Making room for more dessert

Yesterday evening my wife made me an amazing dinner. She started me off with a bunch of focaccia and olive oil. Then she served me two big plates of spaghetti bolognese. And as part of the main course she also provided a tray of assorted meats and cheeses—and I ate a ton of that.

I was so stuffed that I leaned back at our table and put a hand on my bloated belly, tapped it, and told her she’d filled me up well. She then smiled and said: “you’re not done yet.” And then she brought me out a fresh baked apple pie. I told her I didn’t know if I could eat a piece as I was so full.

She then looked at me and said, “unbutton and unzip your pants and make room.” I did as I was told and she brought me a large slice with three scoops of vanilla ice cream. As I continued to stuff the pie and ice cream into my mouth, I let my hand hold the side of my sagging gut. I pulled myself up to the edge of the chair to let my belly drop and hang. I felt huge and knew I was eating my way toward being more fat. My wife smiled at me as I finished the last bite.

I moved into the living room to digest a bit. Unbuttoned my work shirt, kept my pants unbuttoned and just let me belly hang free. As I was watching Netflix, my wife came in and stared at me from the door. She then said, “I never imagined that you would be this fat.” (I’d gained about 70 lbs since our marriage two years ago).

When she came down to sit next to me, she brought me a beer. I cuddled her close. I drank the booze. And she kept one hand on my belly, rubbing it as we watch tv together.