Commission: Round and Rounder With Greta

Chapter 1: Food and Friends

July, 2018


Good music, delicious food, and cold beer were great by themselves, but even better with good company. Tonight was a celebration with my nearest and dearest, who had happily all become friends themselves.
Xander had been my friend since we were awkward middle schoolers together, the artsy guy and the nerdy geek girl paired together in gym class. He invited me to join their Ultimate Frisbee club then helped me staunch the inevitable nosebleed when I tried to catch a frisbee with my face. The rest was history.
Bea and Eli were newer in my life. Eli was the rarest of things, a college roommate who’d ended up being a true friend. Bea was the only other person at med school with a genuine sense of humor. Though she’d veered off into pulmonology and me into gastroenterology, we remained close all through school and beyond.
“Greta,” called Xander over the live band, “want me to get another pitcher?”
I held up one finger and twisted my face into a quizzical expression before consulting my belly by shaking it like a magic 8 ball. It was a good-sized beer gut by now, a joyfully round ball of fat that hung over my jeans by a few inches. It had gotten some snide remarks from my classmates and superiors, but I honestly could not have cared less about anyone else’s opinions. “The happy pouch says… yes, another pitcher.” I jiggled myself again and burped, making my friends crack up. “Oh, and it demands…” I scanned the menu quickly, “vegetarian nachos.”
“You’ve still got some loaded fries on your shelf,” said Eli, pointing at my large breasts. They rested quite comfortably on my belly where they caught any stray morsels that happened to fall. Without a trace of shame, I picked up the errant fry and popped it in my mouth.
Bea snorted. “Super classy, Keurig tits.” Xander looked confused, so she elaborated, also pointing at my chest. “K cups. Get it?”
Xander turned beet red under his warm complexion. “This is what I get for hanging out with girls all the time,” he muttered sourly as the corners of his mouth teased a suppressed smile.
Eli snagged a chicken wing from the platter at the center of the table and munched on it. With a somewhat full mouth, she asked, “I gotta ask. How the hell did you manage to pay off your loans so fast and afford your own frikking practice? I know we haven’t hung out in a hot minute, but I don’t remember you winning the lottery.”
I washed down my own bite of wings with the last gulp of beer in my glass. “It’s a little bit of a downer. Remember my Great-aunt Mona?”
“Oh yeah, you visited her like every weekend. She had me over once, remember?” Eli grinned at the memory. “She took us to the Ritz for dinner and then to see Wicked in Boston. Did she give you enough money to afford to start your own office?”
“In a sense. She, ah, passed away last year.” The table went silent, and Eli looked genuinely sad. I took a sip of my drink to wash away the lump in my throat. “Her estate finally got settled, and, well… I was the sole beneficiary of everything.”
The mood around the table went somber and their faces had sympathy written on every inch. I worried that I killed the vibe, but Xander, always ready to lift everyone’s spirits, raised a glass. “Here’s to Mona,” he said. He’d known her better than Eli or Bea, and had been a shoulder to cry on during the months after she passed. “A woman of wit, kindness, and great generosity. May her spirit find joy in every patient you help heal.”
“To Mona,” chimed Eli and Bea in one voice, toasting my great-aunt with heartfelt expressions on their faces.
I drank too, relieved that the mood hadn’t changed and that my dear friends were so quick to show kindness. “She wouldn’t want us to spend a Saturday night mourning her,” I declared.
“No, she wouldn’t,” chuckled Xander. “She’d want to hear all our gossip though.”
Eli smacked her glass down with a thump. “So true! Remember the cab ride over to dinner? She wanted every damn detail of my breakup.” She took another swig of beer and added, thoughtfully, “Gave me some really good advice though.”
“She always did,” I sighed.
For a few seconds, we sat quietly, until Xander made another joke to shake us back into good humor. “I gotta drain the lizard.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Eli snickered. “I gotta drain the…” Inspiration failed to materialize. “The bladder,” she finished, awkwardly, following Xander to the bathrooms.
”Have fun, don’t get into trouble!” called Bea after them. She slid up next to me and whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t make it obvious, but there is a huge hot guy behind you.”
I pretended to be admiring something about the decor of the bar, looking carefully around me until I caught sight of the fat boy. “He’s cute,” I agreed, “But he could be bigger.”
She slapped my arm, making my soft flesh jiggle pleasantly. “You’re so fucking greedy, Greta.”
I shrugged. “To mine own self be true.”
“Amen to that,” she said, eyes unsubtly glued to the fat man at the table nearby. She hissed a low sigh of unsubtle desire. “Goddamn, I haven’t fed anyone since our…”
“Date nights?” I teased, selecting a delectable chicken wing before dunking it in blue cheese dressing.
Bea rolled her eyes. “They were nothing so classy.”
“Friend Feedings?” I suggested. She rolled her eyes again but was clearly suppressing a grin. “Buddy Stuffings? Friends with Bene-fats?”
She kicked me lightly under the table and guffawed into her hands. “Look, when med school stress hits, sometimes you just want to stuff your bestie and watch some fat porn together.”
“It definitely hit the spot back then, not like we had time to date,” I admitted.
“What’s your excuse now?” she gibed, then straightened up, her eyes brightening. “Hold on, his bros just left the table, I’m gonna give him my number.”
“I’m starting a business!” I protested through a mouth full of chicken. The waiter arrived with our next pitcher, and I poured a fresh glass of Sam Adams for all of us. Bea bounced back to the table with a grin and gave me a very happy wink just as our friends returned from their journey to the restrooms.
“More beer!” exclaimed Xander, sliding onto his chair and reaching for his glass, “Just like magic.”
“Pee goes out, beer goes in,” Eli said. “Can’t explain that, it’s just a miracle of life.” The four of us dissolved into laughter, one of those giggling attacks that seems to peter out, only to start another round of hilarity. We were teary-eyed and breathless and having the time of our life, just friends and beer and good food.
Our nachos arrived next, then another pitcher after that, then things became a little blurry, but the parade of appetizers never ended. I was as full as any of our stuffing nights back in med school, and my belly kept wobbling free from my shirt, no matter how many times I tugged it down. I enjoyed seeing Bea’s eyes drift to my midsection and, eventually, stopped tugging at my shirt quite as often
Boston isn’t exactly a place for much nightlife in the wee small hours, but we wrung every drop of joy we could from the evening. Eventually though, the bartender hollered out, “Last call!”
Slowly, we said our good nights and parted ways. Eli was the first to go, as she had the longest ride home, back to the wilds of Watertown. Bea shrugged her jacket on, eyeing the great lady at my midsection openly while Xander paid another visit to the little boy’s room. “So, Miss Piggy,” she said, aware that I adored the glamorous Muppet, “When will you be joining me at yoga?”
I shrugged. “Not tomorrow. What’s wrong? I saw you looking at my belly.”
She smirked and shrugged. “You know very well it’s not about your weight,” she said and gave my blushing rolls an affectionate poke. “You’re about to do something super stressful and physically exhausting. You have to take care of yourself first or you won’t be able to care for everyone else like I know you want to.”
My mouth twisted into a grumble. “Well, you’re not wrong.”
She leaned in close to my ear, dropping her voice low. “You know what I say, get as fat as you want, just take care of yourself.”
“Yes, mother,” I sighed.
Her next poke was less affectionate. “Brat,” she said, giving me a hug. “Let me know when you get home. Love you both!” Xander returned from the little boys’ room in time to get a quick hug as well. Bea trotted briskly out of the bar, as if she hadn’t joined me in half a dozen pitchers of beer.
“Oof,” said Xander, flopping into the seat next to me. “Share an Uber home?”
I stretched and yawned. “Sounds good.” My belly gurgled loudly, accompanied by a bubbling sensation: borborygmi, the sweet sound of a gut hard at work and my favorite medical term. “Whoops, let me hit the ladies first.”
I tried to scoot past him, but between the beer and my overstuffed happy pouch I lost my balance and fell backwards, directly into his lap. The bubbling? Yeah, that made itself known, quite audibly. I wish it had been a small, delicate fart, but it was a loud and prolonged blast of hot, rancid gas right into Xander’s crotch.
He turned bright red, and I couldn’t suppress my laughter. “Oh whoops,” I said, “Guess all that beer kept bubbling inside me!”
”It’s all right,” he said, trying to be inconspicuous about waving the odor away. “Better to get it out before we get in the Uber, right?”
I mustered a laugh, grateful that he was being so gracious about my faux pas that refused to be dispersed. “Meet you outside?”
He nodded, still blushing furiously.
***
The Uber driver had 99.5 FM on, quiet classical music that made a nice contrast with the livelier atmosphere of the bar. Xander and I were slumped in a cozy pile in the backseat, enjoying each other’s company without the pressure of needing to talk.
After a few minutes, Xander cleared his throat. “Can I ask something kind of personal?”
“Of course, Xan, anything,” I said through another yawn.
He paused and I could almost feel him picking the right words. “I saw Bea… asking something about your body.”
“Oh yeah, she just wants me to join her at yoga,” I said with a shrug. Slices of streetlights slid across the car, highlighting Xander’s dark eyes.
He bit his lip for a second. “Is she worried about your weight? I know you’ve put on a bunch through med school — did she want you to get in shape?”
I chuckled softly in the flickering light. “Round is a shape, silly. Look… the weight is kind of intentional. I like it.” My hands rested on my belly, the shirt hem already rising, and I pulled it up further in my drunken mirth, like I was showing off a prized possession. In a way, I suppose I was. “You’ve heard me call my belly my happy pouch, right? It’s because it makes me happy. It’s comfy. I like it.”
“Oh,” he said simply, sounding a little puzzled.
“I know in our culture fat is always seen as bad, but I just don’t feel that way at all.” I belched quietly as my fingers probed my bubbling guts. “I like to eat. I like to drink. I like to take edibles and get the munchies. It’s just how I like to live, and I don’t mind showing it off on my body.”
He made a thoughtful noise, a little hum. “That’s… that is kind of weird, admittedly, but it’s kind of cool too.”
“That’s me,” I said, stretching as much as I could in the small car. “Kind of weird, but kind of cool too.”
***
Xander hopped out of the Uber, wishing me a good night as he stumbled into his apartment building. My belly rumbled as the driver rolled away from the curb, and I realized that it wasn’t another bout of gas: I was feeling peckish again.
The car wove in and out of late-night Boston traffic while my fingers danced over my phone, selecting an array of goodies from the pizzeria by my place. I had the driver drop me there to pick up my order: one large pepperoni pizza, an order of mozzarella sticks, cheesy bread, and chicken fingers. I had been stuffed — where was this appetite coming from? I hadn’t even smoked yet.
My solo feast covered my small kitchen table and spilled onto the counter. I’d grabbed a few bags of candy at the 7/11, and a quart of ice cream too. I surveyed my loot with a tactical eye. Was I really going to eat all of this, after a night stuffing myself with carbs and grease?
Yes. Yes, I fucking was, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it. I had a few pre rolls left from my last visit to the dispensary, and sparked one up by the window, taking a few tokes to prepare myself, then loaded up 30 Rock to feast my eyes while stuffing my belly. It seemed like an appropriate selection of an evening full of night cheese.
The Greek-style pizza went down first, greasy and spicy and sheer perfection in the chewy, golden-brown crusts. I took a few more tokes in between the mozzarella sticks and the cheesy bread, then decided I needed something sweet before more savory-salty goodies.
My vision was starting to get a little fuzzy from the pot and all the beer, a light cross-fading that only whetted my appetite further. Part of me, some tiny half-sober part, wondered exactly how I was fitting all this food into my body, a thought that excited me and made me reach for the gummy worms. My stomach ached satisfyingly. I felt like I was pushing myself to perform an impossible feat.
The gummy worms made me hungry for the chicken fingers, dipped in barbecue and ranch and honey mustard. My belly was straining out of my clothes, and I shucked them all off to eat, naked and slobbish. I was feeling so horny, so hungry in all my appetites.
Bea was right. I was greedy. I waddled over to the fridge, belching, farting, grunting from the pressure in my gut and grabbed the ice cream. It felt so refreshing, so nice and cold in my strained stomach. With one hand I spooned more and more into my mouth while the other reached for my pussy.
Tried to, anyway. I was so full I could barely reach over my belly, which made me more excited. Damn, I was getting really fat! I wriggled and changed my position on the sofa, bouncing my fat in an effort to reach further. The twisting and frantic movements made me rip a huge fart, and I moaned from the incredible relief it brought. I let a few more go, the intense pressure in my belly relaxing a little. A minute later, I could finally reach around the swollen, overstuffed happy pouch and my fingers found my clit.
I moaned into my ice cream, stuffing myself faster and faster. I was so fucking fat! A round butterball of a woman, a fertility goddess outsizing the Venus of Willendorf. Farts sputtered out of me, belches too, as my belly became so tightly packed that even air couldn’t fit. My belly strained, painfully so, as I pushed myself further and stuffed myself fatter.
I imagined fattening a man, already blubbery, and feeding him two bites of ice cream to every one
that I took. He, too, was stuffed so fat that gas erupted out of him, our primal, animal selves rejoicing in our appetites. Fat suffused every image bubbling in my brain, and he swelled larger and larger in my imagination.
My orgasm exploded through my body, the spasms of pleasure shaking through me, freeing a final cacophony of gas bursting from both ends. I shuddered through the last blissful spasms and that was the end of my night, as I fell asleep without another thought.
When I woke the next morning, naked, on the couch, surrounded by empty food containers and a few bites of melted ice cream lurking in the bottom of the box, I lay quietly for several minutes. For starters, I had a hell of a hangover. And to follow up on that, my stomach ached, but in a less fun, sexy way than it had last night. Such is the life of a fat devotee, I told myself, then had another thought. I definitely couldn’t keep up this lifestyle while trying to run my own practice.