chapter 5 - sunday pt i

I woke up in my arm chair with the empty food containers piled high in front of me. It was barely light outside, and my stomach was cramping. I had really overdone it this time. I sat up and cleared off the coffee table. In the kitchen, I was reminded of the trifle and extra desserts I'd eaten by the pyrex and forks in the sink. Then, I remembered Cheyenne. I was supposed to have breakfast with her! After her potluck the day before, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be an ordinary Sunday morning get-together. My belly wasn't so rock-hard and swollen like it had been the night before. Now, it was soft and achy. I felt like I wouldn't be able to eat again for a long time. The clock on the microwave read 6:03 am. I had almost four hours before I needed to be there, maybe by then I'd have my appetite back.
After several minutes of scrolling through my phone in the bathroom, I was feeling a little better.
I hopped in the shower and took my time washing up, lathering a cloth and slowly rubbing it all over my body. When I got to my thighs and butt, I noticed how squishy they were, and felt a jiggle that I definitely hadn't ever felt before. It was undeniable that my stomach was larger, plusher. I had let myself get out of control that weekend, but I was sure I'd be able to snap back into my fit self. At least, I hadn't thought about Jordan too much. I might as well continue to let loose. The weekend was almost over and there was no sense in holding back now.
After drying off, I rolled up a thick joint and sat in my arm chair, just to be sure my stomach was completely settled down for breakfast. I turned on my television show and lit it up. In two days I had nearly finished all of the episodes posted. I would have to remember to ask for more suggestions at work on Monday.
It's easy to lose track of time getting high, but luckily when the episode of the show ended, I knew it had been an hour and it was time to get dressed.
I looked at the reflection of my naked body in the mirror in my room and convinced myself that I actually looked just as thin as I did on Friday morning. I reached for a sundress in my closet, but then thought about how tight and uncomfortable the yellow fabric had become the day before. Instead, I grabbed a loose tank top and a pair of shorts with an elastic-waist. Everything stretchy, flowy, and falling in just the right places so that it wouldn't be noticeable when I pigged out--which is what I fully intended to do.
The marijuana was making my head buzz and I almost thought that I could smell sausages and hear the sizzle of bacon coming from down the hall. It was only 9.45, but now I was hungry. I grabbed my keys and phone and walked over to Cheyenne's apartment.
She opened the door looking like a stereotypical 50s housewife. Her blonde hair was swept into an updo and wrapped with a pale blue ribbon. She wore a floral dress with short sleeves, fitted on top with a long skirt that fell from a high waist. It was partially covered by an apron the same color blue as the ribbon in her hair which read, "Baking Boss". I was immediately smacked in the face with the aromas of a homemade breakfast being cooked. My high brain hadn't misled me about the bacon and sausage, there also seemed to be fried chicken again, and waffles laid out next to rows of sliced french toast and surrounded by toppings-- fresh fruit, chocolate and caramel sauces, peanut butter and whipped cream, there was an egg frittata that was plump with mushrooms, spinach and onions. There were two bottles of champagne on the table, a pitcher of orange juice, and a pitcher of seltzer water donned with sliced citrus, with two placemats set perfectly, as if out of a Pottery Barn magazine. My jaw dropped.
"Is all of this for the two of us?" Cheyenne had an eager look in her eye as she led me to a chair. I sat down and she poured us mimosas and glasses of icy bubbling water.
"I get a little carried away sometimes when I'm cooking. I don't expect us to eat all of it!" She laughed, and sat down in her own seat, unfolding her napkin onto her lap. "Just eat whatever you want, and however much of it you want. I've been playing around with my waffle and french toast batters. There's cinnamon, pumpkin, and my take on a classic buttermilk." She pointed out each of the flavors and then began putting food on her own plate. I sipped my mimosa and watched her, realizing I hadn't noticed her eating a single time the day before. She arranged fruit and peanut butter on a slice of french toast, topped a waffle with whipped cream and caramel sauce, and was just starting to cut herself a generous slice of frittata when she noticed me staring. "Don't be shy, sweetie! Dig in!" She put the fat slice of egg on my plate instead and cut herself a new one. I took a pumpkin waffle and a slice of cinnamon french toast, drizzling chocolate and caramel sauce over each and several dollops of whipped cream.
As expected, everything tasted incredible. The frittata had a crispy and flaky, buttery crust and a rich filling, plentiful with veggies and flavor. The pumpkin in the waffle was brilliant and reminded me of cozying up in bed on a chilly Autumn morning. Each bite brought new flavors into my mouth and I began to feel overwhelmed by how good it all was.
"Holy shit, Cheyenne! You've done it again. This is unbelievable." Cheyenne was beaming at me as she cut another slice of frittata for herself. I was surprised to see that she had finished her plate, with the exception of a few stray berries.
"I'm so glad you like it. Here, take another slice of frittata." Before I could say no, she winked at me and placed another slice on my plate. It's not like I planned to hold back anyway, so I returned the wink.
"I'll take some bacon too. Can you pass the meat?" Cheyenne smiled and handed me the platter of sausages, bacon, and fried chicken. I took some of each, stacking a chicken breast atop a waffle and drowning it in buttered maple syrup. The texture of the juicy chicken and thick waffle together in my mouth made me want to scream. "Mmmmmm!" I finished my plate quickly and allowed Cheyenne to pour me another mimosa while I split the last of the frittata between us. We cheers-ed and took long, giggly swigs of our drinks before adding more meats, waffles, and french toast to our plates, loaded with fruit and jam and whipped cream.
It had been a long time since I'd hung out with a girlfriend. Jordan and I spent so much time with each other when we were together. Being with a fellow woman felt...fulfilling. Cheyenne leaned back in her chair and patted her tummy in a way that was somehow incredibly polite. "Ooh, I am full!" She giggled and then finished the last of her mimosa in one big swallow. I was getting full too, but I was nowhere near finished. I stuffed the last forkfuls of sticky bread into my mouth and washed it down with the rest of my drink, clinking the glass down in front of her.
"Pour us another?" I smiled at her playfully, and then put another waffle on her plate before stacking some more onto my own. When she stood to open the second bottle of champagne, I noticed that her belly was bloated and pushing against her dress, and I could now see the line of her underwear digging into her waist. I put a few extslices of bacon on her plate before she sat down, just to see.
We clinked together our refilled glasses and turned back to our meal. I was starting to feel lightheaded from the alcohol, and I knew I was right on the brink of that point where my whole body would go numb and I could eat into oblivion. A loud, low gurgle snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked up from my food. Cheyenne's face had flushed and she was gently pushing on her stomach. "Whoopsies, sorry. That was me. My tummy sure is talkative!" She put her fork down and neatly dabbed her mouth with a napkin. I kept eating, but noticed she was watching me as she slowly sipped from her tall glass of seltzer water with her hand gently rested on her belly. I couldn't see it under the dress, but I could tell she was uncomfortable by how she continuously slipped her finger under the waist band of her panties, moving it away from pressing against her skin. "Um, I'll be right back." Cheyenne stood and quickly left the room. I took the last of the sausage, another waffle, and refilled both of our mimosa glasses. When she returned, she looked much more comfortable. I noticed that she didn't move to adjust her panties again, and assumed she must have taken them off.
"We ate a lot more of this than I expected. Are you still hungry, sweetie?" She looked at me innocently, as if she couldn't possibly know the answer to that question, so I decided to play along,
"I'm starving." To my surprise, as if right on queue, a kitchen timer went off in the other room.
"Oh! I forgot I had more food in the oven!" Cheyenne chuckled, "I guess it's good you're still hungry then." She turned on her heels and went into the other room. I was still hungry, but not in the way that she thought I meant.
In the physical sense, I was far from hungry. The elastic band from my shorts was digging into my skin and my stomach managed to make itself known in spite of my loose tank top, bloating out into a little ball that just barely protruded onto my lap. I was completely stuffed, but I couldn't feel it. I just needed to keep eating, and I was enjoying watching Cheyenne eat with me.
She came back into the room carrying a tray of potatoes in one hand and a tray of pastries in the other.
"Remember that year I spent in Paris?" She excitedly placed a warm, steaming croissant on my plate. "Eat."
I lifted the hot, buttery pasty up to my mouth and bit. It was the best croissant I'd ever tasted. "Oh, my god Cheyenne! We can never do this again, I will become obese!" Cheyenne laughed and patted my belly.
"Oh hush, one weekend of letting go won't hurt you." She winked at me and sat back down in her own chair, lifting a fork to the food in front of her.