I think I discovered why it's called a belly 'button'.
I've been chilling for a bit. Busy, but not in a 'stress-y—get it done' kinda way. Haven't been eating much, and 'cuz of that, my tum has been neutral, decent. I also haven't had much time to kink or play with my stomach 'cuz by the time I'm in bed, I've been too tired to do any of that, and when I wake up. I'm usually going somewhere. This was probably the longest stretch of time where my tum wasn't upset.
I finally found a few minutes to play with my tummy for a bit. Went to grab something to maybe probe around my navel. All I could grab was a ballpoint pen. I usually avoid pens, because they're too thick to do much. I've got one of those very puckered navels, so there isn't much space to draw circles or anything, It was all I had so I decided to at least try it.
It was a clicker pen. Something with a blunt/fat tip. I usually prefer fine-tip...but I think this was one of those throw away consolation things—it was a dollar store click pen, 0.9mm or something...so not something I'd ever buy for myself or write with,
I pushed the non-clicked pen deep, and then hit the clicker to have the pen nib jab further.
I saw stars. I guess I found the knot in my navel or something, and having the pen already jabbing into it, followed by the extra intrusion of the pen nib made me see stars.
Unfortunately, it didn't last long. I poked around in my navel for a while, aiming the nib at different things before clicking the pen. Guess I disturbed something and triggered the 'button' thing of my belly 'button' because I ended up dashing to the washroom with an achy, upset tummy.
My stomach has felt unsettled ever since, and anything I consume is going straight through me without really digesting much, so I guess my belly 'button' is also known as the “flush system” button or something.
My guts have been quivering ever since. Like, it feels like my intestines have been spasming and 'shivering' ever since I jabbed that deepest, most sensitive little part of my navel with the pen. I really want to do it again, but I'm also low-key terrified it'll upset my tummy even worse. Thoughts? What would you do?
‘I come home from working the night shift to see you lying in bed while rubbing your stomach. “Is your stomach upset?” I ask trying to look sympathetic. I feel bad that you're stomach is upset but I love seeing you like this, your shirt ridding up your taut belly while you moan in discomfort. I rub your belly gently and soothingly at first, but gradually start applying more pressure. Your stomach gurgles loudly as my hands continue prodding it.’
My stomach has been constantly gurgling and rumbling literally non-stop all day. Eggs were on sale where I was, so I had a lot of eggs. Trying to figure out what I can cook with them, as well as what I can pack for breakfast and lunches resulted in me scouring the internet.
Frittatas? Egg bites? Egg muffins? Whatever you call 'em, I made a bunch of those. They were delicious, but here's my problem: I normally do not eat much protein. My poor tummy was not expecting so much protein. It received the egg muffins and just sorta churned it up like “what do?” and I guess my intestines thought the same thing. It wasn't prepared to digest all that protein. I only had two for breakfast, and I could feel them sitting heavy in my intestines and bloating up my stomach the whole day. Filling, at least I wasn't hungry...but my guts were gurgling and growling because all that egg wasn't going quietly.
I had a latte from the campus coffee house. I know, what was I thinking, ordering a latte when I'm stressed to the nines over the semester, right? But well, I've drank so much bitter coffee in the last month that the thought of ordering a mocha, or an espresso, or even regular coffee makes me want to throw up. 100%, flavour fatigue for the flavor of coffee. So I started ordering matcha lattes and dumping ridiculous amounts of honey into it—because warm, honeyed milk is delightful...if your stomach can handle dairy.
Protein + dairy...two things already picking a fight with my guts and generating lots of gas and lots of gurgles.
Then comes lunchtime. I had 50 minutes between classes, and wasn't feeling all that hungry, but our next class was a 4 hour lab...so...if I didn't eat between classes, it'd be a good 5, almost 6 hours before I'd be able to get any food in my tummy, and I didn't want to get hungry in the middle of the lab. So I bought lunch, which also came with a lovely bottle of Coca-Cola—my favorite.
So, heading into the 4 hour lab class, we've got protein, dairy, and carbonation absolutely wrecking my guts. So many gurgles. I was so embarrassed.
We get a break partway through the lab class, and I ended up literally running to the washroom and desperately trying to pass the mess in my guts. I only got a little out before I had to wrap up and return to class, the pressure only having gone down slightly, but my guts still being ridiculously noisy because it's not done yet and has decided nothing is going to be digested. We usually get two or three 10 min breaks in our lab class. We had two today and I spent both desperately trying to reduce the upset in my guts.
After classes, I stayed on-campus for another 4 hours to try to get some homework done. My guts were rumbling and gurgling the whole time. I felt like I had a Jacuzzi in my guts. I ended up using the washroom literally three times in those four hours, stomach desperately trying to eliminate the protein it wasn't ready for, and all that carbonation and dairy—all the undigestibles.
I ended up leaving campus, barely having done any homework. My stomach and other things are achingly sore. My stomach's still ridiculously unsettled. It's still gurgling loudly. My intestines are in knots, refusing to digest the mess. I've used the washroom literally twice since leaving campus, and my guts still feel ridiculously unsettled. It's like my intestines are 'shivering'--they're shaking, churning, twitching, and full of a ridiculous amount of rumbles.
Since coming back home, I no longer have to be worried about making noises or being gross in public. Shucking off my jeans was a relief, but the freedom from the confines of my waistband and belt have just set my intestines off and the rumbles literally make me feel like I'm riding a galloping horse or something. Since I'm no longer in public, I'm hyper-aware of the gas pains and pressure in my stomach, and I've been belching unintentionally as my body relaxes and lets it escape. I guess I'm too proud or shy to burp in public. Damn, the pressure in my tum is really uncomfortable.
I want to concentrate on homework, but my guts are too distracting. All the spasming, all the loud gurgling, the pressure. I desperately need someone to deal with my guts. My own rubs aren't settling anything. I need both hands to work on assignments, but my stomach refuses to settle. Well then, what would you do if you had this in front of you?
Today was pretty hectic. I spent the day running errands. Got home late, was hungry, and was too exhausted to cook. I made some homemade pickles with some extra cucumbers I had in the fridge. Asian-style quick-pickling with rice-wine vinegar, sugar, soy sauce, and sesame oil. I overshot a bit with the vinegar, so the pickles were a bit too sour for my liking, but it was intended to just use up leftover cucumber, so I didn't care too much. Too lazy to bother with cooking a proper dinner, I ate a small side-dish of these pickles, and then remembered partway through that I still had a full thermos with a latte in it. I'd bought it hours earlier, but it was too hot to drink at the time. Knowing that I wanted to be up late to work on assignments, I decided to drink the latte at that point. Latte—mostly milk...joined the acidic pickle mix in my tummy.
The pickles went down about 4 hours ago, and I only just finished the latte 2 hours ago. My stomach has been rumbling intensely for the last 3 hours. It's ridiculously loud. I could hear them loud and clear as-is, but I decided to try putting my stethoscope on it, to see if I could reach a new depth of sound or something. What I got was sore ears. The rumbles were so ridiculously loud over the stethoscope.
The thing about the rumbles is that they are hefty. I can feel the rumbling quaking in my intestines when the sound hits. Literally, my guts feel like jelly, shaking and rumbling as whatever's going on ripples through my guts.
Despite the deep, drawn out rumbles, nothing hurts, and there's zero bathroom urgency. Zero gas from either end either, so it's just loud for the sake of being loud right now?
I'm pretty sure my stomach has never been this audible, or this loud...ever. The noises are embarrassingly loud, and every growl/gurgle lasts at least 2 or 3 seconds...doesn't sound impressive, when put like that, but actually try timing a 2-3 second constant rumble. Anyone in the same room will have zero trouble hearing my stomach growling and rumbling. And the sounds legit sound beyond unsettled. If I heard these noises from someone else, 100% would believe that the person is undergoing the stomach ache to end all stomach aches...but...at least for now, nothing's super painful. There's some slight discomfort, and I'm fairly certain that I'm in for a nasty ache within a few hours...but for now, just ridiculously loud growls and grumbles.
Gonna have to document this...pickles/pickle brine and latte for deafening growls.
I got off a late shift and got “home” close to 11PM. Took a shower, and threw a bunch of veggies from the fridge into a large pot for some ramen. Asian greens, frozen veggie medley, some fishball and frozen tofu, all into the pot with the seasoning packet. When things came up to a boil, I tossed the noodles in. Once it was ready, I began eating. Settling down for dinner at midnight. Cool.
Starting to wonder if my stomach has an 'Hours of Operation' or something. It definitely isn't midnight.
I was sitting at the table, doing my homework, and eating my dinner. I got about halfway through the pot before my stomach started to feel uncomfortable. Odd, because it wasn't a large pot or anything, I've eaten that amount before. Deciding that a change in position was in order, I set the ramen aside, thinking I'd give myself a bit of a break to digest some and then finish it in a moment. I took my laptop to my bedroom, intending on lounging around on my bed while I continued to plug away at homework assignments.
The second I sat down on the bed, 'uncomfortable' turned into full-blown “packed completely full—no room, no give! Gonna bust!” I guess the bed is more plush than the kitchen chair, so maybe my digestive organs were more compressed with me sitting in the bed than in a chair?
The change was like flipping a switch. I legit felt stuffed and very, very, very sick. Tears came quickly because my stomach felt ridiculously stretched, achy, and sick.
I ended up dumping what was left of my dinner, knowing that there was zero way it'd fit in my tummy.
I spent more time doing homework and eventually fell asleep on my computer. In bed, at least.
I woke up 7 hours later, and my stomach still felt full, achy, distended—like nothing had happened in those 7 hours. So I guess hours of operation don't include 1AM-8AM. I thought that maybe getting some pressure on my tummy would be good, so I lay face down on the bed, covers bunched up under me to provide constant pressure on my tummy.
Big mistake. Stuff kept trying to come up. I swallowed it back, every time...but yeah, pressure on my tummy was gonna result in a big mess.
I didn't end up making a mess. I just lay there, needing that pressure on my achy tum, but also sitting up every 3 minutes to swallow back whatever was trying to come up.
I don't know why I was so ridiculously stuffed. I didn't prepare any more food than what I normally eat, and I was plenty hungry after working all day. My poor stomach just refused to move anything along, I guess.
What would you do? Say I've eaten myself into a tummy ache and you literally have the power to make me puke in the palm of your hand. A firm press, deep kneading or rubbing, a harsh slap, or some intense jostling; pretty sure my navel would have 100% been a vomit-dispense button. My achingly distended tummy is there before you, and I'm moaning, tears streaming down my cheeks 'cuz it hurts so bad. What do you do?
Ok this is a response to the prompt you just posted. I am about to be very mean to your tummy so first let me say I hope you feel better soon. This sounds like the absolute perfect situation for pyloric valve abuse. Like your poor tummy is packed to its limits and everything feels stuck? Well let's force it further down. Even if that means I have to flood your stomach with warm water or tea first to make it happen. Bringing you cup after cup as you groan that your to full for more. Making you stand up so I can see how distended and full your belly is as you whine. Coming up from behind and placing my hands on your tummy gently before squeezing and rubbing the taut surface trying to force everything inside further down. Screaming that your gonna blow if I don't stop before finally your tummy groans and everything rushes into your intestines. You bulging upper tummy slowly going down as your lower belly distends further and further. Finally when you think you have gotten a break and can try and recover you see the huge meal waiting for you in the kitchen. Now that you've finally made some room let's eat i say. Grinning mischievously...
Response to “Sick and stuffed”...I think? I've posted quite a bit since then, so “response to the prompt you just posted” doesn't really help.
The PVA is back, I see ^^ Fun.
“Ugh...oww...oof...” The apartment is filled with groans and moans as you come home—your favorite noise in the world.
The noises are coming from the bedroom. Both of us have a habit of being quiet—like, I refuse to have a door-slammer or cupboard smacker as a roommate, a partner would have to learn to close cupboards quietly and to guide doors shut, including depressing the latch to ensure a silent close. Door slamming is reserved only for venting of frustrations, or a sign of being in a rush.
Due to this habit, you know that I haven't clued in that you're home...yet. It's a little game we like to play, to see how far into the apartment or how far into an activity we can get before the other realizes we're home. I tend to gravitate toward doing dishes with just a slow stream of water, waiting to see how many items I can lather up and rinse off before you realize that I am in the kitchen. It's fun, like playing some sort of spy game with each other every day. We don't do it to jumpscare each other, we just live our lives trying to be quiet, so that we can see that little jolt of surprise, and the smile when the other finds us at home.
I'm normally very shy about the state of my tummy. Yes, despite our shared interest, I actually get ridiculously embarrassed and blush-y when I've got tummy issues. I usually clam up and am pretty quiet about them, even if it is just us. The only times I'm vocal about it are when I feel badly enough to pretty much beg for rubs. The only time I'll openly acknowledge that I've got issues is pretty much when we're alone, and when I'm literally grabbing your hand to place it on my tummy. If we're out in public, even if it's just us in the car...you've had to learn to spot my tells. If I'm giving curt responses, distracted, or seemingly in a hurry to get back home, get back into the apartment, etc. It likely means that my stomach is screaming at me for something and I wanna take care of it discreetly—at home. Even after all this time together, and knowing that you see it as a spot of fun, not judgment—I'm still excessively shy about the state of my stomach. You see it as a challenge, and a rare treat. When I let you clue in that my stomach hurts, it's a rare treat for you. Or when you guess correctly why I'm urgently trying to rush into the apartment rather than vibe with you in the car, over the song we both like coming on the radio after a date or something. It's rare that I let my mask slip, so what you're hearing right now is a rare treat that immediately does things to you. Due to that, you decide to observe, to enjoy it for a bit. The only reason I'd be moaning and groaning so openly is because I think I'm alone in the apartment.
You peer into the bedroom, door only open by a few inches. That isn't like me. I'm the type that either has the door fully open, when I am not in the room, or shut completely if I am occupying the space. The fact that it is ajar means that I likely had something on my mind when I breezed by the door to go into the master suite. Tum issues, you hope. And the groans and moans coming from the room would back that up.
I'm pacing in the room, cradling my belly. You stand there, transfixed, for about twenty minutes. In that twenty, you watch me pacing the room, rubbing my tummy over my shirt, which is fitting snugly around my stomach. You watch me pause in the pacing, clutch my tummy, curse, continue pacing, sit in the armchair, groan, shift in the chair—try out every position with my legs dangling from either armrest and even at the head of the armchair at one point. All of this sountracked by groans, moans, and curses. Clearly, my stomach is frustrating me. You even see me curl a fist and pound it against my belly, clearly frustrated with it.
I try lying down and you're greeted to a view of me laying flat, rubbing my belly, turning to either side at any point, and even on my front, shoving my pillow from my head to my stomach. The face-down position doesn't last long, only about two seconds before I sit up again with a wince.
The curses aren't the only coherent words leaving my lips. Broken phrases, “ugh...digest already”, or “ooof...so full...ugh...it hurts!” uttered in a whine.
You spy the can of Chicken Noodle on the counter and piece together what must have happened. I've had a nasty cold for a fortnight. Every night and every morning, you can hear me in the washroom, hacking up a lung and desperately trying to expel the mucus clogging up my system. You've been waiting for this, waiting for the moment when the mucus gums up my tummy too much. Tonight's the night, apparently.
Sneaking over to the kitchen, you set the kettle to boil, reaching up to the cupboard to hunt for the biggest mug we own. The groans from the bedroom cease.
“Hn? Babe? H-How long have...uhm...how long have you been home?” I ask, blushing.
I exit the bedroom, padding over to the kitchen inquisitively.
I frown, seeing the large mug on the counter, and the rumbling kettle.
“A while.” You answer, gliding over to give me a hug. It's really just a ploy to get your hands on my belly though, the bloated thing is between us, firm and distended. You squeeze at it.
“Ugh—D-Don't.” I hiss, stepping back from your touch. “I...It's really stuffed up in there.” I warn.
“Stuffed up? Sweetheart, it's not a nose.” You tease. I glare at you.
“I stand by my phrasing. What else do you call it when it's plugged up with mucus that won't come out—and what should be going through doesn't have any room to actually go through?” I snap.
You ignore me, grinning as you roll up the hem of my shirt to reveal the bloated dome of my tummy. Your face lights up like a kid at Christmas unwrapping a beloved toy.
My guts rumble deeply, but not audibly. Clearly, there's a lot of mucus-y content plugging up my intestines. Higher up, a watery rumble is barely audible as you knead, sloshing my tummy around and gauging what's going on with your palms.
I tremble under your actions, my guts aching up a storm. I'm bloated. I'm stuffed up. And I can't burp, puke, or digest. Everything's just stuck in the worst way.
“'m not drinkin' that.” I mutter. “N-No room. Soup's sittin' here.” I pat at my neck. “Anythin' I try ta swallow won't go down.” I state firmly.
You knead your thumbs into my belly, looking for the pyloric valve, or the nerve—something to try and get anything to move.
“Mn? We'll see about that.” You tease with a grin.
The next couple of hours pass by in a blur for me. It's just constant moans, pressure against my tum coming in waves. Countless mugs of hot tea being pressed to my lips. The uncomfortable feeling of the collar of my shirt getting wet. Drink it, or wear it—clearly, you aren't giving me any other options.
You're having fun in those hours. You knead into my tummy, treating it like your own personal stress ball. You dig deep into it at times, rub a bit too lightly during other times. Jabbing, pressing, pushing, kneading—trying to turn my unyielding guts into malleable clay contained by flesh and sinew.
Hours pass. Two? Four? I don't know anymore. You've managed to knead my guts into something. My stomach is still sickeningly waterlogged, but no longer by the soup—tea, not soup. The soup is lower down, being forced to incorporate with thick mucus, the phlegm that I couldn't cough up and refused to break down in my stomach acid. The mucus that had been clogging up my guts like cooled grease in a sink drain.
The ache in my intestines makes me see white. They were already bloated up with all that mucus, feeling like a well-stuffed sausage casing. Your relentless abuse of my tummy, stimulating the pyloric valve, nerves, and constant prodding and pinching of sphincters forced the soup into my intestines, further inflating them. The broth and the mucus don't want to mix together, but you've managed quite a bit by prodding around in my tum as though you're trying to turn it into soft, pliable clay or something.
“Ugh...oooh...ow!” I've been a mess of groans, whines, whimpers, moans, and other noises of pain for all these hours.
“Ouch! B-Babe...ooh...n-not there! Owww! Ugh...i-it'll burst...please! I-I'm not exaggerating! I-It's so...ugh...s-so stretched! Please!” My pleas are more intense now as you press your fingers into achy lengths of over-stuffed intestine. I am legit terrified that there may be a rupture, in my intestines this time, rather than my stomach-organ.
The doorbell rings. I flinch at the noise even as you grin.
“Mn. Pizza's here.” You say with a grin, getting up, pushing yourself up via planting your palm dead-centre on my stomach. The pressure as you use my tum to push off makes me see white.
“Ugh—Pizza? Babe—No!” I protest, screaming at your back as you leave the room to go fetch the pizza you ordered.
You don't eat pizza. I can't remember if it's a gluten thing with the bread/crust, something with cheese, not liking marinara, or just hating how the crust cuts up your mouth whenever you go for a bite. You don't like pizza—so if you ordered it...
My stomach gurgles—a sick noise, a whine. I realizes that it is in for hell.
