roast on the range

ENGLISH TIME {Jungkook fluff}

Jungkook stood in front of the counter at the Starbucks as he was rehearsing his order in his head. The group had been in New York for a few days and Namjoon had been helping him with studying up on more English, but he was always nervous to use it. However, today, he had bugged the guys enough that they were making him go and order his own coffee. He walked up to his spot at the cash register and looked at you.

You said something to your coworker as you put the last order cup down. Looking at the next customer, you felt yourself blush a little. He was gorgeous and his simple outfit fit him perfectly. You put on a smile and tried your best to stay calm.

As if Jungkook couldn’t be more freaked out, now he stood in front of you in a complete mess.

What can I get for you today? You asked in your usual manner. Your coworker was making little comments as he passed behind you. Girl, he fine. You blushed a little more as you looked expectantly at Jungkook. Jungkook looked over your head at the menu.

Uhm medium coffee with a little milk. He said cautiously. You automatically knew that he was trying to speak to the best of his ability and you found it even more adorable.

Alright, do you want dark roast or a blonde roast? You asked for clarification and pointed at the two pots behind you. Jungkook looked at then smiled.

Dark is strong right? He was very careful with this phrasing, and didn’t want to sound dumb. You nodded and smiled. Then dark roast. He said confidently and you nodded again and rang up his order.

Oh and your name? You looked at him and his eyes widened.

Jeon Jungkook, what’s yours? He asked and you laughed writing the name to the best of your ability on the cup.

Oh, Y/N. Here’s your coffee! Enjoy! You handed him the cup with the coffee and milk and he nodded and walked to a group of guys. They all began yelling and speaking in another language, walking out of the Starbucks, while you moved onto the next customer.

Jungkook spent the entire day asking Namjoon to help him with other types of English orders.

Why are you so hung up on this girl? Namjoon asked, a bit exasperated from having to play teacher all day. Namjoon always wanted to help the guys learn English, but he was starting to get tired from having to constantly thinking in English.

She’s just really pretty. Jungkook mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to annoy Namjoon, but he knew that if he didn’t make a move now, he would always kick himself over it.

Well, go back to the Starbucks and order another coffee, maybe she will remember you. Namjoon said to the younger member and pulled out his book to read. Jungkook nodded and walked out the door.

You were locking up. It had been a long day and you were excited that you would be able to get off a little earlier today. Then you heard the dreaded bell ring, a customer was coming in at the last second. You sighed to yourself and straightened your apron, you had let your other barista off early because of how slow it was and now you were just tired. Who orders coffee at 10pm? You mumbled to yourself and looked up. The man standing in front of you was the guy from this morning. He looked like he had something he wanted to say, but didn’t know how to put it into words.

Uhm how can I help you, again? You giggled a little and Jungkook smiled.

You remember. He said and you nodded.

Of course, you came in this morning. You recounted the encounter and he smiled wider, nodding enthusiastically. You forgot about your fatigue with his cute smile and felt yourself smiling back. So how can I help you? Another coffee? You asked and he shook his head.

I would like a date. He said and your eyes snapped up.

What? A date? You asked him and he nodded.

Yes. A date. He said with more confidence. You laughed a little.

That’s very kind, but I don’t go out with customers. You kindly declined. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go out with a beautiful man like him, but it wasn’t good for you to start going out with customers. You saw his face fall a little and he looked at you.

Okay, then I’ll have another coffee. He said and you nodded. Ringing him up, you made his coffee and prepared for him to leave, but instead, he sat down at the counter and sipped at the cup. So, Y/N, how old are you? You looked at him with a bit of a glint in your eye. He was determined to get to know you, so you just began talking to him. Soon you found out that he was in a band called BTS and he even got you to play it over the speakers, you laughed as he started to show the various dances. There was something so cute and innocent about him, but also mature. You felt your knees going weak the more you talked to him.

So Jungkook, how long are you in town? Jungkook thought for a moment at your question. Pulling out his phone and checking his calendar, then doing a quick Google Translate search, he answered.

3 days. You were saddened to hear that he was leaving so soon.

Alright, well why don’t I take you up on that date offer for tomorrow? You asked him and a megawatt smile graced his features.

I would really like that! He answered and you smiled.

Okay, why don’t I give you my number? You grabbed his coffee cup and wrote your cell on the side. He smiled and took the mug back. Now, I have to close up. You started and he took the hint.

I’ll go. Thank you! He waved and gave a little bow, you smiled and waved back. Closing up, you started to play BTS and falling in love with his voice.

Jungkook ran back to the hotel and ran into his and Namjoon’s room. Namjoon looked up from his book and over at the clock.

Where the hell have you been?! He questioned the maknae and Jungkook smiled, waving the cup in front of him.

I got her number! We are going on a date tomorrow! Jungkook laughed and smiled at Namjoon. Namjoon smiled back and chuckled a little.

Good for you. He went to look back at his book, but Jungkook stopped him.

Now we must do everything tonight. Jungkook said which prompted Namjoon to scrunch his eyebrows in confusion. You’re going to teach me all the English you know tonight! Jungkook exclaimed and Namjoon sighed.

Jesus, you have had too much coffee. Namjoon closed his book and sighed. Although Namjoon acted exasperated he was happy for his younger bandmate and began a night of English lessons.

In the Good Ol’ Suppertime

Parts One and Two
by kyaada

For weeks, my roommate had been reminding me that we needed to have Marcie and her husband Jonathan over for dinner in thanks for their help our move in May.  In my mind, I could still see fresh images of Jonathan’s recently ex-military hunky build: his wide shoulders, his thick chest and nearly breast-like pecs, his tight bubblebutt, his meaty calves, and his sweet young face.  The beginnings of a round belly hinted at holding his tee shirt out in front, but overall he seemed to be on the textbook low-fat, lean and mean end of the scales of beefiness.  Jonathan’s strength was awesome; I watched in silent admiration as he packed unwieldy items down the stairs and into the big truck with unfettered grace.

Planning the menu for the dinner and then preparing the various treats had become almost a weeklong project.  Timing had ended up being fairly awkward, as the date for the event had been set for the evening right after Halloween night.  Nonetheless, our preparations fell right into place and we were breathing a sigh of relief that Saturday afternoon as appetizers, entrees, desserts, and drinks were flawlessly staged for that evening.  My roommate had made a point of consulting our most elaborate cookbooks, as Marcie was quite an accomplished at-home chef; we didn’t want to disappoint and preferred to impress at this point.

I was just arranging the bowls of honey-roasted peanuts and smokehouse almonds on the kitchen counter when the doorbell rang.  Following my roommate to the front door, I tried to appear attentive through a triple-Scotch-induced fog.  When the door swung open and I saw Jonathan standing confidently behind Marcie, I tried not to let my reaction be too noticeable; although I’m sure they didn’t miss my eyes widening to the size of cup saucers.

As he passed the door threshold and made his way towards me to offer a friendly handshake, I trembled at the sight of his even beefier ex-military status.  Of course, my memory was faithful to his big and meaty parts, but even the most casual of acquaintances couldn’t miss the distinct plump look of those big and meaty parts.  As I took his hand in mine, I couldn’t help but stare down at his commendably fattened and rounded belly as it perched itself over a torturously tight pair of Levi denim shorts.  He wore a burgundy red stretch-knit shortsleeved shirt that spared relatively few details; his sensual bumps, bulges, and nipple peaks were all artfully displayed.

“Hello, Jonathan, good to see you.”  I said, trying to calm my elation.

“Thanks.  Good to see you, too.”

As Marcie and my roommate went off to do some looking around the house, I led Jonathan into the kitchen where I teased him with a big jar of Halloween chocolates.  

“Oh, thanks, but hmmm…” Jonathan thought, with his hand going to the side of his belly, “I think I ate about five pounds of candy this week, and probably gained at least that much weight.  I was cursing these shorts earlier today trying to get them buttoned…”  Jonathan pointed out as he smacked his fat round belly.  His belly seemed to bounce with incredible precision, showing me the perfect balance of size, firmness, and fatness.

“Well, I’m sure they just shrunk a little bit in the wash, Jonathan.”

Jonathan smiled confidently that he had a more truthful explanation. “Hot water and a hot dryer cycle may be to blame for a tighter waistband in some situations, but I think too much beer and food is more the culprit in my case.”

Still feeling the effects of my Scotch, I offered “I thought I noticed something different about you when you walked in.  You *have* gained a little weight since the last time we saw each other, haven’t you?”  I started to walk around the kitchen counter to the liquor cabinet.

“Oh, you’re being too polite, Brian.  My belly is getting pretty hard to miss.”  Jonathan reached under the thick belly roll that scrunched down the tight waistband.  "It took me more than a couple tries to get these damn shorts buttoned this morning, and I still feel like a very full tick in them.  Hey, you got any beer?“

"Of course!  I knew you were coming.  It’s in the fridge.”  

Jonathan served himself while I finished my retrieval of the Scotch bottle.  He’d been nibbling from the bowls of nuts, but began feverishly digging in them in an apparent quest to devour them all.  I put out a big bowl of chips with a party-size dose of salsa, and he dove into that as well.  Marcie and my roommate had returned from their house tour, and Marcie joined Jonathan in the kitchen.  He had nearly finished his first beer when she leaned into his back and wrapped her arms around him from behind.  My cock poised itself for immediate erection as her hands carefully massaged his big pecs and then lazily traveled south to his plump round belly.  Marcie continued her massage on each side of Jonathan’s stout middle, and then paused to try to grab a handful of well-developed belly on each side.  

“Honey, maybe you were diving too deep in the candy dish this week?”  She softly asked in his ear.

“Maybe so,” Jonathan admitted, “but that was an awfully big bag of candy we got at Costco.”

The lighthearted discussion continued as Jonathan got a second beer and stepped up his assault on the snack bowls.  I didn’t want it to end, but the casserole was announcing its imminent debut from the oven.

“Are you guys ready to eat?”  My roommate asked.

Jonathan easily cracked a smile as he languidly dragged his strong hand across the width of his fat belly and assured her “oh yeah, I’m always ready to eat.”

Although I had argued earlier with my roommate about the quantity of food we had prepared, thinking that there were too many dishes and simply too much of each, I was now very thankful for the Herculean portions loading up the dining room table.  Jonathan looked hungry, and he didn’t need any coaxing to start.

“Boy, does this look *good*!” Jonathan excitedly proclaimed, serving himself an enormous square of chile releno casserole.  "You guys are going to need a forklift to get me outta here!“

Laughter arose from the table at Jonathan’s comments, but there was an element of truth in his statement; I could see big things in his very near future by the way he mercilessly stuffed a tortilla full of steak fajita mixture from a giant bowl.  By the time Jonathan added beans, rice, and guacamole to his plate with the rest, there wasn’t space available for a molecule more.  Marcie did most of the talking at the table as Jonathan hungrily shoveled food, I watched Jonathan, and my roommate paid attention to Marcie. Jonathan looked up at me occasionally and batted his lusciously long eyelashes.  He was always busy chewing, so he didn’t have much opportunity or inclination to respond to any of Marcie’s rambling discussion.

"Jonathan here hasn’t seen the inside of a gym for quite a while now.”

My roommate spoke up in response, “he looks pretty good, though.”

“Solid,” I noted, staring at Jonathan’s quickly burgeoning stomach.  

“Yeah, he’s getting so *solid* that he’s having trouble bending over to tie his shoes.”  Marcie commented, looking to her right at Jonathan’s midsection.  "We went to Bogey’s Pizza Parlor the other night…“

"Marcie,” Jonathan interrupted, “we weren’t going to bring that up again, remember?”

“Oh, these are our friends– it’s OK, isn’t it?”

Jonathan hesitated after pushing in a heaped forkful of cheese-laden casserole, “…well… sure, I suppose.”

“I’m pretty sure that Jonathan has forgotten anymore when he’s supposed to stop eating.  It was all-you-can-eat night, and you know how good their pizza is, and, well, Jonathan overdid it a little bit.”

Jonathan listened shallowly as he asked for more casserole.  Since it was so rich, I was at first amazed he wanted more; nonetheless, I passed him the serving spoon and he carved out another person-and-a-half-sized portion and dumped it on his recently cleaned plate.

“So, after Jonathan finished gorging himself on ample portions of everything, we got up to leave.  Well, Jonathan was wearing one of his old pairs of khaki shorts from when he was in the Service, and they were painted on him like a second skin. Anyway, he drops his credit card at the register counter, leans down to pick it up– I still don’t know how he was able to bend in the middle– and *rips* the back seam open on his shorts!” Marcie took another sip of her drink.

Reserved laughter seconded Marcie’s spirited guffaw, and Jonathan smiled sheepishly as he packed two more tortillas full of steak fajita mixture and guacamole.  He straightened his back a little in his chair, making the oak creak a bit. Jonathan’s belly had respectably grown in size during his unrestrained indulgence, and he relaxed his abdominal muscles enough to facilitate an impressive rounding of his belly region. The soft cotton of his shirt stretched more to further highlight his swelling bulge.  Before he dug back in, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly from side-to-side.  "You guys– this is so delicious.  I love that casserole.“

"Brian made that,” my roommate quickly credited.

“It’s got the most incredible flavor.  I love the texture too.  It just slides down.”

“Well, there’s plenty more, Jonathan,” I pointed out, realizing that he had eaten as much as three of us had, “help yourself!”

“Oh, I will!”

As dinner stretched on into the evening, Jonathan’s belly stretched right along with it;  should someone had been bold enough to slip a tape measure around the ex-military hunk’s midsection, they would have been delighted to find the measurement inching larger and larger, keeping pace with the vacuum rate of Jonathan’s hungry mouth. Jonathan had dared eat a third gigantic helping of casserole, along with a total of five pregnant fajitas, along with king-size portions of beans, rice, and guacamole, and all of it chased down his well-exercised gullet by four ice-cold bottles of beer.  Long after everyone else was satisfied and sitting around waiting for a coffee or a bite of dessert, Jonathan was just then finishing his latest plateful and leaning back in his chair to offer a raucous belch from deep underneath his massive meal.  Jonathan’s belly had blown up into an incredibly pumped and handsome balloon, offering a wide ledge under his juicy pecs.  From just sitting across the table from him, I could tell he was blissfully heavy; Jonathan’s belly was impressively swollen, yet there was a sense that he was tortured by the decision of whether or not to indulge himself in another round of helpings.

Marcie turned again to the right to look him over carefully.  She reached her hand over and firmly patted his belly.  "See, you guys?  Solid.“

"Wow, that was great.”  Jonathan said, putting his right hand on top of his protruding belly.

“There’s still some more left, Jonathan, help yourself!” I teased, not sure if he’d go for more or not.

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to,” Jonathan covered his mouth in response to a hearty belch, “but my belly is really s-t-u-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-e-d.”

“I take it that we’ll wait a bit to offer you two some dessert and coffee?” my roommate asked.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Marcie spoke up, “well, let’s let these guys take care of the dishes…”  And with that, she and my roommate were off again to her office, leaving the very-bloated Jonathan unattended with me across the table lusting after his incredibly beefed-up, plumped-up form.

“That’s it…I gotta stand up for a while, guy.” Jonathan told me, as he struggled to push his chair away from the table.  "My butt is gettin’ tired from sittin’.“  

"Should I run and go get the forklift?”

Jonathan gave up a pleased laugh and shook his head.  He’d been put in the corner chair by the big houseplant, so he had precious little space in which to wield his chunkier form around. When he stood up straight, it was blatantly obvious that he’d totally overindulged his increased appetite and overeaten to the very definition of excess.  When he reached down to grab his plate, I quickly let him know to take it easy, and that I would take care of the dishes.

Jonathan lazily lumbered out of the dining room and headed for the kitchen. His giant round swollen belly loomed out distantly over his now excruciatingly tight Levi shorts, and his burgundy red stretchknit shirt tried its best to cover the increased region of overindulgence.  He sauntered about with his wide shoulders back, letting his heavy full belly extend as far as it wanted over his taut waistband.  I watched his exaggerated movements as I continued to clear the table. Finally, Jonathan felt guilted enough to help carry in a plate as I stood at the sink spraying them off for the dishwasher.  He came up behind me and sat the plate down to my right as he leaned his solid round gut into the back of my elbow.  

“My gut feels pregnant, dude.”  Jonathan said in a proud, unwavering voice as he continued to push against my elbow.  “Like 11 months pregnant from that deee-lic-ious dinner…”

Not wasting any time, I pushed back with my elbow into his firm round belly.  Jonathan pushed against me more, almost knocking me into the sink; he grabbed my shoulders to put me steady back on my feet.  "Whoa,“ he said, and pulled me back toward him, "didn’t mean to knock you over.”

I turned around and took the chance to thump his belly more than a couple times.  "Jonathan, I’m really glad you enjoyed the dinner.  *Really* enjoyed the dinner,“ I emphasized, liberally surveying the surface region of his big belly.  

"Well, I sure did enjoy it.  I really wanted to eat more, but my belly got so maxed out that I thought for sure it’d bust if I stuffed anymore in it.  I tell ya, there really are times when I wish my gut was bigger, even though Marcie bitches about it.”  He relaxed a bit as I continued to rub his belly.  I poked him right in the fattest part, and he grunted.  "I suppose I do resemble the Pop'n Fresh Doughboy right now.“

"Only on a much larger, more well-fed, vastly more pregnant scale, Jonathan.”  We both laughed.  “Taller, too. Taller than that short little doughboy. How tall are you, Jonathan?”

“Six-foot-two, dude.  And unlike my weight, that number doesn’t continue to grow.  I think I’ve porked up to about 235 now; I don’t really know. It’s such an extra effort to get on that ol’ bathroom scale.”

Jonathan swaggered over to the fridge and helped himself to another beer. He guzzled cold brew as I toiled with the dishes.

“You know, Brian,” he started, “a guy can’t have a gut like this in the Service.  They legislate your *weight* in that stuff– it sucks!!  I remember being in this remote post way up by the Arctic Circle with one other guy and an entire roomful of rations.  I tell ya, it didn’t take long for the boredom of the thing to set in, and we were spending most of our time eating.  The post was really small, and there was literally no room to exercise.  All we did was eat, sleep, sit in our chairs, and make trips to the latrine.” Jonathan wetted his voice with another swig of beer.  "It wasn’t long before we were both getting fat, resorting to eating contests for entertainment.“

"Jeez, how long were you there?”

“Long enough to fatten up pretty good.  My CO made me lose 40 pounds when I got back.  He was pretty upset with the fact that I had a gut– not even as big as it is now– and that my uniform wouldn’t button in the front. Oh well, I lost the weight and he got off my case.”

“I bet you’re happy you don’t have that to deal with anymore, huh?”

“Well, some parts of it I miss.  But tonight, I wouldn’t trade this *big* bellyful of *great* food for *anything*…”  With that comment, Jonathan slugged down the rest of his beer, belched, and slapped his belly.

“Did you want to see what’s for dessert?”  I asked.

“Sure!”

I unveiled a chocolate cake that was richer than a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, and Jonathan’s eyes widened with interest.  Cracking the freezer door open, I pointed to the quart of vanilla Haagen Dazs that sat innocently on the top shelf.  Jonathan licked his lips and made a deep “mmmmm” sound. Since I’d drawn his attention in that direction, he looked up and saw a box of Entemann’s “Pop'ems” on top of the fridge.  

“What are those, Brian?”  Jonathan asked with drooling interest.

“Oh, they’re really good.  Chocolate-coated donut holes.”

“I love donuts.”

“Funny, I never would have thought that you did.”  We both laughed at the fun-intended sarcasm; I grabbed the box of Pop'ems and started to open it.

“So, why do they call them Pop'ems?”

I opened up the box, grabbed one of the bite-size treats, and shoved it into Jonathan’s mouth.  "Because you pop ‘em in your mouth.“  I smiled as Jonathan chewed, returning the smile.

"So, Marcie was telling me something about you having a doll collection or something?”

A little surprised at the change of subject, I stammered, “well, something like that.”

“Where is it?  I would like to see it.”

“Well, it’s in my bedroom.”

“OK, lead the way.”  Jonathan told me, devouring another Pop'em.  He brought the box with him into my bedroom.

He stood there looking at my collection of Kens, chewing constantly due to the steady stream of Pop'ems.  He looked like Pac Man on an energy pellet binge.  "You know,“ he started, "they should make a doll that’s more like real life.  I mean, how many guys look like that…well, I guess I used to a bit—but I always had bigger bulges in my chest and crotch.  But eventually they discover there’s more to life than flat-abs and three-hour workouts.”

I opened up my closet door and grabbed one of my Oliver Hardy collector dolls to show him.  "Now, this is more like it.  Look at the shape of that gut– nice, *big* one.  Look at the way that it pops out of that too-small suit coat.  I like it.“

"So do I,” I assured Jonathan, “that’s why I bought it.”

He popped another donut treat in his mouth and looked at me.  

“Check this out.”  I reached up to the top shelf of my closet and produced a “Weekend Sportsman Bank”.  The bank accurately represented a beer-and-pizza-fed, well-paunched couch-potato “weekend sportsman” who wore too-small shorts and buttoned shirt that allowed his burgeoning paunch to hang out bare.  I explained how his belly grew bigger and bigger as the lucky saver shoved more coins down his plastic gullet, and showed Jonathan the span of which the little guy’s belly was capable of growing.

“That’s so cool,” Jonathan said, eating another Pop'em.

“Yeah, but there’s a limit to how big this little guy is going to get.  I mean, there comes a time when his gut is as full of coins as it can possibly get.” I sat the bank down on my dresser. “Not like the real thing,” I said, sticking my finger into Jonathan’s firm round belly, “not like the real thing that eventually stretches and lets more in…and then keeps on growing bigger and bigger and…”

“Bigger!”  Jonathan took another enthusiastic bite, then sat down on the edge of my bed, sat the box of Pop'ems down at his side, and flopped himself backwards onto the mattress. He slid farther onto the bed and let his chunky legs dangle a bit over the edge.  Jonathan’s very round belly towered into the air like the lava-pregnant dome on an erupting volcano.  He relaxed his muscular arms out from his sides and took in a deep breath.

I couldn’t control myself any longer, so I nudged myself closer and rested my hand on his fat round bellyball.  Gently I rocked his big swollen mound from side-to-side, listening for the satisfied slosh of its long list of contents.  "And so, Jonathan, how’s this belly bank doing?“

"Deposits are up, and the amount of interest seems to be increasing. A lot of room left to grow.” He went to reach for a Pop'em, and I grabbed one before he did.  Our eyes met for a minute, and I accepted his unspoken invitation to pop it into his mouth. Putting another in his mouth, I then grabbed the Bellybank from the dresser and lifted up its shirt to show Jonathan.  To my delight, Jonathan did the same with his taut shirt, baring the literally full expanse of studbelly.  I popped another donut treat in his mouth and then rubbed his tall round belly in wide circles.  Putting my open hand onto where his solid gut emerged from his too-tight denim shorts, I shook him a little from top-to-bottom, while eyeing the incredibly stressed pants button.  

“Wow, Jonathan.  How can you stand these shorts?  They have got to be cutting off your circulation.”

“Yeah, they are pretty damn tight.”  As I propelled another miniature donut bellybomb into his mouth, he grunted his way to popping open his top jeans button.  He smacked his belly as it took advantage of the sorely-needed open space, “ahhhhh yeah– that’s the stuff…er…stuffing!”

“Having a good time, Jonathan?”

“The best.  Talk about good stuffing.”

“And speaking of good stuffing– just think– it’s only three weeks until Thanksgiving.”

“Definitely.  'Tis the season to get enormously fat.  This year I’m not holding back for anything or anybody.  I’m going to stuff, and I’ll stuff, and I’ll stuff myself until my belly bus-s-s-s-sts itself wide open– should take a long, long time.” Jonathan chuckled.  I poked another Pop'em into his mouth and he chewed slowly.  "Jeez, are you going to feed me that whole box?“

I lifted up the box and showed him the empty white space: "Just did,” I said.   I reached over and thumped his belly; gently I broke into a rubbing exercise. “Wow, feel all of those little bellybombs in there.  Pretty *solid* again, guy.  Ready for some coffee and dessert?”

“Sure thing, Brian.  I’m looking forward to it!”

Jonathan pulled his shirt back down to cover his bare expanse of impressively prominent belly, appearing to enjoy the fact that his top shorts button had been blown wide open to sport a “V”-shaped gap in his sinfully tight waistband.  Jonathan’s substantial ballbelly offered an interesting dimension into his languid gait back to the kitchen, and I watched from behind as he swung his arms out wide from his sides.  Marcie and my roommate were watching some movie out in the family room as Jonathan and I rounded the corner.  Jonathan helped himself to the fridge again and this time poured himself a glass of milk.

“Thirsty,” he said.

Then, like she had done earlier, Marcie made her way into the kitchen and stood behind her man again.  Like she had done earlier, she concentrated her attentions on Jonathan’s middle section, although she really had to reach for the very front of him. I watched her hand slowly descend over the bowed circumference of his bloated belly, and then slyly disappear under where his shirt hem dangled in front.  "Well, honey,“ Marcie began cautiously, as she picked her hand up and sat it back down with a thump on the very center of Jonathan’s distended belly, "you really enjoyed your dinner tonight, huh?”

“Oh yeahhhh,” Jonathan assured everyone, letting Marcie continue to enjoy thumping his belly.

“Honey, honey…you’re going to be heading into the holiday season this year with an ample advantage!”  Marcie told her chubby hubby.  "I better plan the menus and pace the treats out right, otherwise you’re going to become a very juicy guy by New Year’s.“

Jonathan groaned a bit at the thought of his food supply dwindling during one of his favorite times of the year, and tried to suck in his belly while Marcie continued to survey its size with concern.  Jonathan’s belly was simply too full to budge in any direction of thinner, so he just let it swell out as big as it needed while he relaxed. "Sure, honey,” he said, winking at me.

Without much more delay, I offered Jonathan a more-than-generous piece of rich chocolate cake and sidecar bowl of ice cream.  Dreading getting back into his chair at the dining room table, he sat on a stool in front of the kitchen counter.  He sat so that his belly hung out and swelled distantly over his taut shorts.  Marcie seemed to get more stressed as Jonathan enjoyed his dessert, and cut me off when I offered him more.

“We hate to eat and run, but we’d better get going,” Marcie quickly offered.  

Jonathan looked disappointed, as I’m sure he wanted another piece of cake.  So, I packaged up half of the cake for them to take home with them.  As they left, Jonathan patted his enormous round belly, belched, and said, “let’s do this again.”

I agreed, and then watched as he waddled his way out to their car.

People get busy, and the weeks sped by.  What Marcie neglected to mention at that October dinner was that she and Jonathan were expecting a baby.   The holidays passed, and I was disappointed that I didn’t get to see Jonathan, but I knew that he and Marcie were busy with all sorts of family activities. Both sets of parents lived in the Bay Area, and I was sure that it was a very get-together intensive season.  It wasn’t until mid-January that my roommate and I were able to schedule something with them.

“Let’s meet at the restaurant on Friday night around 7:30, ok?” was what I overheard my roommate say on the phone to Marcie.

I felt a crisp wave of anticipation come over me, inspiring significantly increased bloodflow as mental pictures of Jonathan played in my mind like a sublime slide show of delight.  “Great!” I blurted out, startling my roommate.  

“Wow, you really like seeing Marcie and Jonathan…”

“Yes, my favorite people,” I offered as mostly truth, but keeping private that Jonathan was fast becoming my main obsession.

Like all eagerly anticipated things, the dinner at Galliano’s did not come without my usual hunger-stifling jitters.  I ordered a glass of Merlot to settle my nerves as we waited for Marcie and her hunky hubby to arrive; we were there a bit early to get a good table as it was one of their busiest nights.  Strategically seating myself with a panoramic view of the door and most of the restaurant, I sipped Merlot and tried to get my nerves and erection under control.

Then, like an opening act taking the concert stage, Marcie appeared in the doorway; I felt my blood pressure rise in now feverish-hot anticipation of the headliner sure to arrive next.  I swear I could hear the roar of the crowd as Jonathan appeared several people behind Marcie, but I’m sure it was just my pounding heart and the blood rushing in my veins.  A smile curved onto his slightly chubbier, freshly goateed face as he saw us at the table in the corner.  Marcie led the way, her pregnant belly showing her obvious child-bearing status; Jonathan trailed behind, adopting a manly swagger around his own pregnant belly status—bigger than he’d been in January, and certainly bigger than Marcie.

My roommate and I stood as they reached our table, and I offered a hearty handshake to Jonathan as he shifted over to choose the seat directly across from me.  Instinctively, my eyes quickly traveled up and down the six-feet-plus-two-inches of Jonathan’s superlatively well-fed frame.   As I shook his big soft hand, I felt my cheeks getting red as my gaze glued onto his fat round belly, succulently juiced-up pecs, and budding lovehandles all encased by a very stretched golf-print pullover shirt.  Jonathan had gotten more swaybacked, and his impressive rotund gut jutted over the taut waistband of his khaki-colored Dockers that fretted to contain his more thickly-padded thighs and bubble butt. His eyes followed my gaze down to his pooched-out middle as the smile broadened on his face.  His free hand slapped under his solid fat protrusion before his surveying ended up in a hypnotic back-and-forth rubbing on his firm overhang.

Jonathan laughed, “Brian, I suppose you’re wondering which one of us is pregnant, huh?”

Marcie joined in the laughter, followed by my roommate and I. She looked over at Jonathan’s fat round belly that dwarfed her 5-month pregnancy, placed her hand on top his solid beach ball, and said, “Jonathan is doing a great job of growing an empathy belly here, but there’s no doubt that I’m the one that will be popping in May.”

We took our seats, and picked up the menus that the waitress had left before. Jonathan’s mind seemed to wander as he kept looking over his menu at me. “Boy, am I hungry.  My stomach is like totally empty.”

Marcie chuckled.  “Sure, Jonathan.  Make it sound like I’ve been neglecting and starving you all day.  I seem to remember hearing about a certain young man’s pants coming open after an overly generous lunch I packed for you today.”

“Oh, that was bound to happen.  These pants are just too small for me, and you know it.”

“Well, all of your clothes seem to be too small and hard-to-button after that bountiful holiday season we had.”

“True,” Jonathan agreed with a confident smile returning to his face. “Silly to complain, though.  I have a lot to be thankful for…”

“…and I think you had more-than-ample occasion to give thanks for all of those things on Thanksgiving,” Marcie interrupted.

Jonathan’s expression melted into memories of past satisfaction, and he leaned back in his chair while running his hand down the front of his plump meaty paunch.  The waitress appeared and readied herself to gather our dinner orders; she took Jonathan’s order last.  Jonathan kind of surprised everyone by ordering not one, but two, large entrées. My heart gave into palpitation, as I knew that one of Galliano’s entrées was enough to pack an above-average stomach to blissfully stretched fullness, but two?  After Jonathan had ordered his beer, he looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “guess I’m a bit on the hungry side tonight.”

“So, you had a pleasant Thanksgiving, Jonathan?”  I probed.

“God, yeah.  We had back-to-back dinners that day.  Even though we were supposed to go to both of our parents’ houses for dinner, Marcie insisted on making a big ol’ turkey dinner herself for just us.”

“Honey, it’s just not Thanksgiving unless you get to cook!” Marcie interjected.  

“Oh, I know—the chef’s speaking now,” Jonathan chuckled, patting Marcie’s shoulder.

Our drinks arrived, and Jonathan didn’t waste time in grabbing his bottle and pouring a cold glassful for himself to savor.  After a lengthy satisfying swig, he continued with his anecdote of Thanksgiving conquest.

“I still don’t know how I was able to eat all of that food,” Jonathan reflected, rubbing his belly absentmindedly, “but you know how when you’re blowing up a balloon, you keep puffing more air into it, feeling it stretch tighter and tighter, until his elasticity is almost gone…”

Marcie’s head snapped toward her chunky husband as she blurted, “did you realize you just said ‘his’ and not ‘its’…?”

Jonathan’s face got a little red as a nervous chuckle bubbled out of him, “uh, um, I meant its elasticity is almost gone, and it becomes increasingly more difficult to blow more air into it as you suspect it’s about to burst?”

My erection throbbed as I stammered, “yes.”  

“Well, I don’t even know for sure how many times my belly felt that way on Thanksgiving.”

“It’s true,” Marcie said, watching as the waitress delivered four salads with a soup for Jonathan.  The well-fed hubby began to devour salad and soup on top of the basket of hot fresh bread and creamery butter already in his belly.  “We were at my parents’ house last, and this poor guy had

been gorging himself non-stop all day long.  He was so bloated and heavy that he made an easy target for my mother’s relentless offer of ‘just a little more, Jonathan?’”

Jonathan belched conservatively and excused himself; he listened to Marcie prattle on, but couldn’t be distracted too long from his dwindling pile of salad and hearty bowl of clam chowder.   “Yeah, your mom was bound and determined on getting rid of all that pie she had baked.  Said she didn’t want it around because she was on a diet or something—your dad seemed a little disappointed.”

“So, it’s 10:30 at night, and Jonathan is still sitting at the table, and my mom is still feeding him pie.  I keep telling mom that his belly must be getting pretty full by that point, and she offers her opinion that she doesn’t think his big belly is ever going to get full.  You should have seen this sight, but I took pictures—there’s Jonathan leaned back in his chair, his belly swollen into a rock-solid sphere, and he barely able to breathe.”

“And I wanted more, I tell you,” Jonathan offered.  His face brightened as the waitress appeared to clear our dishes and return shortly with our entrées.  

“Would you like your lasagna with your raviolis, or later, sir?” the waitress asked Jonathan.  

“A little later, thank you.”  

“Another beer?”  

“Absolutely.”

An erotic silence fell over the table as we began to eat our dinners. Jonathan seemed to relish the generously stuffed homemade pasta, and devoured each morsel in one bite where the less initiated might have cut them in two with their fork.  

My attention was diverted from Jonathan as a six-foot delight emerged from the kitchen area.  Standing at the counter for a moment wrestling off his sauce-splattered green apron, he adjusted his skin-tight pink tank top after handing his apron to a passing waitress.  Even from a distance, I could see that his extra-stuffed black Levi’s rode open one button under his hefty round fat belly; the tanned rotund belly pooched out firmly– escaping from under the hem of his taut tank top.   I wasn’t sure if he was returning my stare or gazing at Jonathan’s grazing as he passed our table in a very self-assured saunter.  

Jonathan caught the handsome dark-haired Italian chunk as he brushed past our table on his way to the restroom.  “Wow…I think that was Vince Galliano.”  Jonathan watched the rounded ass disappear into the restroom area, and then cleaned up his ample portion of raviolis.  The attentive waitress seemed to be there in a blink of an eye, and she offered to take his plate and bring his lasagna; the offer was accepted without hesitation.

The chunky Italian reappeared from the restroom, and made his way over to our table.  Jonathan leaned back and held out his hand, “Vince?  Vince Galliano?”

“Yep.  Jonathan?”

The two smiled and enthusiastically shook hands, giving each other the once, then twice-over.  “Vince, boy, you’ve gotten big there!  Jeans don’t even button!”  Jonathan reached over and thumped the fat round belly that jutted over the border of our table space.  Vince chuckled, put his hands on his belly and sensuously shook it with unmistakable pride.

“Yeah, Jonathan.  I’m growing into my job as cook at mom ‘n dad’s restaurant.”  Then Vince turned his attention to his pal that sat before him. Thumping Jonathan’s beefy round belly with apparent satisfaction, he noted, “and you’ve done pretty good yourself there, Jonathan.”

Jonathan gave a confident chuckle, “you bet your butter rolls, guy. I’m here tonight taking full advantage of your good cooking.”

“That’s great.  Believe me, you can see the results of taking advantage of my good cooking and my nona’s recipes.”  Vince put his hand under this firm round overhang near his open jeans button, gently bouncing his plump middle up and down.  “So far, this is only a one-button night, but my special tonight is so good that I think I’m going to end up with a very nice, big, full belly over two-button open comfort by closing tonight…”

“Your special?”  Jonathan asked as the waitress deposited the boat-shaped dish of lasagna in front of him.

“Big juicy tiger prawns, mushrooms, and this wonderful creamy garlic butter sauce over linguine.”  Vince actually salivated at the mere mention of the dish, and Jonathan followed suit. “Delicious.”

Jonathan took a cooled bite of lasagna and commented, “wow, wish I would have known about that before I ordered.”

“Aaaah, don’t worry about it.”  Vince patted Jonathan’s shoulder.  “Damn, good to see you again, guy.”

“You too.”  Jonathan shook his Italian friend’s hand again before getting back to business on entrée number two.

I watched as Vince’s well-padded ass wiggled into the kitchen, and then Jonathan as he began to shovel pasta with renewed energy. Jonathan’s belly had swollen considerably by mid-lasagna, and the seams on his pullover shirt were really starting to pucker.  Marcie’s attention became diverted from her conversation with my roommate and she reached over and patted her husband’s spherical belly.  Jonathan offered up a fairly satisfied belch, and then leaned back to allow his wife to survey the breadth of his bloated mound of belly.

“Honey, I can’t finish my veal parmesan, and I don’t want to take home any leftovers.  There really isn’t much left, would you mind being a dear and finishing it off for me?”

“Sure.  Just a minute.”  Jonathan shoved a large finale bite of lasagna into his mouth, and traded plates with her.  

My cannelloni had gone pretty much neglected as I was a bit distracted from my own hunger; one of the tasty pasta tubes was gone, but there remained a second.  As I sat mesmerized by Jonathan’s seemingly bottomless pit and the quick evaporation of Marcie’s leftovers, I considered offering him the rest of my dinner.  Jonathan leaned back in his chair, reaching his muscular arms towards the ceiling.  The stretching exercise seemed to only increase his very swollen abdomen from top to bottom; the taut hem of his golf-print pullover shirt edged up the circumference to bare a nice portion of very well-fed bulge.  Jonathan’s deep exhaling caused a breeze felt across the table, and a loud belch followed it.  “Well, well, well,” Jonathan acknowledged, “my big ol’ belly must be getting full!”

“Damn,” I said, attracting Jonathan’s immediate attention, “and I was hoping you would help me with this cannelloni.  I just can’t eat any more, Jonathan.  Can you?”

“Sure.”  Jonathan smiled as we traded plates.  “I think this big ol’ balloon of mine has some stretch in it yet…”

Marcie nodded her head in support.  “I agreed that Jonathan can put off his dieting until after the baby is born. I couldn’t stand to watch his sad handsome face while I ate whatever the baby and I wanted; it was cruel and unusual punishment for such a nice guy.”

Jonathan grunted over my donated cannelloni.  “Plus, I have an advantage over Deb.  I don’t have a baby growing and taking up space in my pregnant belly.”

Marcie reached over and rubbed Jonathan’s immensely rotund gut, “nope honey, you have one hundred percent stomach to fill.”

“Some nights, more like 110%, huh, Jonathan?”  I quipped.

“Yeah, like tonight.  Ooo-ooo-oo-ffff-ffff!  Push me away from the trough and plug my pie-hole.  I think my belly is at maximum bloat.  My stomach feels like an overpumped basketball in there.“ Jonathan actually pushed away the last bite of cannelloni and relaxed into a reclined position richly deserved.

Just as Jonathan began rubbing his hugely stuffed gut, I saw Vince emerge from the kitchen again; this time, the hot Italian was without his apron, and there were sauce dribbles on his pink tank top.  Vince’s incredibly swollen round gut wobbled in front of him, solidly protruding over tight black jeans that were now burst open two buttons.  More bare tanned belly was sticking out under the rolled-up tank top, and Vince was truly amazing to see.  In his hand, he carried a vast plateful of pasta and giant prawns.    

Jonathan could scarcely move from his laid-back position, but struggled to acknowledge Vince’s appearance at our table as the generous stud offered yet more food.  Vince moved the mostly vacant cannelloni plate and sat the heap of Friday night special in front of Jonathan.  

“Whoa, dude…I thought you should try my special, but signs point to your belly making a loud pop noise if you swallow one more morsel.”

Jonathan nodded his head, but his eyes were all over Vince’s protruding round belly.  “You’re lookin’ pretty gorged there yourself, Vince.  Take pretty hefty advantage of your cooking tonight?”  

Vince smiled broadly as he patted his big full belly.  “More than usual, even.  I feel like just taking the rest of the night off…grabbing a king-size plate of tiramisu and a fork and going off in a corner…eating until I can’t move…”  Jonathan burped, practically begging for Vince’s anticipated response of thumping ex-military stud’s solid porked-up belly; Vince responded with a few well-placed thumps on Jonathan’s stout middle.  “Boy, Jonathan, I think you really enjoyed your meal, well, meals tonight.  But no dinner is complete without dessert. Please let me treat you and your tablemates to a nice dessert.”

Vince asked the waitress to put the mound of special in a to-go box as he waddled off to fetch us all dessert.  I looked over at Jonathan, who now languidly scratched the front of his fat prominent belly.   “Got an itch?”  I asked.

“Yeah, heh,” Jonathan began, “when the skin on my belly gets stretched this tight, it itches.”  Marcie reached over and scratched her over-fed hubby’s belly as he relaxed it for her to get good coverage.  

“Poor Jonathan,” she said, looking over at me, “his belly skin is stretched so tight around his big dinner that he feels like one of those over-blown balloons he was talking about earlier.  I best rub him a little to see if I can loosen him up a bit for when his friend brings back that dessert.”  Jonathan’s eyes glazed over as her outstretched fingers traversed his colossal round belly.  His erect nipples were evident through his taut pullover shirt, which essentially wore like sausage casing at that point.  “How’s that feel, my big ol’ pregnant guy?”  It wasn’t necessary for him to answer, since drool accumulated and dripped from a corner of his slightly open mouth as evidence of his pleasure.  

Vince returned with a large tray of amazing goodies, and sat it on an empty table across from ours.  “That’s the stuff, huh, guy?”  Vince commented, watching Marcie rub Jonathan’s solid protrusion in unrestrained circles.  “Big full belly and a nice bellyrub to go along with it.   Well, get him ready, Marcie, look what I brought!”

Vince began transferring plates and bowls to the table.  A giant chunk of pound cake with stacks of strawberries and fresh whipped cream.  An immense piece of chocolate-on-chocolate cake.  A gargantuan piece of tiramisu.  A tub of hot fudge sundae, replete with nuts and several maraschino cherries.  Vince stood back and admired what he had created, “now, if that doesn’t fatten your belly, Jonathan, I don’t know what will!!”

“Hell, Vince, if my belly gets any fatter tonight, you’re gonna have to help roll me out of here.”

“Don’t sweat it, big guy, just relax and enjoy.  This good stuff just slides down your gullet.  You won’t even feel it.”

With that, Vince wobbled off, surely back to the kitchen to indulge in a bit of dessert himself from the way he smacked his lips at the sight of our calorie-laden table.  Jonathan had received the pound cake, and wanted to trade with me right away; his desires seemed to be focused on Galliano’s famous tiramisu.  And focus he did.  He focused his way through the entire sweet plateful, groaning as his belly pumped up into an even more gigantic protrusion right under his softened pecs.  “Excuse me, please.”  Jonathan struggled, but eventually got his heavy ass off his thoroughly warmed chair.  As he straightened his back, his amazingly swollen belly protruded even farther.  A slight bit of relaxation and a sigh caused his pants button to launch in a sudden departure from its severely stressed threads. Jonathan’s taut waistband took the queue and rolled over even more, his big swollen round belly folding belt loops flat in the process.  All in a flash, his zipper, which had already begun to lower itself and taunt me, shot to the bottom of its track, as Jonathan seemed to split out of his pants like a fattened caterpillar. His cheeks reddened as he grabbed for his fly, hurrying into the restroom.

I searched for the button as Marcie gave a chuckle.  “I asked him not to wear his tight pants anymore.  I’m getting tired of sewing those damn buttons on again and again.  I think I’ll get him some of those pants that expand or at least something with stronger buttons.  Vince seems to have the right idea with his Levi’s buttonfly.  Just keep unbuttoning down as his belly grows and gets fuller and fatter.”

“There’s a thought,” I supported.

By this time, the restaurant had emptied out, and we realized that we had been there for hours eating and laughing.  Well, Jonathan had been there for hours eating, and he seemed to have done a good enough job for all of us put together.  He emerged from the restroom holding his fly

together with one hand, as reaching around his very bloated bulging belly with both hands was nearly impossible.  He sat back down with a hefty thud, his belly bouncing seductively.  

“Here’s your button, Jonathan,” I offered, holding my clenched hand across the table.  

“Thanks, guy.  Marcie can sew it on again later.”  There was muffled laughter around the table, and Jonathan realized that it must be with regard to him.  “What?” he asked.  Jonathan shifted his weight around a bit, and reached for the hot fudge sundae.  “You know what?  Bustin’ out of my pants is exactly what I needed to finish off this dessert.”

“Well, you know, Vince brought those desserts for all of us,” Marcie reminded her chunky hubby, who was now well into the melting mass of ice cream.  

“It’s ok, Marcie,” I assured her, “I couldn’t eat any if I wanted to. You all go ahead.”  With that being said, it was then apparent that Jonathan was the only one at the table able to eat dessert, and that fact in itself was fairly surprising.

An incredibly long, loud, and saturated belch soon emerged from the depths of Jonathan’s overpumped spherical belly.  He just sat there leaned into the table on his elbows, his big tree-trunk thighs spread wide, his immense heavy round belly sticking out and stretched to shiny-skinned ecstasy.  With no one really around, Jonathan felt compelled to work his taut shirt up over his belly and park the rolls of material under his meaty pecs.  Then, like watching a beach ball roll down the sand and bump itself against a wall, he reclined himself against the back of his chair.  “So, what do you think of your big ol’ pregnant guy, now?”

“I think he’s had plenty to eat this evening, and the size of his big full belly shows just how much he’s enjoyed himself.”  

“Definitely,” I added, “I feel like I have to burp just lookin’ at ya, Jonathan.”

As if there wasn’t enough visual overload for me, Vince once again rolled out of his kitchen.  This time, it was fairly comical as his belly was so swollen that he could barely wobble his way back over to our table.  Vince’s torturously tight black Levi’s begged to be let go a third button, but Vince didn’t seem to mind his bursting solid round belly’s tender skin being marked by the tight stitching.  Vince wobbled right up to Jonathan’s side and bumped his big full Italian belly into his friend’s cheek.  Jonathan turned to Vince, took the hem of his stretched tank top in each hand and pushed it up off of Vince’s prize-winning paunch.  Jonathan put his hands on the sides of Vince’s enormous solid belly and proclaimed, “damn, as full as I am, I can’t resist some stuffed Italian sausage!” Jonathan spread his jaw open and pushed his gaping mouth against the taut tan skin of Vince’s big belly. Vince was too full for Jonathan to get his mouth set on a healthy bite, and the well-fed Italian chunk laughed.  

“Jonathan, you nut.”  Vince took Jonathan’s handsome goateed face in his hands and gently pushed him away. “I have to admit that it must look pretty damn tempting…like a giant stuffed ravioli or something…”  Vince pushed Jonathan’s shoulders against the back of his chair enough to make the full belly stick out in a most center-stage fashion. Putting his hand on top of the bulge, he thumped Jonathan’s firmly stuffed belly.  “Lordy, talk about your ripe summertime watermelons!  Sure has a nice solid thump to it…must be bursting full of juice.”

“Bursting full is right.  This melon is ready to roll away from the vine.”  Jonathan began to thump his own belly.  “Well, I could choose to complain about how the massive bellyache I have, but I choose instead to wish that I had a bigger belly into which I could pack more of your outstanding cooking, Vince.”  

“Thanks for the compliment, Jonathan.”  Vince pushed against the bloated belly in front of him, giving an impromptu massage.  “God knows that I’ve discovered the advantages of growing and feeding my belly, and it looks like you have too.”

“Marcie is such a good cook.  But now that she’s pregnant, it will probably be more of a chore for her to cook as she gets bigger.”

“Cooking for you is never a chore, honey,” Marcie assured him, “but you’re right about it getting more difficult.”

“Not too worry, Jonathan.  You guys just come in here and I’ll take care of you.  Jonathan, you might want to wear some pants with a little stretch in the waist.”

“That’s good advice, heh, Vince.”  Jonathan then pushed himself up and held his pants shut with his right hand. The exertion caused Jonathan to emit another hearty belch.  “Time to settle up and waddle out, Vince,” he said, beginning to fuss to fetch his wallet.

“Not to worry, guy.  Dinner’s on me tonight.  It was great getting to see you again, and a distinct pleasure getting to stuff so much of my cooking into your belly.”  

“Wow, thanks Vince.  Thanks from the very bottom of my big stuffed belly.”  

Vince gave Jonathan another belly rub as the rest of us thanked our overly generous host as well, making movements toward the door.  Marcie had already grabbed the to-go box, and she and my roommate were the first to reach the door.  I lingered back with the two big-bellied guys, who still admired each other’s fat round paunches with pokes and pats.  “Do come back, Jonathan, you’re just too skinny.  I want to invent some great new dishes and fatten that belly.”

“I’ll see ya, Vince.”

“Bye Jonathan.  Bye Brian.”

Soon we were all outside the restaurant.  “What now, guys?”  I asked.

Jonathan spoke up, “wanna come over and hot tub for awhile?”

Marcie groaned first, then my roommate.  “I’m tired,” came the chorus of whining.  

“Brian, if you want, you can ride over with us, and I’ll take you home later.”

“Sure.  That sounds great!”

From the back seat, I could see Jonathan caressing his fat round belly by the dashboard light.  He belched from time to time, and I think he was glad his car had an automatic transmission as I sensed that he didn’t want to be interrupted from his belly rubbing by having to shift gears.  It was a quick drive to their house, and Marcie was soon enough saying “good night”, yawning, and heading off for their bedroom.  Jonathan had already shed his shoes, socks, and what was left of his pants, and wandered into their kitchen in his stretched underwear.  I followed him into the kitchen, marveling at his perfect ass, then leaned against the counter watching as he quietly opened and closed cupboard doors.

“Hungry, big guy?” I asked, watching the front of his underwear become slightly more tented.

“I shouldn’t be, huh?  After gorging myself like a big ol’ beefer.”  He scratched the lower front of his belly where his tight underwear waistband curved itself low under the immense full belly above.  He hiked his shirt up again to his pecs and stood there with his big round gut sticking out.  

“Well, you are looking pretty corn-fed these days, Jonathan. The holiday season seems to have put a nice chunk of weight on you.”

Jonathan put his hands on the sides of his belly and put forth a subsequently futile effort to squeeze it as he waddled in my direction. “Twenty five pounds since Halloween.  Do you approve?”  He pushed his solid round gut into me, pinning me against the counter.  

I grunted as he breathed in deep and pushed more of his big solid belly into my front.  “Of course, big guy.”  I took his big round belly in my hands and shook it from side to side.  Slowly I turned him around, watching the chubby head of his stiff cock snake along his lower belly. I pulled his perfect ass back against my own hard cock, then I reached around to give his pregnant belly the attention it so richly deserved. “I think your friend Vince approved of your newfound heft as well…”

“Oh that Vince!  Boy, he’s gotten so fat.  I was amazed at how big and round that fat belly of his has gotten…he always had a belly, but nothing compared to now!”  Jonathan softly grunted as I continued massaging his bloated round gut.

“Did you notice how big his belly got by the end of the evening?”

“I did.  His gut was hard as a rock.”

“Like this big gut,” I said, thumping Jonathan’s belly with alternating hands.  “You know, Vince was ready to keep feeding you as long as you were able to stuff it in.”

“I know.  I could tell. I really wanted to eat that plate of special he brought, but my belly was really full.  After you and Marcie fed me what was left of your dinners, I was ready to pop like a tick.”

“How does your belly feel now?”

“Feels pretty good.  Nice and heavy.  In fact…” Jonathan walked over to the miniscule cupboard above the refrigerator and reached up high to open it.  “Marcie doesn’t venture into these cupboards very often.”  Inside was an impressive stash of junk food, including a couple boxes of Entemann’s Pop’ems.  He opened the box and handed it to me.  “I might be hungry for some dessert.”

I put my hand on his swollen belly and pushed him into the family room. “Why don’t you relax on that rug over there by the fireplace?”  As Jonathan grunted around to bend over to get down on the floor, I cast my shoes, socks, and pants aside.  Finally he settled on his back with his mountainous ball of belly protruding up into space; straddling his cock with my ass, I sat down and shifted my weight back and forth on the stiff piece of meat.  “Open up, my big hungry pregnant-bellied guy…”

Once I began stuffing his mouth with the tasty little donuts, he laid his big muscular arms out from his sides, got totally relaxed, and just chewed blissfully.  I was surprised that more food would actually go into his belly, and he kept up pace with my hand that deposited a small donut in his mouth and then traveled back to rub and massage his big round solid belly.  Jonathan’s belly grew taller and wider with each sensuous double-glazed bite, and he put up a fuss when he realized the box was empty.  “More, please.”

“More?”  I asked incredulously, surveying the tight-skinned belly that ballooned before me. I put my hand on top of his tall bulge and pushed down.  Jonathan emitted a startled grunt and spread his legs apart under me, putting more strain on my crotch.  “More, huh?”

“Yeah.  More. Go get some more.”

It took me awhile to separate myself from him, but once I was up, I didn’t waste any time getting another box of Pop’ems.  “My God, Jonathan,” I observed, walking back, “your gut is so awesomely big.”  Straddling him once again, I sat on his throbbing cock as I pushed another tasty morsel of donut into his eager open mouth.  

“Stuff me so full that I can’t move!”  Jonathan implored, chewing his donut-bites faster.  I knew that he was pretty close to immobility as he laid there with his big stretched belly swollen up three sizes, but I happily shoved more donuts into his cute fur-surrounded mouth.  “Would you scratch my belly a little?”

As I fed him, I lavished all of the attention I could muster on his immensely bloated belly.  I scratched it.  I kneaded it. I thumped it. I shook it back and forth. I rubbed it in generous circles. And his belly just kept swelling. His cheeks were reddish as I pushed the last donut in his mouth with my finger.

“Mmmmm.  That’s so good,” Jonathan told me.  “Thirsty. Need some milk.”  

I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the nearly full half-gallon of whole milk, and searched for a turkey baster.  Coming back into the family room, I got a curious look from Jonathan, who just lay on the floor like a bloated-beached whale.  “What are you going to do with that?” he asked. Propping him up behind the shoulders, I filled the baster’s bulb with milk and shoved the pointed tip in Jonathan’s mouth.  Squeezing the bulb filled Jonathan’s mouth full of milk and he swallowed happily.  I squirted milk into him until he let out a tremendous belch and said it was time to stop.  The half-gallon container was much lighter as I picked it up to return to the fridge.  Jonathan continued to lie there looking at me; he was bigger around than ever, gorged too full to even attempt moving a muscle.   I found a little plastic bottle full of lotion on the kitchen counter, and I brought it back with me.

I knelt down by him and poked his big fat gut. “Now how’s that belly feel, guy?”

“Like it’s going to explode, and I love it.  Are you going to rub some of that lotion on my belly?”

“I was thinking about it.  Looks like I need to rub some moisture back into that skin.  It’s stretched tighter than a drum.”

 “Marcie got that lotion for growing pregnant bellies.  She doesn’t need it yet, but I sure do!”

“Yeah, you really do, ya big pregnant stud.”  I squirted some lotion into my hand and rubbed it all over the expanse of Jonathan’s gigantically ballooned belly.

“Lower,” he said.  I rubbed down south of his stretched belly button.  “Lower!”

I peeled his underwear off and grabbed onto his cock with a palmful of lotion.  Jonathan’s legs spread apart a bit more and he began to writhe with pleasure.  His strained abdominal muscles tried to contort, but he couldn’t budge; his shoulders stayed firmly planted on the floor. Just as I went to say something, his cock erupted in a hot fountain of cum that showered down all over his big mountain of a belly.  I got up and straddled his wide body again, this time lowering my throbbing cock right onto his tall mass of belly.  His bellyskin was slippery with the lotion and cum all over it, and my cock reached orgasm as I pushed it against his firmly stuffed belly.   Both of us breathing heavily, I slid off and lay at his side.   We looked at each other, but nothing really needed to be said.

Eventually the silence was broken.  “You realize that you’re gonna have to roll me over on my gut for me to be able to get up, don’t you?”

“Yep.  But there’s no hurry, big guy.”

“You’re right.”  We both smiled at each other.

Culinary History (Part 21): Ovens

Benjamin Thompson (1753-1814, Count Rumford) was a physicist & inventor who worked to improve English kitchens.  He was not pleased at all with their design, both in terms of health and economics.  In the 1790’s, he wrote, “More fuel is frequently consumed in a kitchen range to boil a tea-kettle than, with proper management, would be sufficient to cook a dinner for fifty men.”

He didn’t think it was worth it for the roast meat that England was famous for, and complained that English cooks had neglected the art of making of “nourishing soups and broths”.  The main problem, he said, was that the hearth was open.

At this time, the typical English kitchen had a very long range (because of all the pots that had to be put on the fire).  This meant that a huge, very tall chimney was needed, wasting fuel and making the kitchen extremely hot and constantly smoky.  There were also cold draughts by the chimney.

To solve this problem, Rumford built invented his own custom-built closed range, which he installed in the House of Industry in Munich (i.e. the workhouse).  It used far less fuel.

Rumford’s range had many small enclosed fires, instead of one large fire.  Each pot had its own separate, closed fireplace.  The fireplaces were built with bricks (for good insulation), had a door to shut them, and each had their own individual canal which took the smoke into the chimney.

But while Rumford’s design was a major improvement, it never caught to a wide audience.  Part of the problem was that ironmongers (the main producers of cooking apparatus at the time) didn’t want to sell it, because it was made from bricks and not iron.  (Later on, various “Rumford stoves” would be marketed and sold, but with no connection to the original.)

But it wasn’t just a marketing issue.  People hate change, and they were determined to stick to the old ways.  The English believed that open fires roasted, and bread ovens baked.  You couldn’t mix the two together.  In 1838, Mary Randolph said, “No meat can be well-roasted except on a spit turned by a jack, and before a clear, steady fire – other methods are no better than baking.”

Inventors kept working on spit-jacks for ages.  In 1845, a patent was taken out for an electrically-propelled spit-jack, using two magnets. Even in 1907, the Skinners’ Company in London had a 3.3m-wide roasting range in the Guildhall kitchen.  Progress was not so easily won.

Baking vs. Roasting

In the Middle East, this baking/roasting division did not exist.  The Arabic word khubz means “bread”, and from this comes the verb khabaza, which means “to bake/make khubz”. But it can also mean “to grill” or “to roast”.

Mesopotamian bread ovens have been found dating back to 3000 BC (modern-day Pakistan, Syria, Iran & Iraq).  They are round cylinders, made of clay.  A fire is lit in the bottom of the cylinder; then dough is lowered through a hole in the top and slapped on the inside of the oven.  A few minutes later, it has baked into flatbread, and is lifted out again.

These clay ovens are still used today in the Middle East, Central & South-East Asia, and in many rural areas in African countries.  It is called a tandoor.  Many other things are cooked in it, not just bread.

The tandoor cooks with intense, dry baking heat.  Even poor households used them to bake bread.  In Amarna (an Ancient Egyptian village from 1350 BC), half of the labourers’ houses showed traces of a tandoor.  Unlike in medieval Europe, where it was believed that the only real bread was professionally baked, home-made bread was the preference.  In medieval Baghdad, a marketplace inspector once remarked that “most people avoid eating bread baked in the market.”

Like the portable braziers of Ancient Greece, the tandoor was portable, and far better than building a fire in the hearth.  They were also cheap.  An “eye” at the bottom of the cylinder gave control over the level of heat, by opening & shutting.  For example, a round Iraqi water-bread coated in sesame oil would be cooked in a moderate heat, but other breads needed extreme heat.  The fuel is burned directly inside the tandoor, on the bottom, so temperatures can reach up to 480°C (most domestic ovens can only get up to 220°C).

The tandoor wasn’t just used for baking – it was also used for stewing, and for roasting as well.  In the West, tandoori chicken (chicken marinated in yoghurt & red spices) is well-known, and it is cooked in a tandoor.

In Baghdad in the 900’s AD, the tandoor’s roasting capabilities were mostly used for “fatty whole lamb or kid – mostly stuffed…big chunks of meat, plump poultry or fish.”  These were either laid on flat brick tiles, which were arranged on the fire; or put on metal skewers and lowered in from the top.

There are three different types of cooking heat.  In all of them (as physics requires), heat moves from the hotter area/object to the cooler one.

Radiant heat is used for grilling.  It’s like when you put your hand above a heater, without touching it: the heat blasts out from it and warms your hand without you even needing to touch it.  No contact is needed.  A red-hot fire gives plenty of radiant heat from the flames and embers.

Conduction works through direct touch, from one object to another.  This is like touching the heater, instead of putting your hand above it.  Metals are excellent conductors; brick, wood and clay are poor conductors. For cooking, conduction is the type of heat transfer when you put a piece of meat in a pan.

Convection happens within a gas/liquid.  The hot parts of the gas/liquid are less dense than the cool ones, but gradually it evens out (for density and temperature).  This is like the heat of the heater spreading gradually through the room.  For cooking, convection happens when cooking porridge or boiling water.

While any cooking method will use a combination of these forms of heat transfer, one will usually dominate, and it is this which makes the tandoor unusual – it uses all three at the same time.  Radiant heat from the fire below, and from the hot clay walls; conduction from the clay to the bread, or the metal skewers to the meat; and convection within the hot air circulating in the tandoor. This is what makes this oven so versatile.

The old Western ovens were basically brick boxes.  They used both about 20% radiation and 80% convection.  Instead of the constant intense heat of the tandoor, their fire started off fierce (radiation) but then cooled down gradually, and convection took over.  In fact, the food didn’t even usually get put in until the fire had cooled down.

Over the centuries, cooking methods evolved to make the best use of this type of heat transfer.  Food was cooked in order – bread when the oven was hottest; then stews, pastries and puddings; herbs might be left to dry in it overnight, when the oven was barely warm.

In ancient & medieval times, bread ovens were huge, communal affairs.  A manor/monastery kitchen had massive equipment to match the ovens – wooden spoons as big as oars; massive trestle tables to knead the dough on.

Bundles of fuel (wood/charcoal) were heaved into the back of the oven, taken from stoking sheds outside, and then fired up.  When the oven was hot, the ashes were raked out into the stoking sheds.  Then the dough was shoved in on peels – extremely long wooden spoons.  Bakers worked almost naked because of the heat, like the turnspits.

By the 1700’s, baking equipment included wooden kneading troughs; pastry jaggers; hoops & traps for tarts & pies; peels; patty pans; wafer irons; earthenware dishes.

Baking oven & kneading trough.

Pastry jagger (American, 1800-50).

Peels in a medieval baker shop.

Modern patty pans.

Wafer iron (Italian, 1500′s).

Royal kitchen at St. James’ Palace (1819).  There is an open-grate fire for roasting (back right); a closed oven for baking (front right); and a raised brick hearth for stewing & sauces (front left?)  Each type of cooking was separate.

The Oven

It wasn’t just the baking/roasting division that hindered the adoption of ovens.  A fire is homey and comforting, and people were unsure about centering their home around an enclosed fire instead of an open one.  Stoves were introduced in America during the 1830’s, but people said that they might be fine for heating public places such as bars or courthouses, but not their homes.

But they got used to it eventually.  The “model cookstove” became the new focus of the home, and it was one of the great “consumer status symbols of the industrial age”.

The Victorian stove was a large, unwieldy cast-iron contraption.  It had a hot-water tank for boiling; hotplates to put pots & pans on; a coal-fired oven closed with iron doors; and “complicated arrangements of flues, their temperature controlled by a register and dampers” linking all the parts together.

By the mid-1800’s, the “kitchener” was the essential object in an American or British middle-class kitchen.  And like the home, the kitchen was now centered around the stove, instead of around the fire.

At Britain’s Great Exhibition of 1851, the Improved Leamington Kitchener won first prize of all the kitcheners on display.  It used a single fire to combine roasting and baking.  A wrought-iron roaster with dripping-pan was inside, but by closing the back valves, it could be turned into a baking oven.  And it could provide the household with gallons of boiling water – for a kitchener wasn’t just for cooking, but also for warmth and hot water, and also for heating up irons.

The Leamington range was one of the first pieces of cooking equipment to become a household name in Britain.  It ended up being used to refer to closed ranges in general.  There were many other competing models, such as the Coastal Grand Pacific and the Plantress.

The fancier stoves were as much about fashion as they were about practicality.  But it wasn’t just about “keeping up” with everyone else.  Part of the reason for the stove’s popularity was the Industrial Revolution, which created a coal & iron boom, and flooded the market with cheap cast iron.  Ironmongers loved this type of stove (unlike Rumford’s brick stove) because it was made almost entirely out of iron, and so were its accessories.  And new versions were always coming out, so they were constantly selling new stoves, as people wanted the latest ones.

Back in the mid-1700’s, a new method of cast-iron production had been discovered, which used coal instead of charcoal.  John “Iron-Mad” Wilkinson’s invention of the steam engine pushed production even further.  A generation later, cast iron was everywhere.  And kitcheners also supported the coal industry, because they were almost all coal-fired (rather than wood, peat or turf).

Coal wasn’t a new fuel for kitchens.  The first “coal revolution” happened back in the mid-1500’s because of a wood shortage.  Industry expanded rapidly during the 2nd half of the 1500’s, and timber was essential for the production of glass, iron and lead.  Timber was also required for ship-building (the English were at war with the Spanish at that time).  So there was less wood for kitchens, and many converted to “sea-coal” (called that because it was brought by sea), albeit reluctantly.

In rural areas, the wood fire was still used, and the poorer folk in the city and countryside made do with whatever fuel they could find.

The switch to coal changed the way open hearths were set up.  Previously, the kitchen fire had really been a bonfire, with andirons or brandirons to stop the burning logs from rolling out onto the floor. And that was all.  It was dreadfully dangerous.

A Saxon archbishop in the 600’s AD said that “if a woman place her infant by the hearth, and the man put water in the cauldron, and it boil over and the child be scalded to death, the woman must do penance for her negligence but the man is acquitted of blame.”  The open fire was especially dangerous for toddlers, and also women, because of their clothes.  Medieval coroners’ reports show that women were more at risk for accidental death at home than anywhere else.

Kitchen fires were common, because houses were made of wood.  The Great Fire of London was caused by a kitchen fire at Pudding Lane.  The city was rebuilt with brick, and the new houses had coal-burning grates.

With coal, a container or improved barrier was needed, to stop it going everywhere.  A metal grate was used to solve the problem, called a “chamber grate” or “cole baskett”.  Now the open fires were slightly more enclosed, and a bit safer.

More kitchen equipment was needed.  A cast-iron fireback protected the wall from the fierce heat of the fire.  Fire cranes swung pots over the fire, and off it.

Firebacks (Victorian & 1300′s).

The biggest change was the chimney.  In the 2nd half of the 1500’s, more chimneys were built.  Because of the disgusting coal fumes, wider chimneys were needed to carry away the smoke.  The increased levels of smoke may have contributed to the high incidence of lung disease among the English.  It was certainly terrible for people’s health.

Back to the Victorian kitcheners.  While it was a technological improvement, it wasn’t much of an improvement in terms of practicality.  Many of the early cookstoves were poorly-constructed and gave off terrible coal fumes, unlike Rumford’s ideal stov.  A letter to The Expositor in 1853 called them “poison machines”, and spoke of three people who had recently died from the fumes.

And they were inefficient, too.  American promoters claimed that they saved 50-90% on fuel (compared to an open hearth), but a great deal of heat was wasted.  The problem with stoves being made of iron was that they weren’t insulated (again, unlike Rumford’s stove).  Lots of heat was being radiated out into the kitchen, and the cook had to deal with not only that, but also the soot and ash dust.

The kitchener certainly wasn’t labour-efficient.  In fact, it was often worse than an open hearth in this case.  Getting the fire going was just as difficult, and polishing & cleaning the range took ages. In 1912, the wife of a policeman listed her daily duties for the range (excluding the actual cooking):

  • Remove fender and fire-irons.
  • Rake out all the ashes and cinders; first throw in some damp tea-leaves to keep down the dust.
  • Sift the cinders.
  • Clean the flues.
  • Remove all grease from the stove with newspaper.
  • Polish the steels with bathbrick and paraffin.
  • Blacklead the iron parts and polish.
  • Wash the hearthstone and polish it.

The real improvement would be the gas oven.

archiveofourown.org
SATOKO - Chapter 20 - YourIdiotWriter - Naruto [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

The final chapter of the Caravan Arc is here!! Sure this mission set the tone or whatever but god damn I wanna get to other things already, it’s been three entire years I can’t believe this.

“Whoa!” Sakura gasped, clasping her hands together. “There’s so much food!”

“Holy shit,” I whispered, absently holding my stomach. “I’m so happy I have the appetite of a demon fox.”

“Careful what you say,” Kakashi said jokingly as he walked by.

I ignored him and instead dragged my teammates over to inspect the display of beautiful plated dishes, ranging from grilled fish to an entire roasted boar. I thought again about how Protagonist got a bridge named after him and grinned to myself, feeling like I’d won.

You can’t eat a bridge!

I mean, you could try, I guess, but you really shouldn’t.

Thank you so much for reading until now!! All of you guys’ support has been A+ solid shit, good work. I’ll continue to write for as long as I have the time and energy to do so and will do better to get through arcs faster, for my own sake :’D

instagram

💯💪🏻🐔🍃🍛😍 Roasted Free Range Herb Chicken Breast with Steamed Organic Broccoli Florets & Sweet Potatoes 💯💪🏻🐔🍃🍛😍

#sandiego #cleaneating #organic #prep #broccoli #fuel #food #chicken #yougottahaveaplan #nocarbdays #mealprep #nutrition #protein #nicoleegfg #eatgoodfeelgood #personalchef #foodcoach #fitfam #fitfood #fitness #training #lifting #gains #girlswholift #macros #cooking #healthy #NicoleTedeschi #weekend #eatcleantrainmean @nicoleegfg Recipes at nicoleEGFG.com 💙
****************************

Follow me for daily tips, motivation & recipes 👍🏻 @nicoleegfg 📍 Customized meal prep service available for San Diego locals 🙌🏻💯💪🏻 (at San Diego, California)

Made with Instagram
Ons Light Novel 4 Epilogue

Title: Seraph of the End

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made translation from Chinese translations! Please go easy and enlighten us on any mistakes or deviations from the original light novel. All credit goes to the original author and illustrators. - Hyaka and Kuro Shion

—————————————————————————————

It’s been 12 days since then.

August.

Guren was sitting at the dining table of his condominium, looking sleepy and supporting his head with his arm.

It was extremely noisy in the house.

Sayuri and Shigure were making food in the kitchen.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Starke, if you filled the cavity on a hollowpoint with stuff (garlic for vampires or iron for the fey or similar), would that affect the performance of the round significantly?

Does roast garlic affect them?

With handguns at close range, it shouldn’t. Though, once you start getting past about 50ft, I’d worry. I’d be more worried about the garlic slipping out and jamming the mechanisms, though. If it was ground into paste, and then capped with something, it should be fine.

That’s certainly not the only creative ammunition option though. High explosive rounds come to mind. There are a lot explosives that will detonate on contact, and can be fired from a gun… mostly, safely. mercury fulminate is the first one that comes to mind, thanks to an old Law and Order episode. I’m not sure if picric acid would detonate when the weapon was fired, or only on impact, but it would also deliver a devastating wound from what you could pack into a hollowpoint.

If mass tissue disruption is enough to stop them, Glaser safety slugs might actually be a legitimate choice. These things are designed to shatter on contact spraying birdshot everywhere. I could easily see someone taking the basic design and loading it with a far more disruptive payload, like holy water, or maybe even the garlic paste above. This might be a better delivery method for an explosive round too.

With fey, if any iron would do, steel core AP rounds might actually be a better option. The softer metals should slough off on contact, and the resulting iron would do… whatever it was supposed to in the first place.

In theory you could make the entire bullet out of iron, but, with anything other than a very soft metal, you’ll irreparably damage the barrel’s rifling after the first or second shot. That said, you can stick a soft jacket over it, lead or copper are common choices. This protects the barrel from damage, but allows for much harder bullets to be fired. If you’re curious, that’s what the term Full Metal Jacket refers to.

Copper is a good option, even for lead rounds, because, unlike the lead, the copper isn’t toxic. So you can handle the rounds without having to be as paranoid about lead exposure.

You can use iron shot in a normal shotgun load, so that might be an easier option. I think you can actually buy up to 6mm steel shot commercially.

For iron bullets, there are apparently issues with them losing momentum faster than with normal rounds. I don’t know if this is relevant at handgun ranges or if it’s a rifle issue. That is the case with silver rounds, as I found out a couple years ago. (They’re fine for pistols, but rifles lose range and accuracy.) This has something to do with the density of silver, but explaining it requires a slightly better grasp on ballistics than mine.

If you’re wanting to take a more high tech look at vampire hunting, my recommendation will always be the British TV series Ultraviolet. Not to be confused with the 2006 American film. It takes a very non-mystical approach to tracking and eliminating vampires, with characters using graphite fragmentation rounds, and re-purposed gas grenades that disperse the active ingredient from garlic that affects them. Also, it’s got Jack Davenport and Idris Elba as the leads with some very sharp writing. This really is worth watching if you want to do vampire hunters in urban fantasy.

-Starke

Japan sees America’s waffle tacos and says “nice try.”

7 Japanese Fast Food Items (Almost) Too Insane to Be Real

#7. Kit Kat Pizza

A $16 medium pie comes with slices of mango wrapped around the Kit Kat bars and some Gorgonzola that is presumably too sick and twisted to use on normal pizza. Of course, this move isn’t entirely unprecedented, as Japan’s unmatched love for the wafers saw a gourmet Kit Kat shop open in Tokyo last January, and they offer an endless supply of Kit Kat flavors ranging from roasted tea to red bean. At this point, pizza seems like the sanest option here.

Read More

Cat's New Bed & Breakfast Is the Purrfect Weekend Getaway

Acclaimed restaurateur and Food Network host Mr. Min has unveiled his latest upscale establishment, but it’s not the steakhouse or sushi bar he’s so often associated with.

The Caboodle Inn is a cozy home away from home in Poughkeepsie, NY, where the hand-roasted coffee and on-premises free-range eggs are rivaled only by the thread count of the master bedroom’s sheets.

“We pride ourselves on creating a luxury experience that feels homespun and casual,” says Francis Eckland, the friendly property manager whom we met multiple times during our stay. “We want you to leave your cares at the door, but we’re not in the hotel business, which can sometimes feel sterile. Mr. Min is very particular about ambiance, and food, of course.”

The charm here is overflowing. From the rustic fireplaces to the steel-cut oats, we recommend The Caboodle Inn highly – if you can stomach the price.

via @catinberlin

EDITORS’ PICK: HOLIDAY SETS

The Sephora Glossy editors Kelley Hoffman and Jessica Velez share the picks on their “nice!” list.

As beauty writers covering what’s new and exciting in the industry, we have must-have lists in the works at all times. What’s currently at the top? Holiday sets! It’s finally that time of year where our most coveted products band together in kits and palettes—making the wait all the more worth it. We’re sharing our most beloved wintertime wonders to inspire you to cross off the most important person on your gift list: you!

WHO: Kelley Hoffman, Senior Writer

LOVES: Yves Saint Laurent Rouge Pur Couture Mini Collection

“There’s a specific, post-application-of-a-YSL-lipstick feeling that always makes me feel powerful enough to take on any situation—whether it’s calling the cable company or going to an event where I only know one person. Lucky for me, this beautiful set contains four fun-sized tubes of Rouge Pur Couture, and they’re the dream team of shades for getting my fancy on this season: a true red, an orange-red, a dusty rose, and a fuchsia. Perfect for toting in clutches, and housed in glamorous golden encasements, these rich lipsticks feel like security blankets and trophies at the same time.”

Clinique All About Shadow 8-Palette in A Pink Honey Affair

“I’ve been a fan of Clinique’s Black Honey and their sleek, mirrored packaging ever since I was in junior high school, and this palette just keeps my long-term love for the brand as strong as ever. These elegant shadows—in an ombré ranging form “ballet flats” to “french roast”—deliver a rosier take on Black Honey, and really flatter my blue-green eyes and pink undertones. With these eight shades, I’m excited to rock a different-yet-tasteful eye look for every night of Hanukkah, and then some.”

Kevyn Aucoin The Contour Book The Art of Sculpting + Defining Volume II

“I have a memory of being just visually riveted by the contouring page in Kevyn Aucoin’s book Making Faces. Flash-forward to 2015: the famed, late makeup artist legend lives on via a brilliant contouring palette from his namesake brand. It’s easy-to-use, contains tips from the master himself, and has both cream and powder shades to take my contouring from barely there (for the office) to is-she-maybe-a-famous-person (for parties). While red lips and smoky eye might be a classic holiday look—this year I’m also all about retouching my jawline and cheekbones IRL, because, well, now I can.”

WHO: Jessica Velez, Editorial Associate

LOVES: Hourglass Ambient Lighting Edit

“I love Houglass powders because they give me that dim romantic-dinner glow I normally only get at a fancy restaurant—without a pricey check at the end. So, how was I supposed to resist this six-pan palette with three ambient lighting powders, two cheek-warming blushes, plus a bronzer to contour? Answer: I can’t. Each powder has me smitten, but I’m especially pleased with the Iridescent Light ambient powder, a shimmery rosé pink shade I’ve been using to highlight my cupid’s bow and more. The beauty elves at Sephora really outdid themselves with this palette.”

Kat Von D Mi Vida Loca Remix Studded Kiss Lip Set

“When it comes to holiday sets, I’m always torn between restocking on my tried-and-true favorites or going wild with something new and unexpected. With this set of mostly mini Studded Kiss lipsticks, I scored a little of both! A handful of the shades are beloved hues (how you doin’ Coven?) but there’s a trio of fresh pigments that are new to the KVD world. The full-size limited-edition shade, Gold Blooded, is truly gorgeous. It’s red enough to be bold, sparkly enough to be festive, yet toned down just enough that I can get away with wearing it to the office without raising any eyebrows. And I’m saving NaYeon, “a heavy-metal hit of gunmetal shimmer,” for a more badass version of a New Year’s Eve kiss.”

Bobbi Brown Bobbi Brown University Eye Palette

“The bottom row of shadows in this 12-shade palette immediately caught my eye! These four deep jewel-toned hues (Caviar, Black Plum, Ivy, and Navy) are perfect for creating the moody winter looks I’m loving this season. The other shades range from everyday nudes to icy shimmers—which means I can break out this bad boy for any occasion. I know they say it’s better to give than to receive, but when it comes to this palette, I’d beg to differ.”

SHOP ALL GIFTS >

Organic, local vegetables stuffed with tuna, onion, garlic, cherry plum tomatoes and roasted squash served with organic sauteed vegetable trotolle, topped with a free-range, local, fried egg

A Reminder to Everyone

Don’t focus on what you can’t do. Focus on what you can do.

Let’s say you look at someone like thetuxedos and you want to paint in that level or realism. But you think you could never do that.

If you want it, and I mean truly want it, focusing on can’t will never get there. 

Instead, what you CAN do is practice. Look up tutorials. Videos of other people painting. Ask questions. Experiment.

If you want something, telling yourself you can’t do it leaves you where you are. No one just suddenly IS something. They become it. They progress towards it.

One thing I hear constantly is people saying they want to cook good food but they can’t. Here’s a tip (especially if you’ve eaten my food): I used to be awful at it. People who keep saying they can’t cook continue being unable to cook.

The internet is full of videos and instructions on how to cook things. Specific things. Ranging from how to roast a turkey to how to stiffen egg yolks. You can find all the information you need.

You.

Can.

Because if you continue focusing on what you can’t do, there’s no end to the list. 

I can’t work for Marvel, but I can continue working on hard on other projects. I can work on improving my portfolio. I can go to various events. Contact influential people. I can continue finding new and different ways to color things. I can improve myself.

Or I could sit here and dwell on the fact that I can’t work for Marvel right now.

Which would you rather do?