chapter 3 --- after you didn't seem to mind

After you didn't seem to mind the display I made of myself on our first date, it was easy to keep talking over text, like we'd known each other for years instead of a few days. As a little joke, we'd send each other pictures of our meals. I couldn't bear to break the tradition, so I'd find myself on the hunt for a pizza or sandwich at a moments notice, anything to keep the chat alive.

We met for drinks or dinner one or two more times, before you invited me over to spend the weekend. "We're always going places," you said. "But you've never had my cooking... it's a huge part of my life, and I want to share it with you." I had been admiring your home-cooked meals from afar as you texted me: souffles; French onion soup with thick, melted cheese; buttered biscuits with gravy; waffles with strawberries and cream. "I'd love that!" I said, "Should I bring any of my recipes?" "Oh, no," you replied. "I wouldn't want you to spoil your appetite."

That first night. After a full-course meal, you slipped your hand into mine. It was hard to concentrate, but I managed to get out, hiccuping, "That... was... amazing." You giggled, with a knowing look. "Well, let's get you out of those clothes, they don't suit you at all, anymore." You stood and pulled me up with you. You winked and lazily smacked my ass, "Go on, the bedroom's down there." I rolled myself down the hallway, one hand on the wall as you watched, and flopped onto your bed. Groaning, I shifted the weight of my new food-baby and tried to turn to face the door. I winced as my shirt road up--I tried to pull it back down, but suddenly you were there, leaning over, touching your lips to my bare skin. With one hand you undid the buttons of your dress, as you climbed over me and straddled my chest. Looking down on me, you rubbed your thumb against my bottom lip--"Are you still hungry?" you asked.

* * *

I woke to the smell of eggs cooking. You'd made an omelette, cheese and mushrooms, and laid it next to me on a tray. I was starving. The wafting smell of melted cheese practically dragged me towards the plate. I pawed at the fork, I couldn't eat fast enough. You watched, with that same half-smile. Suddenly, I realized how I must look--

"Oh no, you don't have to worry about disgusting me. I can tell you're still hungry. In fact, there's still more. I'd be insulted if you let it go to waste." I sputtered something, but the long meal and food made me slow to respond: before I could say anything you'd brought the quiche pan back to the table and set it in front if me. There was still over half left, and you just sat there looking expectantly at me.

You were silent, uncomfortably so, and your quiche was the only possible distraction. My stomach grumbled at the smell of baked crust. All you had to do was give me a look and I reached for my fork. I slowly, methodically ate forkful after forkful of egg and spinach while you watched, and when I scraped the plate clean and shoved the last flakes of buttered crust in my mouth, you grinned like the cat that ate the canary. "That wasn't so bad now, was it? And you saved that quiche from the trash," you said. You laid a hand on my leg and brush a trace of pastry and drool from the corner of my mouth. "It was even noble of you to find it a home." You lightly patted the inside of my thigh, and I blushed. I could feel myself pressing against the confines of my underwear and I became even more aware of the sensation as you ran a finger along the inside of waistband. I shivered at the cold touch of your hands and you let go with a snap.

"Just what I thought, all those other snacks you've been grazing on have found a home as well." "What?" "Don't be cute," you said. "You know exactly what I mean," and you moved your hand down to cup and hold the gentle weight of my gut. "Your new habits have left their mark." I opened my mouth in shock, was about to say something to defend myself--"Not that I mind, I'm happy to finally see a glimpse of the true you." I stammered, "I don't think that..." "Oh, I know. I've seen the way you look around food. I remember you hovering around the snacks at that party. The sharp gleam of your hunger giving way to those dull, glazed eyes--I like it." You emphasized your point by leaning closer and rubbing my swollen belly. "Don't you?" I nodded as my mind drifted and I felt myself inevitably ease, molded as you wanted me: sated and soothed. The weight of the food and the motion of your hands soon had my eyelids sinking. I didn't resist the sensation.

"That's right, just drift off. And don't worry about the food. I'll take care of that." I smiled, and even as the warmth of my sated stomach lulled me to sleep, I felt the smallest pang of hunger, again.