chapter 1 - we

We've been living together for months, but it's only after our last conversation that I now feel like I need a place reflect, to keep track. I'm sitting alone, weighed down by dinner; from here, I can hear you whipping something up in the kitchen. I want to write everything down while I still have a clear thought.

* * *

We were lying in bed, cuddling, one evening when I realized I was hungry. I slid out of bed and stood up.
"I'll be right back, I'm gonna get a snack."
"Oh--let me do it for you." I blinked. In that instant you were out of the bedroom and back with a plate. It was like you had been waiting for that moment.
But all thought flew out of my head when I saw the plate of fresh baked cookies you were holding up.
"How... when did you even have time?" You laughed.
"I have my ways."
I let the wafted smell of chocolate and butter fill my nose as it crowded out any desires except for consumption. I grew limp and unthinkingly leaned forward; my head pressed against your toned stomach. You entwined your fingers through my hair, holding me a foot above the proffered plate.
"Go ahead."
"Are... are you sure?"
"Oh course, dear."
With a shaking hand, I reached out and tried a first cookie. The nearly-melted milk chocolate oozed and slick butter quickly coated my lips. I nearly choked on how rich it was, only to feel your hand move down to massage my throat.
"There, there, there's no rush."
The cookie sat inside me, a solid lump, a swollen weight. I licked my lips and greedily reached for another. That one didn't last as long. While I lifted the next to my mouth, your hand lifted from my neck and I heard the soft clink of the plate being set down next to me. I looked up and watched as you got up, walked to our bedroom door, turned the lock (when did we have a lock?), and pocketed a key. You looked my still-slim body up and down and smiled.

With a skip and a jump, you were on the bed. Your hand found its accustomed place at the nape of my neck. I would have protested, as you reached for another butter-dripping cookie, but I couldn't--my stomach growled for, demanded, more. Euphoria washed over me as each packet of calories slid past my lips to join the pile at the bottom of my straining, greedy belly. You, on the other hand, were determined, but concerned; you never went top fast, but you also never stopped, until the once-heaping plate was empty. You filled me, methodically and with great care, until I couldn't move without a groan, until your fingers drummed against my taut stomach, until I was captive to my own gravity, my belly pressing against the bed. Dazed and panting, I looked up at you. My stomach groaned with protest as it tried to digest its newfound bounty.