Chapter 1 - part 1

We've both had a long week of work, the first of the New Year. The indulgence of Christmas seems long past and we are both exhausted. To top everything off I've had a bad cold, so you are spoiling me. Dinner was a spicy Thai curry and left over mince pies that had somehow escaped the festive gluttony. I was just wiping a few stray crumbs off my t-shirt when you appear in the lounge from the kitchen holding my largest mixing bowl.

'Popcorn?' you ask twirling the bowl between your long fingers.

'Sweet and salty' please I nod. Reaching for the TV remote I feel the familiar tug of my jeans waist band. Worn into soft curves over my ample thighs and buttocks, they held tight in the front emphasising my paunch. Strong denim hands holding in the bulging curves. The jeans fit, just. A small wiggle and they were comfortable again.

'Pick a film' you call to me from the kitchen. I know just what I want to watch, an old favourite of mine. Returning from the kitchen with a brimming bowl of popcorn and a beer for yourself you roll your eyes at the opening credits of Four Weddings and a Funeral but wisely don't complain.

The flat's cold this time of year, sneaky drafts breezing through the sash windows, so we snuggle beneath a blanket or two on the squidgy sofa. My side is permanently dented from my mammoth bottom. You lounge across the sofas length and I lean against you, popcorn bowl wedged against my stomach and thighs. Your free hand sits on my hip stroking your favourite path southwards, soft fingers disappearing into the fold. The feel of your touch sends excited tingles down my spine, but I'm not easily distracted from a world of odd nineties fashion and Andie McDowell's awful acting. You steadfastly ignore the popcorn leaving me to devour it until there is nothing left but sugar and salt whilst you sup your beer.

'More?' you ask peering down at my grasping fingers. I pause the film on Hugh Grant's young face and you totter off back to the kitchen to return with more popcorn and a (slightly) smaller bowl of minstrels and peanut M&M's. Both big favourites of mine, you've clearly been planning.

I automatically reach for the chocolate bowl but you hold it out of my reach. I pout at you and you laugh.

'You can have the chocolate bowl...' I reach up again and you jerk it back 'if you manage a bowl of popcorn for each of the weddings. One down three to go'. I nod slowly amused and take instead the now proffered popcorn bowl.

'What about the funeral?' I ask scooping up a handful of the warm popcorn. The lascivious smile you shoot me is enough to make me blush. I eat my handful and hit play as we settle back on the sofa into a companionable silence only interrupted by my constant munching. I'm well into my third bowl by the start of the café scene. You're happily nuzzling my hair, but all the salt is making me thirsty.

'Milk please' I demand. Whilst you're out the room I sneak a minstrel or three, cracking the crispy shells one at a time with my teeth. The creamy chocolate cuts through the popcorn on my palate making me groan.

'I saw that' you interject standing before me with a glistening pint of milk.
'Well then why didn't you interrupt me?' I pout taking the glass off you. I immediately quaff a third of the pint without even blinking. You smile seductively.

'Too busy enjoying the show' I eye your crotch which is practically eye level to me when I'm sitting and it's clearly outlined how much you're relishing the experience.
'Down boy' I giggle guiltily reaching for the popcorn once more. The tension is building not just in the movie but in my waistband as well. It's gone quite taunt and the only comfortable position is too lean back heavily into you. You wind your arm around my waist and give my heaving belly a squeeze straining the button further.

'Careful you might pop' you murmur in my ear nibbling on the lobe. My only response is to hand you the third empty bowl and down the remaining milk whilst you refill it. An unladylike burp escapes and you laugh at my embarrassment.

'More room for food' you say handing me the bowl eyeing my jeans taxed button. The third wedding is underway, Andie MacDowell looking surprisingly good in her wedding dress, but I'm getting bored of all the popcorn. I fidget in my seat and my button audibly groans under the strain.

'Ooo er' I mutter eating a few more pieces. Your eyes are alive with sexual fireworks.

'Keep eating' you say your eyes never leaving my stomach. I speed up, shoveling handfuls of popcorn into my mouth. Neither of us is watching the movie anymore.

The jeans give another groan and we hold a collective breath. I swallow the last mouthful of popcorn and the trousers surrender. The button finally free shoots across the room like a speeding arrow, pinging off the TV, landing somewhere beneath the coffee table.