I decided to drive down to Mississippi to work on my writing. I needed a change of scenery and a southern bed and breakfast sounded like the place to do it. At twenty eight I finally was financially stable and I felt like I deserved this small trip. I also had noticed a recent change in my metabolism, and I wanted to explore that somewhat. Like most men my age, all the junk food I was used to consuming began to stick. After about ten pounds that went straight to my gut, I weighed about 165. Having always been a chubby chaser, I’d fantasized about my own weight gain but could never stick with it. Now seemed like the time, and a southern inn with free breakfast sounded perfect.
I arrived at the Little Brick Inn around two o’clock. The summer heat mixed with the humidity was practically unbearable. Just the walk from my car to front desk left my shirt soaked. The owner of Bed & Breakfast, Marcie, checked me in. She was very sweet and very large. There were only three rooms in the house and according to Marcie, mine had the best view. Boy was she right. My window overlooked the small pool in the backyard. Beyond that were the woods and a few other old looking houses. But the best part was the giant hunk of man lying shirtless by the pool. He had on a pair of skin tight, brightly colored, swim trunks that were not made for men of his size. He looked to be about 250 pounds and if those trunks were any indication, gay.
I quickly changed into a pair of shorts and headed down there. If he played for my team, then this little trip could be even better than expected. I got down to the pool and could see that he was sitting up in his lounge chair. As I got closer I was delighted with the vision that greeted me. First, I had underestimated his weight. This guy was at least 300 pounds, if not more. Second, he was putting sun screen on.
“Hey there,” he said. I was elated, I could tell from his voice he was definitely gay.
“Hiya, you a guest here?” I asked. His bare stomach filled his lap so you could hardly even tell he had a swimsuit on.
“I certainly am and you?”
I replied that I was and what he said next left me gobsmacked.
“Can you rub some of this on my lower back?”
Shocked and aroused, I quickly said yes. I started in the middle of his back, but he kept directing me to go further and further out. Before I knew it, I was caressing this man’s ample love handles. I was hard as a rock and didn’t know what to do.
“I didn’t catch your name?” he asked.
“I’m Alex, nice to meet you.”
“That’s a nice name. I’m Ryan. And I’m very happy to meet you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just continued to knead the fat of his back. His love handles were soft but firm, bulging out a good three inches over his waist band. I stopped when I felt I could no longer keep this up without blowing a load and moved to a new chair. I tried to hide my erection, but it was difficult. He thanked me and leaned back. His massive gut lifted off his lap with this motion to reveal a considerable bulge in his swim trunks. I was impressed and somewhat surprised. Was he hard? After a few moments, I realized I was ogling and blurted out that I should go unpack.
“Will I see you at dinner?” he asked with a flirty grin.
I glanced at his gut and said: “Certainly.”
The second I got back to my room I wacked off. This man, Ryan, was the stuff dreams are made of. Well, at least wet dreams. I couldn’t believe my luck; one of the guests not only had the chubby body of my fantasies, but also was gay and extremely flirtatious. I wondered if he could sense that I liked big guys? I’d barely said anything before he had me caressing the rolls of fat perched above his swimsuit. The B&B served dinner and I couldn’t to see how things would develop between us come mealtime. Plus, I had a dire hankering to see just how much food that stomach of his could put away. A man doesn’t get to that size from eating conservatively. And hey, I wanted to stuff my own face too- that’s part of the reason I came, right?
There has always been a perfumed smell in room five. You ask the previous owner of the bed and breakfast about it. She says a guest stayed in the room ten years ago and the smell of her perfume never left.
Every night at exactly 11:42, the sound of footsteps can be heard going up the stairs.
A couple books a room for a week. They barely speak to you the night they check in and they never come down for breakfast. Their car disappears early in the morning and reappears late at night. You never hear them leave nor do you ever hear them come back. When you go to freshen up their room each morning, it looks like the room isn’t occupied.
Someone from Omaha, Nebraska calls once a week. When you pick up, there’s never anything on the line but static.
There’s a door that opens to reveal a wall in room two. One day when you open it by accident, you find yourself looking into a room you have never seen before. When you blink, it’s gone.
An elderly woman traveling alone comes down to breakfast. When you serve her tea, she picks up the cup and says fondly, “This looks just like the teacup I used when I served my husband that last cup of tea.” Something about the way she says this leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
Everyone knows that room one is haunted. There was even a newspaper article written about it. However lately, the pillows have been moving on their own in room seven. Either the ghost has switched rooms or you’ve picked up a new one.
There have been reports of ghostly crying coming from room four ever since you bought that antique wardrobe.
When you bought the bed and breakfast, the realtor handed you a key and whispered, “Never unlock the cupboard in the back corner of the laundry room.”
Once you started to unlock the cupboard in the back corner of the laundry room. You only turned the key half way before deciding against it and locking it back up. Even so, you swear you saw a shadow following you for the rest of that week.
There’s an old painting of small girl and her dog in room three. It was there when you bought the bed and breakfast and something about the girl’s expression has always given you the creeps. Finally, you decide to put it away. However, the next day when you walk into room three, it’s back on the wall. Over the next few days, you try to get rid of the picture in different ways. You put it in the basement. You throw it out. You give it to a thrift store. But each time, it’s back on the wall by the next day. You give up.
A cat with very distinctive coloring hangs around the bed and breakfast. You’ve taken to feeding it. When you mention it to the elderly next door neighbor, he says that the owners of the bed and breakfast back in 1950 also had a cat. He describes the cat sitting on your back porch right now.
You no longer allow children to stay at your bed and breakfast. Most people assume this is because you want to create a quiet, peaceful atmosphere for your guests. The real reason? The last three children who stayed in the bed and breakfast asked about the woman in the old fashioned dress staring at them from the top of the stairs.
A guest asks what you’ll be making for breakfast the next morning. When you tell her omelets, she frowns and says she’d rather have pancakes. The next morning, every single ingredient you were planning to use in the omelets is missing. You make pancakes.
You receive a call from a pleasant sounding man inquiring about a room for a night a few months in advance. Something about the connection makes him sound much further away than most phone calls but you pay it no mind. Once you finalize his reservation, he comments that he’s lucky to have found a room at your bed and breakfast. You must be fully booked for the date by now. You’re not. In fact, so far he’s the only one who’s made a reservation for that night. You tell him such and ask why he thinks you’re full. Confused, the man says that his niece, Patricia is having a big wedding that day at the chapel across the street from your bed and breakfast. When you tell him there is no chapel across the street, the line goes dead. The next morning, you look up chapels in your town out of curiosity. You find out there was a chapel across the street until 1923. It burned down during a woman named Patricia Weiler’s wedding.
The smell in room five begins to creep into room six.