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Late Night Fun In The Beya, Part 6
Late Night Fun In The Beya |
Gutcrazy aka Frank
[Copyright Notice: Copyright © Frank 2013. This publication shall not be sold, resold or hired out for profit. It may be copied, downloaded, printed and otherwise circulated free of charge without the author’s prior consent. Enquiries should be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org.]
24. The Big Shorts
Chocho-san and I were just awaking from an after-lunch nap in our quarters at the beya, when we realized that Yukio was standing before us.
“Chocho-san, Kamihara,” he began, “there is someone to see you.”
“Oh, yes, show him in,” said Chocho-san with a yawn.
Yukio ran out of the room and shortly led Yuichi into our quarters. After exchanging greetings with us, he sat down on one of the sofas. We began to chat, about inconsequential matters to start with. Presently, Yuichi seemed to take on a more serious air.
“Masters,” he began with excruciating formality, “I have a very serious matter, concerning which I would greatly appreciate your advice.”
“And what would that be?” asked Chocho-san.
“Well,” continued Yuichi, “since as far back as I can remember, I have known what career I would like to pursue but, for a long time, I thought that I would settle for a less glamorous but more stable position, such as that of a salary man.”
“And what is the career that you would prefer?” I asked.
“I would very much like…” he hesitated, “to enter the world of sumo.” Neither Chocho-san nor I could recall that he had made a similar comment at the opening of the Big Belly Club the previous week. Perhaps the drink and the excitement of that night had dulled our memories.
“Ah, you want to be a rikishi?” inquired Chocho-san.
“Oh, no, masters…” Yuichi’s voice trailed off into silence and a flush of pink spread across his face. Chocho-san and I stared at each other in perplexity. If he wanted to ‘enter the world of sumo’, as he himself expressed it, but he didn’t want to be a rikishi, then what did he want to be? Did he want to be a referee, an adjudicator, a beya manager? With the physique that he had recently acquired, how could he want to be anything but a rikishi?
“So, if you don’t want to be a rikishi,” Chocho-san went on, “then what do you want to be in the world of sumo?”
“Masters,” he continued with austere and reverent formality, “I wish to follow in the illustrious footsteps of Chocho-san and Kamihara. I want to become a suparikishi.”
“Well, you’ve certainly got the figure for it!” bellowed Chocho-san in jest.
“Thanks to Chocho-san and Kamihara,” Yuichi explained, “I now have the right shape but I don’t have the weight for it.” Chocho-san and I burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“What’s so funny about it?” objected Yuichi, turning his head away in shame.
“We meant no offence,” Chocho-san tried to reassure him. “It’s just that we did things the other way around.”
“I don’t understand,” said Yuichi.
“Chocho-san and I got fat first,” I explained. “Then we got blown up. You got blown up and then you decide to get fat.”
“Does that make a difference?” pleaded Yuichi.
“I don’t suppose it does,” said Chocho-san. “So long as you have the bulk and the weight needed to become a suparikishi, I can’t see it making any difference, which comes first.”
“So, you will advise me?” Yuichi requested.
“We’ll do everything that we can to help,” I said.
“First of all,” Chocho-san elaborated, “we need to start fattening you up. We’ll start you off on the training diet used at the Ginza and Shinjuku beya.”
“And you can come and spar with the wrestlers here at weekends,” I added.
“Coming here at weekends will really help with the weight gain as well,” Chocho-san continued, “because, as you’ll see later, some serious gluttony goes on here at the weekends.” Chocho-san slapped his vast paunch encouragingly.
“I don’t know how to repay you for all of this,” muttered Yuichi in evident disbelief that his dreams were so close to fulfilment.
“When you’ve put on some weight and mastered the basics of sumo technique,” Chocho-san went on to say, “then, we’ll put in a good word to Tanaka-san for you.”
Our conversation for the next hour or slow revolved around advising Yuichi about how best to set about fattening himself up. I kept fantasizing about how seductively handsome our young blimp would look with a rounder face, thicker limbs and a plumper butt. I can’t deny that I felt just as much enthusiasm for Yuichi’s diet sheet as he felt for it himself. And then, Yuichi, broached a very different and totally unexpected subject.
“Hey, you guys,” he suddenly asked, “did you see Mayumi last night?”
“No, what was she talking about?” I asked.
“A member of the Diet tabled a bill yesterday that will give legal recognition to same-sex marriage,” Yuichi replied.
“Really?” I asked, trying not to sound excessively enthusiastic about the matter.
“Lots of countries have it now,” Chocho-san began to speculate. “Shinto and most Japanese Buddhist sects would have little or no objection to it. I’d think that it would have a good chance of being passed.”
“And just think,” Yuichi belted out without thinking of what he was saying, “it would be another chance for you two guys to claim a world record… heaviest married couple ever… biggest married couple ever… maybe even first same-sex marriage in Japan…” His voice trailed off and he blushed with embarrassment at his own words. Chocho-san and I burst out laughing at his coyness.
“Oh, come on,” he resumed in an attempt to justify his previous comment, “like you guys have never wanted to get married. Most of the country looks up to you as the ideal couple. Wouldn’t you do it, if you had the chance?”
“Well,” bellowed Chocho-san, “if there’s a campaign to support it, we’ll put our weight behind it.” He roared with laughter. He loved to make jokes about his own obesity.
“Seriously, though,” I butted in, “there are some serious commercial issues involved here. If we supported same-sex marriage, most of the Japanese people and the Diet would back it. And, if we could secure a marriage licence for the first officially recognised same-sex marriage in the country, I bet there would be a lot of money to be made out of it, not just for ourselves, but for Tanaka-san and our fellow suparikishi.”
“Yippee,” shrieked Yuichi, “you mean that you’re for it?”
“Let’s have a word with Tanaka-san on Monday,” suggested Chocho-san. “Let’s suggest to him that he try to secure a TV interview with Mayumi about the bill and offer to put our weight behind it.” He laughed again at his own joke.
Our conversation continued to revolve around Yuichi’s diet and same-sex marriage until the early evening, when the three of us strolled across the garden and into the common room of the beya.
We introduced Yuichi and our fellow suparikishi to each other. Rikyu made Yuichi blush again by commenting, “You’ve got a fine, big belly on you for one so young.” After myself and Chocho-san, it was Rikyu who turned out to be the suparikishi, who gave Yuichi the greatest support in pursuing his ambition. Chocho-san and I watched affectionately as Rikyu advised him at great length about filling his stomach only with the most highly calorific foods, at least until such a time as “the professional pursuit of gluttony”, as he so aptly put it, had stretched the young man’s stomach to a size at which the waste of a little space would be less detrimental to his efforts at gaining weight.
I thought I caught a hint that Chocho-san found our young protégé to be as irresistibly handsome as I did. Rikyu was explaining some sumo exercises to Yuichi and was showing him how to do them properly by manipulating the young man’s movements with his own hands.
“Hey, Rikyu,” bellowed Chocho-san, “be careful that you don’t get too intimate with the youngster. He bats for our team.” Yuichi blushed yet again.
“That’s no problem, Yuichi-san,” said Rikyu. “When Reiko and her girls arrive to satisfy our more intimate needs, we can phone up for a nice male escort for you.”
“I don’t think that you’ll find a man-whore, who can satisfy this one,” roared Chocho-san. “They haven’t invented ‘Suparikishi Escorts’ yet!” The whole beya howled with laughter at Chocho-san’s coarse remark but Rikyu was careful to make the young man feel comfortable in our company.
“Yuichi-san,” Rikyu whispered in the young man’s ear, “male or female, gay or straight, all of the company tonight will be united by one thing – that we all share a common notion about what constitutes the perfect male physique. Don’t let Chocho or anyone else persuade you that there is anything shameful about falling in love with perfection.” And I noticed that from this moment on Yuichi seemed to be more at ease with the men of our beya, especially with Rikyu.
Rikyu excused himself from the company, in order to phone the pizzeria and the liquor store to order our weekly feast. We wanted to have our food and drink delivered to coincide roughly with the arrival of Reiko and her girls, who had shown a keen interest in feeding and “watering” their favourite wrestlers. Reiko’s select little band (for not all of her girls shared this preference for large, big-bellied men) definitely exhibited the “encourager” mentality.
The pizza and drinks and Reiko’s girls all arrived at about the same time. It was very noticeable that some of the delivery boys could not resist staring at some of the larger suparikishi. I beckoned to Yuichi to invite him to join Chocho-san and me.
“Come over here and bat for the home team,” I shouted. He came to join us but the blank expression on his face was evidence that he had failed to fully comprehend the import of my invitation. He sat himself down awkwardly beside me, still not sure quite how to position himself, in order to allow his nascent belly to rest comfortably.
Reiko and her personal assistant came to minister to our needs.
“And who is this new boy?” Reiko asked.
“It’s Yuichi,” I said. “He’s hoping one day to become a suparikishi. Yuichi, this is Reiko… and her assistant, Natsuko.”
“Cute…” said Natsuko dreamily and caressed his little belly.
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Chocho-san laughed. “But his ‘love-ball’ isn’t for the likes of you my love.” She recoiled.
“My what?” asked Yuichi.
“Your ‘love-ball’,” Chocho-san repeated, as he gesticulated to outline a huge belly in the air. “Amongst the suparikishi, the term ‘love-ball’ is often used to describe a nice, big gut… Like the term ‘love-handle’… It’s our ‘love-balls’ that make us so attractive to the girls… And the boys.”
“He might be on our team,” I said in an attempt to console Natsuko, “but he’s looking for friends, who want to help him get fat. I’m sure that you’ll enjoy helping him with such an objective.”
“Oh?” Natsuko asked. “Oh, yes.”
Soon the entire beya was feasting in gluttonous abandon. Reiko’s maidens were devoted to tempting their companions of choice to make room for just one more little slice of pizza. This scene of almost force-feeding and gargantuan gorging was in itself a vast orgy of foreplay. Reiko’s girls betrayed themselves as being devoted to something more than merely coaching their charges with their rigorous and demanding training diet. Delicate crimson-nailed hands that constantly caressed voluminous, round man-guts adequately revealed the simultaneous pursuit of erotic desires.
Chocho-san and I were wedged belly to belly in one of the corners of the common room. Natsuko would hand us box after box of pizza. We would feed ourselves and she would then snuggle up against Yuichi for a while longer, putting each morsel of food into his mouth with her own hands. The manner in which she pressed her slender body against his belly was enough to reveal that, like the rest of Reiko’s select little band, she was trying to feel his belly tangibly swelling. However, eventually the feasting came to an end. All of the rikishi lay back in bloated satisfaction.
After we had given our bellies a little time to recover from our massive indulgence, Rikyu called out to Yukio and a couple of his assistants to bring in the equipment for the activity, which we all craved the most. The inflation gear was wheeled into the room. Rikishi, and their paramours, who had just moments before been drowsy with “excess feast”, were suddenly wide awake again and eager for the next delight of the evening.
The inflation was much the same as on other Saturday evenings. Yuichi was the only man, who decided not to participate in this activity. He said that he had not yet got used to his belly being its present size and it was obvious that he had also been overwhelmed by the huge, dinner, which Natsuko had fed him. It was good to see so many handsome men with vastly distended bellies. I thought that Yuichi’s eyes were going to pop out of their sockets with amazement and delight. Hands groped ponderous, protuberant paunches in ecstatic foreplay. One by one, each wrestler and his girl withdrew to private quarters for a “consummation devoutly to be wished”. Their departure from the common room meant that we could not see their amorous exploits but the sounds echoing around the beya would leave no one in any doubt about what was happening. It’s impossible for a man with a paunch like a suparikishi to make love without a great deal more noise and commotion than a man of more average build would make. We could all hear their jocund snorting, puffing and grunting. Groans of orgasm punctuated the night. Men unaccustomed to the size of their own bellies bump into walls and furniture more often than more modestly proportioned men.
After the love-making, we sat back in the common room for a while, chatting idly of things, most of which were of little consequence. We talked for a while about same-sex marriage and were unanimous about the amount of money, which we would be able to make of it, if we could make sure that the general public had some particular reason to associate it with the Ginza Beya.
In the small hours, most of us were nodding off to sleep after the evening’s mammoth indulgences. One by one, the couples departed to private quarters, until Chocho-san, Yuichi and I were alone in the common room, apart from Natsuko, who had fallen asleep on a pile of cushions.
Chocho-san and I nodded and grinned at each other. We both had the same idea regarding what would bring the night to the most satisfying of all conclusions.
“Yuichi!” Chocho-san whispered loudly. “It’s getting late. Would you like to come and spend the night in our quarters?”
“Eh?” Yuichi asked, almost dazed at an offer, which he had obviously thought to be beyond his wildest dreams. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and murmured his consent to he knew not what.
The three of us helped each other to stand. Chocho-san and I didn’t really need much help, being well accustomed to our bulk, but it certainly felt good to grope each other’s vast curves and we were both very much attracted to the young and handsome “novice”, with whom we hoped to spend the night. This was the only breach of fidelity towards each other that Chocho-san and I were ever to commit. I often wondered if it was some sort of “final fling” as marriage became an increasingly likely prospect for the two of us. Yuichi’s movements showed that he needed help rising, partly because he was still not used to the new body that he had recently acquired and partly because Natsuko had washed his pizza down his throat with plenty of whisky and soda. He reached out to support himself against us. Chocho-san slipped a stout arm around Yuichi’s upper body. The young man collapsed belly first against Chocho-san.
“Fresh belly!” bellowed Chocho-san.
“What does that mean?” Yuichi asked dreamily. “I’ve heard a few people say it recently. What does ‘fresh belly’ mean?”
“When a guy gets a nice big gut on him really quickly,” Chocho-san explained, “he doesn’t know how to handle it. He doesn’t realise how big it is. So, he keeps bumping into things. And he can’t coordinate his movements, because his body doesn’t work the way it used. That’s what we call ‘fresh belly’. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to being bigger.”
“And you’ll get to love being bigger,” I said, as I lasciviously fondled his “little” paunch and put an arm around his back, so that we could help him to walk across the garden to our quarters. As we strolled through the darkness, it seemed so satisfying to feel three such magnificently bloated bellies jostling against each other.
We guided Yuichi into our quarters and sat him down on a sofa. Chocho-san and I sat opposite him on our large, custom-made sofa.
“So, what’s your thing?” asked Chocho-san quite bluntly. “Top? Bottom? Belly-bumping? Navel fuck?”
“What?” asked Yuichi drowsily.
“Do you prefer to give or take?” I inquired, trying to phrase the question a bit more delicately for the easily embarrassed young man.
“I’ve… I’ve… never…” stuttered Yuichi.
“What? You’re a virgin?” roared Chocho-san.
“I suppose I am,” muttered Yuichi.
“I understand,” I said trying to sound more sympathetic than Chocho-san. “I can remember when I was your age. But, even if you’ve never been with anyone, you must have some idea of what appeals to you. What would you like to try?”
“But how will I know what I like?” pleaded Yuichi in astonishingly naïve perplexity. “Before I’ve tried it?”
“Well, it’s like this,” Chocho-san explained. “You’ve never been with a man or a woman, but you know that it’s men that attract you.”
Yuichi nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“What do you mean? You suppose so?” bellowed Chocho-san impatiently.
“When you see a man,” I tried to clarify the matter to our young protégé, “you feel aroused, excited. You get a hard-on. You want to touch…”
“Yes,” answered Yuichi hesitantly, “but not all men make me feel like that.”
“And just what sort of men make you feel like that?” roared Chocho-san. His tone showed that he knew well what sort of answer to expect.
“Well,” stammered Yuichi, “I only ever get excited over a man with a bit of a…” He’s voice trailed off into silence. He tried to make a belly-shaped gesture with his hands but they ran into the beautiful hemisphere of flesh, which now projected from beneath his chest.
“You mean that you only like guys with bellies,” chuckled Chocho-san. “Well, you’ve come to the bloody right place, if you want a bit of belly. We’ve got a whole beya full of the biggest bellies in the world.”
I turned my head aside to hide the grin, which was spreading across my lips, but Chocho-san rolled around and roared with laughter. His vast paunch, flanks and breasts quivered with sensuous jollity.
“So, what’s this thing called ‘navel fuck’?” asked Yuichi.
“It’s the same as a normal fuck,” Chocho-san tried to explain between his howls of laughter. “But, when a man has a nice big gut on him, sometimes his belly-button is so deep that you can fuck it. And do we need to explain what belly-bumping is?”
“Belly-bumping and the ‘navel’ thing sound nice,” Yuichi confessed.
“So,” declared Chocho-san, “we’ve got another belly man!”
Having decided that all three of us had the same idea about what constituted the most enjoyable form of sexual activity, we fell into an embarrassing silence for a few moments. Yuichi was obviously and unashamedly embarrassed by our frank, little discussion of sexual acts.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” asked Yuichi.
“May we decline to answer it, if it’s too personal?” retorted Chocho-san.
“Which clothing store do you like best to buy clothes from?” asked Yuichi. Chocho-san and I gasped in relief, having expected a rather more intimate question.
“We shop most at Yamamoto’s Big and Tall Shop, just here in Ginza,” I explained.
“Is that the best B&T shop in Japan?” he asked.
“There are plenty of good B&T shops around,” I continued, “but Yamamoto’s carries a large range of garments in the largest sizes available and he does a discount for the suparikishi of the Ginza and Shinjuku Beya.”
“We can take you down there next weekend and give you an introduction to Mr. Yamamoto,” added Chocho-san. “When he knows that you are one of us, he’ll give you a discount, too. We’ll ask him to give you one. Which B&T shop have you been going to?”
“I bought a few things at the opening of the Big Belly Club, from their in-house store,” Yuichi informed us. “But I only got two changes of clothes. It’s such a pain having to do laundry every night.”
“I think that we can help you out there,” Chocho-san offered. “Kamihara and I have outgrown so much stuff. We’ll see if we can find some clothes to help you out for a while, till you’ve bought clothes that you really want.”
“Yukio!” I shouted, hoping that he was still awake. He almost staggered into our quarters, sleepily wrapping a yukata around himself.
“Go to the big chest of drawers over there,” Chocho-san pointed, “get out all of the clothes that will fit Yuichi.” Chocho-san then turned to Yuichi and asked, “What was your size, again?”
“Ninety-two,” said Yuichi in a subdued tone, obviously still not sure as to whether he was proud or ashamed of his new girth.
Yukio started to pull all of the clothes out of the chest and to examine the size label of each item. He would run across the room to hand items in Yuichi’s size or slightly larger to either myself or Chocho-san. The clothes, which Yuichi liked, were thrown into a heap and the rest were stashed away back in the chest. Presently, Yukio, pulled a large denim garment out of the chest of drawers.
“What’s that?” asked Chocho-san.
“It looks like a couple of pairs of jeans,” replied Yukio. He unfolded them to find that they were a huge pair of shorts. He spread them out on the floor, as they were too far from side to side for his outstretched arms to span. He gasped in amazement at their size.
“Ah,” sighed Yuichi, “I’d love to meet the man, who wears those. He must be a dream of a man. Is he one of your guys?”
“You might say that,” hinted Chocho-san enigmatically.
I stared at the huge pair of denim shorts. I remembered having them specially made by Yamamoto-san, so that we could have a little fun, and then we hid them away. This was our deep, dark secret. Now that Chocho-san and I were both such immense men, it seemed a little strange that we had at some time in the past been a little ashamed of our ambition to have such vast bellies, even if only temporarily. I recalled that along with this pair of three-hundred-inch denim shorts, there was a matching pair of two-hundred-and-twenty-inch shorts for Chocho-san.
“Oh, please, please, arrange for me to meet this man,” Yuichi pleaded.
“Where are the other pair?” snapped Chocho-san.
Yukio lifted a second heap of denim out of the chest of draws and unfold it to reveal that it was a second pair of shorts, which were also unbelievably huge. Chocho-san and I gazed at each other and smiled darkly at each other.
“I’d forgotten about them,” said Chocho-san.
“So had I,” I whispered loudly, “but let’s do it.”
“What are you going on about?” Yuichi still questioned us. “Will you introduce me to the man, who wears these shorts.”
“Oh, you’re going to meet these guys very shortly,” I said, thinking what a nice surprise it would be for Yuichi. I felt my shaft stand to attention and start throbbing and oozing love-juice at the mere thought of what we were about to do.
“Gas! Inflation gear! In the garden! Now!” snapped Chocho-san tersely. Yuichi ran out of the room and a few minutes later we hear the wheels of gas cylinders trundling along a pathway in the garden. Chocho-san and I hauled ourselves to our feet. I grabbed both pairs of shorts and headed towards the garden.
“C’mon! You can help with this,” Chocho-san grunted at Yuichi, as he grabbed the young man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside.
“Mawashi!” commanded Chocho-san and Yukio undid our mawashi and let them drop to the ground. Yuichi looked with open mouth upon the spectacle of the world’s two biggest men standing totally naked in the moonlight. He then helped me to get into my voluminous shorts and hoist them up around my middle.
“Yuichi,” I beckoned, “come and hold them up at the back, so that they don’t fall down.”
Yuichi grasped the back of my shorts with both hands but it was very obvious that he still had not comprehended what he was participating in.
“Hold them nice and tight,” I instructed him. “Make sure that you hold them up until I fill them.” The indistinct monosyllable, which he uttered in reply, showed that he still did not understand what was happening.
Yukio attached a hypodermic needle to the end of the tube of the cylinder and then plunged the needle straight down into my belly shelf. He then slowly opened the valve of the cylinder. I felt aroused by the hissing sound of escaping gas. Nothing else seemed to be happening. I was already so immense that nothing but a huge increase in my size would be noticeable. I motioned to Yuichi to open the valve a little further. My belly started to press forwards inch by erotic inch. I felt my member pulsating at the thrill, which ran through my whole body, as my girth became greater. After a while I felt my belly swelling out sideways as well as forwards. I gazed down upon the rapidly expanding shelf of my upper belly. My navel stretched further and further into the distance. The vast curvature of my belly glinted intoxicatingly in the moonlight. Soon my whole body pulsated in erotic anticipation, as my colossal paunch swelled up ever closer to my lover like some cosmically huge membrum virile about to unleash a tidal wave of man-juice. Finally, I could feel my waistband start to hug my vast circumference, as Yuichi let out the last couple of inches of it for me to fill. Its tightness felt snug and sensuous. I motioned to Yuichi that my inflation was complete. He shut of the valve, deftly removed the needle and applied the puncture patch. Chocho-san and Yuichi came to fondle the vast orb of flesh that now protruded many feet ahead of the rest of me. Whenever, I tried to walk my bloated belly would bounce up and down. As the waistband of my shorts slipped across my tight skin, it let out squeaks like sharp fingernails scraping across the surface of an overinflated balloon. I felt that if I moved too quickly or inhaled too sharply, I might exploded. That I felt myself to be in danger of bursting, only made the thrill of this moment even more electrifying.
“OK, my turn now,” murmured Chocho-san and he stood back from me, in order to give his belly plenty of room for expansion. Yukio helped him into his shorts and Yuichi held them up from behind. Yukio replace the needle and jabbed the new one into Chocho-san’s upper belly. Again I felt a thrill at the sound of escaping gas, as Yukio opened the valve. I gazed in rapture as my lover’s belly swelled up. I watched in delicious anticipation as his paunch grew wider and wider and surged ever further forwards to meet mine. Finally, his vastly inflated paunch crashed into mine. We thrust our elephantine guts into each other rhythmically. As our deep, wide navels squeezed against each other, the air was forced out of them between huge expanses of tightly pressed belly skin and erupted with the sound of a gigantic emission of flatus per anum. The sound was cacophonous but it was manly. I felt gallons of love-juice throbbing out of my shaft in an orgasm, which seemed to last for eternity. Chocho-san must have filled his shorts to bursting point, because Yukio turned off the valve of the cylinder, removed the needle and applied the puncture patch. We stood there in the night, two vast bellies pulsating against each other until we were just about ready to collapse with exhaustion. I think that this must have been the biggest orgasm in the history of the cosmos. It gave new meaning to the expression “the big bang”.
Yuichi wanted to be part of this ecstatic union of bellies and tried to thrust his little gut against our throbbing love-balls. Yuiko came to assist out little protégé. He stood behind him, unzipped his pants and massaged his shaft until his juices mingled with ours. We were, between the three of us, the biggest mass of heaving, seething belly that had ever come together in this world. Totally pumped out of love-juice, we stood pressed together in the moonlight for what seemed to be a blissful eternity. When we finally moved apart from each other, there was a river of semen left gleaming in the moonlight on the garden path.
Chocho-san and I had to deflate back to our normal size, as we could not fit into our quarters again without doing so. The three of us collapsed in a heap on our futon and did not wake until late the next morning.
We sent Yuichi home in a taxi with several bin-liners full of our outgrown clothes.
25. Our Wedding
Yuichi came to spend most weekends at the beya. He spent several week-day evenings with us as well. The ministrations of our suparikishi and of Reiko’s girls soon turned this scrawny young man with a disproportionately large belly into one of the most handsome and rotund fat men that I have ever seen. He plumped up quite nicely. His face rounded out well with a voluptuous double chin. His neck and limbs thickened up quite attractively.
In the ensuing months Chocho-san and I started to experiment a little with helium. Chocho-san wanted to try the gas, because he wanted to float. I insisted that there was no such thing as a half-ton balloon. Nevertheless, he wanted to try helium. It was much more expensive than compressed air but none of us needed to worry about the cost of anything anymore. Chocho-san swore that helium felt better than compressed air, because it was lighter. I desisted eventually from trying to persuade him that it was just his imagination, which told him that the gas felt different. I decided that, if it made him happy, it was worth the money.
Many of the suparikishi had put on considerable amounts of weight, since Tanaka-san had invented supasumo. The heaviest wrestlers quite simply got the most publicity, which made them the most popular wrestlers, which in turn made them more profitable for the beya. They also blew themselves up bigger. They blew up bigger for fun at our “blow-up” parties and at the Big Belly Club, and they spent their everyday lives blown up bigger. In the world of supasumo, size was just as important as weight and brought exactly the same rewards in terms of wealth and popularity.
We had practically forgotten about the debate going on in the Diet about same-sex marriage. The government had rejected the original bill about the subject, not because they had any ethical or religious objection to it, but because they wanted the legislation completely rewritten in a manner, which befitted their nation’s perceived status in the world. The debate had become tedious. We had more pressing concerns, such as supasumo tournaments, bulking up and our Saturday-night diversions.
One evening, we were lazily grazing on postprandial snacks in the common room and watching the late night news on TV. The newscaster suddenly announced that they were about to report live from a late-night debate in the Diet, at which the new marriage legislation was about to be presented.
“Hey, listen,” shrieked Chocho-san, “this bill could make us all fabulously rich!” The chattering and munching came to an abrupt halt.
The new bill was being presented by no less a person than the Prime Minister. His speech was long and boring. The bill was called the Rationalisation of Marriage Bill. It had been written, because Japan wanted to introduce same-sex marriage, not out of vague and foreign notions, such as equality, human rights and political correctness, but out of rationalism, sound scientific investigation and progressive technology. The Prime Minister dismissed calls for a referendum on the matter as being from “a vociferous, anti-imperialistic and anti-nationalistic minority”. He pointed out that a number of reliable polls indicated that the Japanese people were substantially in favour of the new legislation and that a referendum on the matter was, therefore, an unnecessary expense. His seemingly interminable speech ended with the words, “And it is my belief that we should pass this bill, if for no other reason, than to enable the nation’s two greatest living treasures to enjoy the union that they so much desire and deserve.” The Diet and the beya erupted into rapturous applause.
“What did that last bit mean?” Rikyu yelled, once it was obvious that the speech was finished.
“What he was trying to put delicately,” I endeavoured to explain, “is that he thinks it’s OK if the two fattest guys in the country get hitched.” We fell around in fits of uncontrollable laughter. Needless to say, the implications of this legislation for all of the suparikishi were enormous and we sat up into the small hours discussing what might happen and how we could all take the greatest economic advantage of the situation.
The next morning, we were all late to rise and we had not started training, when Tanaka-san and Nakamura-san from Gettagutsu arrived together to talk with us. We expected Tanaka-san to be furious over our lack of discipline. First of all, they called Chocho-san and me into the beya office and explained that it was their intention to approach the Prime Minister himself, in order to try to secure the first marriage licence to be granted under the new legislation for the pair of us. In return for this favour, we would be expected to sign the contracts, which would shortly be delivered by the legal firm, which they had hired. The contracts would specifically bind us by a confidentiality agreement, so that disclosures about our wedding could only be made through the legal firm. We would receive shares in both of Tanaka-san’s beya and in Gettagutsu as well as a percentage of all profit gained from the story. The other suparikishi would be required to sign confidentiality agreements and would receive similar, although substantially less, remuneration for their silence.
The four of us then went back to the common room and the deal was briefly explained to our colleagues. When the team of lawyers arrived, they explained our contracts in greater detail. They explained a little more about what they meant by confidentiality. We were allowed to talk about the wedding plans with the other supariskishi and with Reiko and her girls. Outside of this circle, total silence was de rigueur. We were then taken to the office either singly or in small groups, in order to sign our contracts.
At the following Saturday’s “blow-up” party, we had much to discuss amongst ourselves and with Reiko and her girls. The first matter to be discussed was what sort of wedding we were going to have and, inevitably, Reiko and her companions wanted it to be a Western-style wedding.
“Why do you want a Western wedding?” inquired Rikyu.
“Because their wedding dresses are so beautiful.” said Reiko, her vacant gaze betraying her fantasies of the event.
“We need to be a little more traditional,” Chocho-san grunted.
“Oh, can’t we have wedding dresses?” Natsuko pleaded. “And an exchange of vows?”
“We don’t do drag,” snapped Chocho-san.
“No, silly boy,” Reiko cajoled him. “We would wear the wedding dresses.”
“Only the bride wears a wedding dress at our weddings,” I started to explain. “And, besides, as Chocho-san has already pointed out, this needs to be a traditional Japanese occasion. As the Prime Minister said, the Rationalisation of Marriage Bill has been drafted to uphold Japanese values. He has granted us the honour of receiving the first marriage licence under the new law. So, the least that we can do is to make it a traditional Japanese wedding.”
“Oh!” lamented Reiko and Natsuko, almost in unison.
“You can wear furisode,” snapped Chocho-san.
“You should wear a furisode yourself!” retorted one of Reiko’s girls. The other girls turned their faces away from the men in embarrassment at this far from genteel remark. Chocho-san’s angry, monosyllabic reply to this comment was inaudible beneath the roaring belly laugh of the men in the room. Amongst rikishi, it is well understood, even in this day and age, that in more traditional times a man would wear a furisode only with the intention of inviting the amorous attentions of another male.
“So many furisode would be so expensive,” Reiko objected, as the laughter came to an end.
“With the money that you girls will make out of this ‘enterprise’, you’ll all be able to afford a whole wardrobe of them,” bellowed Chocho-san, still flushed with rage. “If you ask Tanaka and Nakamura nicely, I’m sure that they’ll pay for them all.” The girls seemed to be quite consoled by these thoughts.
“Shinto or Buddhism?” Reiko inquired in an attempt to move past this embarrassing situation.
“Shinto,” I said. “It’s the only native Japanese religion and it’s appropriate to the style of dress, which we seem to have agreed on.”
“But what will out two handsome grooms wear?” asked Natsuko provocatively.
“How about white shirts, ties and suits?” I suggested.
“Oh, yes,” sighed Reiko, as she caressed Chocho-san’s belly. “You will look so big and handsome.”
“And you can still exchange vows at a Shinto wedding,” suggested Natsuko. We tried out a few ideas about what Chocho-san and I would promise each other in our married life but all the suggested vows were bizarre and even ridiculous. So, we soon abandoned the idea and settled for the tradition drinking of nine cups of sake. We were so engrossed with our wedding plans that we almost forgot about the evening’s most important activities, namely eating, drinking, love-making and inflation.
Over the next two months, almost every moment of every evening and of every week-end was devoted to planning and re-planning our wedding. Planning was complicated by the fact that we could not be certain about the date on which the Diet would vote about the final draft of the Rationalisation of Marriage Bill and so had no idea of the date from which the first marriage licences for same-sex couple would apply. There was not even the most veiled hint in any of the media regarding speculation as to who the first same-sex couple to wed might be. However, it was an unspoken and unspeculated about certainty throughout the land. There was one matter, concerning which Tanaka-san left Chocho-san and me in no doubt. He wanted us both to be even bigger and heavier for his most ambitious of all “enterprises”.
One night, we the men of our beya were lying around in the common room watching a film on TV, while Reiko and her girls plied them with food and drink. The film came to a sudden halt and Mayumi appeared on the screen.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she announced in subdued and formal tones. “We interrupt the transmission of this evening’s Kurosawa film, to bring you live coverage of breaking news from the Diet. The Prime Minister is at this moment summing up this evening’s debate about the Rationalisation of Marriage Bill. In a few moments the proposed legislation will be put to the vote.”
The Diet suddenly appeared on TV and the only camera in the chamber zoomed in on the Prime Minister.
“The PM is now closing his speech about the Bill…” said Mayumi, trying to speak only as the Prime Minister paused for breath or dramatic effect. “By this, he means… that the Bill’s passage into law… was never in any doubt…”
“And, of course,” the Prime Minister explained to the Diet, “if the vote is in favour of the Rationalisation of Marriage Bill, it will include the amendment, which I proposed earlier this evening, to the effect that marriage licences may be granted to same-sex couples from the 23rd April this year, granting the right to marry to same-sex living treasures from 25th April and to other same-sex couples from 26th April this year...”
The gasps of enlightenment, which ran around the common room, showed that all those present had clearly understood that these words meant that Chocho-san and I would be the first same sex couple to get married in Japan.
Mayumi spoke over the top of the Prime Ministers words, “And there we have it… This amendment, of course, has been made, so that the first same-sex wedding in Japan will be that of Chocho-san and Kamihara…” Her voice trailed off and the camera panned across to the numerical display of the electronic voting system. We watched anxiously as the votes for the Bill rose higher and higher. The numbers finally showed, what must have been practically all members of the Diet voting for the Bill.
“And there we have it…” Mayumi continued. “The Diet has voted unanimously in favour of the Rationalisation of Marriage Bill… It will come into effect later this month… And now, we resume the evening’s schedule and return to this week’s Kurosawa Classic.”
We were all bouncing around like a boatload of beach balls. We were whooping with joy and excitement, exchanging embraces, kisses and belly-bumps. Rikyu phoned out for pizza and whisky. We were quite confident that Tanaka-san would be forgiving of a little lack of discipline after such momentous news. Reiko’s girls spent the night at the beya.
We all rose late the next day. Tanaka-san came to the beya late in the afternoon. He told us nothing that we didn’t already know. It was inevitable that all other plans and pursuits would now take second place to the final preparations for our wedding. I felt so lucky and so proud. Rich rewards were soon to be reaped by all involved in Tanaka-san’s latest and greatest “enterprise”.
As part of the preparation for our “big day” was a new training diet, Chocho-san and I reclined on our futon bigger and heavier each night than we had done the night before. It felt so electrifyingly orgasmic to press our immensely swollen bellies into each other every night.
Eventually, the day arrived. The secrecy surrounding the event was such that even Chocho-san and I had little idea about the arrangements for our own wedding. The beya was bustling with activity well before sunrise. Droves of assistants arrived to help the men of the beya and their paramours with their toiletteries and dressing. Several assistants came to help Chocho-san and me to put on our white suits, shirts and ties. The usual attire for a groom at a Shinto wedding is a plain black kimono but there is some latitude about this with traditions varying from family to family. There was, of course, no tradition to be followed for a same-sex wedding but Japan happily acquires new traditions all the time. The main reason for the attire chosen for us was that most people felt that it would show off our size and manly physiques to the greatest advantage. The other suparikishi were instructed to wear “sober colours”. White and bright colours were forbidden by Tanaka-san and Nakamura-san, as they did not want any of the men vying with Chocho-san and me for attention. Reiko-san and her girls were decked out in brightly coloured but tasteful furisode. The furisode traditionally signals that a woman is both of age and available, although none of Reiko’s girls were to remain available for much longer, as a spate of suparikishi weddings had been planned to follow ours.
Limousines arrived at the beya to transport Reiko and her maidens to our still unknown destination. Next the suparikishi were shepherded into the converted furniture-removal vans, in which they were accustomed to being transported. Finally, Chocho-san and I were loaded into the biggest van of all and were locked inside the hold of the van. After a couple of minutes, the engine of the van started up. We felt the van moving out of the beya car park and then it turned right and accelerated down the street. There was lighting in the back of the vehicle but Tanaka-san had not seen fit to have windows put into the back compartments of the vehicles that transported his wrestlers from place to place. Chocho-san and I were soon arguing about where we were and where we were heading. However, the journey was not a long one. We soon realized that our oversized vehicle was being manoeuvred into a parking space.
We heard the bolts of the back door of the van being opened and bright sunlight flooded into the vehicle. We did not recognized where we were. The sakura was in full blossom. A broad avenue was demarcated by decorative red ropes, which served the double purpose of showing Chocho-san and me where to walk and of cordoning off the huge crowd of people, who had come to witness the most celebrated wedding in Japanese history. The ropes lead up to a huge dais, upon which stood Reiko and her girls and all the men of the Shinjuku and Ginza Beya. At a small table in the centre of the dais stood the Shinto priest and the Prime Minister himself.
We were instructed to walk in a small cortège, Chocho-san and I going first, two government officials next and Tanaka-san and Nakamura-san last of all. The crowd yelled and clapped enthusiastically as we began to walk down the aisle. A band struck up Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. I had to bite my lip, in order to suppress a giggle as I recalled that as children we used to sing to this tune the words, “Here comes the bride, eighty inches wide…” The short walk started to become exhausting as our suits had obviously been tailored not so much for comfort and ease of movement but to show off bulk and belly. After all, that was what the crowd had come to see. If it weren’t for the fact that Chocho-san and I were the two biggest men, who had ever lived, none of this would have been happening.
We came to the dais and had to ascend half-a-dozen steps to mount it. We had to slow down, as the steps creaked and groaned beneath our combined weight. It looked for a moment as if the steps might collapse beneath us. As we took the final step up onto the dais, the crowd erupted into applause and started chanting our names. It now seemed obvious to me that the crowd, indeed the nation, had assembled to watch not a wedding but a spectacle of male bulk. We took our places behind the little table, on which were laid the ceremonial artefacts for the wedding ceremony. Only as we gazed around at the admiring throng did we realize that we were in Ueno Park.
The Shinto ceremony was brief and simple. The priest invited evil spirits to depart and then said prayers for “the grooms and their families.” Then came the drinking of the ceremonial cups of sake. We drank nine cups, as this was the tradition in Chocho-san’s family. The sake cup was huge and the onlookers gasped in both horror and admiration of the amount of this most traditional of liquors that our capacious stomachs could hold. The ceremony concluded with an exchange of gifts, of which we gave each other nine. Of all the gifts, which we exchanged, the two which gained the greatest attention and approval were the sumptuous, gold-embroidered, ceremonial mawashi, which were presented last of all. The crowd were impressed not only with their value and artistry but with their sheer size.
Finally, the Shinto priest called to the front of the dais one of the two government officials, who had walked down the aisle with me. We were all surprised to find out that he was not a government official at all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced the priest, “allow me to introduce Mr. Fukuyama, who is the Japanese representative and adjudicator for the Guinness Book of Records. He will measure and confirm the world records, which have been set by today’s wedding of Chocho-san and Kamihara.”
Mr. Fukuyama took a step forwards and bowed. He began to speak, “Today’s ceremony would not be complete without due note being taken of the new records, which have just been set. Prior to the ceremony, Guinness Book of Records Japan has conducted an exhaustive search of historical records and can confirm without further investigation that the following records have been set this morning. Record number one…”
The crowd started to chant and clap their hands with excitement and enthusiasm. The noise drowned out Mr. Fukuyama’s voice. He gestured to the crowd to be silent for several minutes before the noise subsided.
“Record number one,” he continued. “Chocho-san and Kamihara are the first same-sex couple to have a wedding in Japan, which is formally recognised by law. Their wedding is the first one to be solemnized under the Rationalisation of Marriage Act.” The crowd erupted again into deafening adulation.
“Record number two,” Mr. Fukuyama shouted above the din. “Chocho-san and Kamihara are the first two living treasures to be wed in Japan.” The applause of the crowd was not quite so enthusiastic about this record.
“Record number three,” Mr. Fukuyama pressed on. “Chocho-san and Kamihara are the first two rikishi, not just in Japan, but in the whole world, to ever get married.” The crowd roared with great enthusiasm than ever. Mr. Fukuyama signalled for silence with his hands.
“Record number four,” he enumerated. “Chocho-san and Kamihara are also the first two suparikishi in Japan and in the world to get married.” At this announcement the noise from the crowd became painfully loud. Mr. Fukuyama then gestured to someone to come forward and two men brought a pair of heavy-duty scales onto the dais. The put the scales down and Chocho-san was invited to step on them.
“942 pounds,” yelled Mr. Fukuyama a few moments later. The crowd was now jumping around in excitement. Choch-san stepped down from the scales and I stepped onto them.
“1547 pounds!” bellowed Mr. Fukuyama, obviously taken over by the same emotions as the adulating crowd.
As the noise abated, he shouted, “Chocho-san is the heaviest Japanese man on record, the heaviest native Japanese rikishi and the heaviest native Japanese suparikishi on record. These are new records five, six and seven.” There was an even more overwhelming noise from the crowd.
“Kamihara,” Mr. Fukuyama went on, “is the heaviest man, who has ever lived, the heaviest rikishi ever recorded and the heaviest suparikishi ever recorded. These are new records eight, nine and ten.” The noise from the crowd was unbearable. I almost wished that our moment of glory would end right now.
“Chocho-san and Kamihara’s combine weight is…” he announced, “2669 pounds. This makes them the heaviest married couple ever recorded both in Japan and in the whole world. These will be entered into the Guinness Book of Records as records eleven and twelve.”
Mr. Fukuyama gestured to someone else and two men came onto the dais with a tape measure, which, it was announced, had been custom-made for this occasion. First they fitted it around Chocho-san’s greatest circumference and Mr. Fukuyama peered at the number in evident disbelief.
“182 inches,” he eventually proclaimed. By this time the roar of the crowd was becoming tedious.
The two men then wrapped the huge tape measure around my middle. Mr. Fukuyama took even longer to read the resultant figure.
“245 inches” he screamed almost hysterically. Now, the crowd just went crazy.
After several minutes, Mr. Fukuyama said, “Chocho-san, therefore takes the records for greatest girth ever recorded for a Japanese man, greatest girth ever recorded for a native Japanese rikishi and greatest girth ever recorded for a native Japanese suparikishi. These are records thirteen, fourteen and fifteen.” The applause was becoming tiresome and painful.
“Kamihara,” Mr. Fukuyama continued, “takes the records for greatest girth ever recorded, rikishi of greatest ever girth and suparikishi of greatest ever girth. These are records sixteen, seventeen and eighteen.” The chanting and clapping of hands was now so intense that I feared that I would not come through this event with my eardrums unburst.
“And with a combined girth of 427 inches,” shrieked Mr. Fukuyama above the hellish cacophony, “Chocho-san and Kamihara take the records for married couple with the greatest combined girth ever. They take the record both for Japan and for the world. This is a new category to be listed in the Guinness Book of Records in honour of their prodigious achievements. These will be records nineteen and twenty.”
Mr. Fukuyama paused briefly before concluding, “And so, ladies and gentlemen, you have witnessed one of the most wondrous and spectacular events in human history.” He did a “big-belly” gesture. “And you have seen the creation of twenty new records, which will be published in the next edition of...”
An unbearable crescendo welled up from the crowd and drowned out his words. None of the gestures from the officials did anything to quell the swelling cacophony. As I glanced around, I saw many people covering their ears with their hands. Others were shaking their hands in an attempt to alleviate the soreness brought on by so much clapping.
After an eternity of clapping and chanting, Chocho-san and I were ushered back to our supersized van and driven away to a secret location for our honeymoon.
Needless to say, the next three weeks were a marathon session of grunting, groaning and belly-bumping, which left me in no doubt that I had chosen the perfect partner in life. After loving such a magnificent creature as Chocho-san, I could not see how any lesser mortal man could make the grade.
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