SUSIE'S STORY

She works in a restaurtant attached to a roadhouse bar, with an open archway in the wall between them. I come in, and I'm captivated at once by her. She flaunts her bare belly at me, and I'm helpless. Her body owns my lust.

I flirt with her a bit, and to my surprise she flirts back. Finally I blurt out, only half-jokingly, "what does a man have to do to kiss that belly-button?"

And she starts teasing me about a special promotion they have at the restaurant, where if you can eat their largest sandwich, which is meant to feed 4 people, you get to be a "Super Belly." If I can be a "Super Belly," she says, I can kiss her navel. And she strokes my pot belly and says, "You sure look like a 'Super Belly' to me!"

How could I resist. This was the chance of a lifetime for a poor, pot-bellied nerdboy like me. I ordered it, she brought it, and -- with her belly-button in my sight the whole times -- I ate it. She watched every bite. And when I finished she cheered, whooped, and announced to the whole place that I was their first-ever 'Super Belly,' having completed the challenge.

Then she pulled out a little blue cloth, and she laughed and said, "Unfortunately, due to a shipping mix-up, we only have your 'Super Belly' championship top in a women's cut and a size S." The patrons laughed. She pulled my shirt off over my head as I protested and tried in vain to suck in my embarrassing belly, but that only made me feel more pathetic.

She wrestled the blue spandex top over my head and put my arms through it. It was a long-sleeved Superman top, but in place of the big letter "S" were the words "Super Belly" in the same colors. I looked down at it and saw how, in a fit woman, it might have stretched to her navel, but it was tight on me and the curve of my pot belly pushed it up in a bunch right to my chest. My whole belly was bare, down to my too-tight jeans.

I played along and pretended to smile while she showed me off to the whole place, stroking my soft belly and poking my belly-button with her sharp-nailed finger. Finally the people went back to their dinners.

"So how about that belly-button kiss?" I asked her quietly. "I passed the test."

"You passed part one," she smiled, rubbing her belly up against mine.

"What's part two," I said, swallowing hard.

"In the next room," she said, with her warm hand laid lovingly on the top of my belly, at just the spot where a man would thud his punch into you to make you drop breathless to your knees. "In the roadhouse. It's 'Fight Night' in there. They have the fight ring set up. Any man who steps into that ring is fair game to be challenged to a fistfight by any other man in the place. You're going to go in there, dressed like that, and stay in there till I tell you you can come out. I'll be mingling among the boys, dropping hints and making suggestions."

"Yes."