all in this together. If I we were all going to get a little soft and jiggly, it was good that we were doing it as a group.

"I'm soooo full," Jill moaned for at least the eleventh time since we got back to the hotel.

Dinner had been barbecue again, but we definitely weren't getting sick of it. How could you get sick of something that was so divine? Do art enthusiasts get tired of the Sistine Chapel?

Now we were all beached at various spots around the room, the TV flickering quietly against one wall. I lazily massaged my distended stomach, idly pinching the new softness that layered over my tautly swollen belly.

A poorly stifled burp came from the direction of Marcy, who lounged pantless in one of the hotel chairs.

"Oof, 'scuse me," she said. "Oh gosh, I feel bigger now than when I was pregnant for real."

"Don't worry, it'll go away once *hic* you digest a bit," Jill chimed in from the other bed. "We're all just bloated from eating so much."

"I'm not sure," Marcy replied. "Even in the morning my shorts are feeling a bit snug. I'm not looking forward to stepping on the scale when I get back."

"What do you think James will say?" Bren asked.

"Oh, he won't mind," Marcy yawned, patting her middle. "When I was pregnant we were doing it all the time still, he always says he likes my curves."

I looked down at my domed belly and wondered what Laura thought about my curves.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~