Chapter 1: Sunday

My body feels sore, but light as I hold the glass door open for Amanda while she follows me out of the studio. We're giving rave reviews of our new pilates instructor when I feel my phone vibrate in my bag. It's a text from Mark.

"Hey I better get home. Mark is texting me." We go in for a one-armed hug and Amanda says, "It was so good catching up! Next time, smoothies after!" I laugh and nod. We part ways and walk to our cars.

"You're probably at class, but I added my stuff to the grocery order. Would you mind picking up on your way home? Thx!"

Phew, I was afraid I was going to have to remind him again. Keeping a man fed while working from home was harder than it sounded. He'd been eating so much lately that I couldn't seem to keep stocked enough to avoid the store every other day. I'd put in supplies for grilling tonight and groceries for a few meals this week, but he'd agreed to help keep the list up to date because I often wasn't aware of what we were out of.
...

I parked in the pick up spot in the grocery lot and keyed the spot number into my app to let them know I'd arrived. A pimply young guy dejectedly wheeled a shopping cart full to the brim with bags to the backside of my car. I called, "Thank youuuu," after he loaded my trunk, hand on my keys, ready to start my engine. He replied, "You have another cart, ma'am. Wait a sec." He ambled back to the store entrance and plodded along with another full cart, flat of sodas included on the bottom. I never buy soda, especially not full-sugar Coca Cola.

Ugh. I groan to myself. Maybe this solution had been a mistake. Mark eats like a freaking thirteen-year-old boy sometimes.

...

I hobble in the door, arms barely keeping the 5 bags of groceries up as I slam the front door with my foot. "Markkkk! Help me with these groceries!"

I hear him in the den grunting to fold down his old recliner before the long squeak of its hinges. He walks into the kitchen with a big yawn and mussed hair, beaming at me as if we hadn't seen each other just that morning. He's wearing nothing but tight boxers so I throw him a pair of shorts off the pile of clean laundry waiting on the dining table for me to fold. He puts his hand on the counter to steady himself as he puts a leg in, then the other. He pulls them over his round bottom, puffs out his chest, and sucks in his soft gut before trying to button them.

God, he's really getting fat, isn't he? He's always been a bit chubby, getting bigger sometimes and then losing a few pounds with a diet or gym membership, but he actually looks fully fat now. We haven't really been talking about it with everything going on lately, but he can barely button those khakis he got last September for his birthday. Can he even button them at all? Oh god.

He exhales and his belly falls forward, giving a little bounce as he relaxes his shoulders. He clears his throat and sucks in again, acting quicker now to pull the button towards its hole and barely succeeding. He doesn't bother to zip the fly before giving me a smile and walking out the door.

As he opens the door, I catch a side view of him and my jaw must have hit the floor. Big, red stripes creep up the side of his bulging love handle over the tight waistband of those khakis. Are those stretchmarks? Jesus, he's really been pigging out. I need to do something about this. I hurry over to the window to stare at him as he shuts the trunk and brings huge armfuls of groceries in with him.

"I figured I'd grab the soda later," he grunts out as he sets the groceries down on the counter. I nod at him, still a little shocked for words. "Thanks, babe." he says sweetly as he pulls me close and kisses the top of my head, his soft chest pressing against my cheek. How could I be mad at him? He's under a lot of stress after all and he still finds the time to say and do sweet things for me almost every day. Just yesterday, he'd brought me flowers home from his 7-11 run.

"Well I'm gonna get back to my games if that's ok with you." I say of course and smile warmly. He promptly grabs a pint of ice cream out of one of the grocery bags, a spoon from the drawer, and unbuttons his shorts with a big sigh. I must have been looking at him with eyes wide because he chuckled and said, "It's 5 o'clock somewhere, babe" on his way back to the den.

...

I get to work on the marinade for the steaks for grilling later and get busy with folding the laundry and a few other chores. All the while, I can hear the sounds of football and little cheers or groans at pivotal moments, some sounding a little muffled from a full mouth. Eventually, the cheers stop and I start to hear heavy breathing, and then full-on snores as loud as a buzzsaw. I chuckle to myself and figure I should go check out the scene, maybe record a video to laugh about later with him.

I gasp when I see him there in the recliner. It looked like he'd taken off the shorts before he even sat down. He was fast asleep, mouth open, sticky dried ice cream coating the edges of his mustache and beard. He looked sort of greasy, like there were streaks of oil up and down the sides of his belly, where his greasy hands were both resting, like they where about to lift up this great balloon of fat. The pint of ice cream was sitting empty on the side table, but there was so much other trash around it was almost not noticeable. Two bags of McDonald's wrappers sat on the floor next to his chair. When in God's name had he gone to McDonald's?? We had oatmeal and fruit ready here for breakfast.

A family sized bag of Lays chips was almost empty wedged in the chair next to his belly and there were 3 empty Budweisers, a few poptart wrappers, and a box of Cheez its on the other side table. He'd literally pulled the second side table from the other side of the room to fit more food around him.

He looked positively disgusting... like he had absolutely no self control. Ugh, his belly looked like you could pop it if you pushed on it too hard. I can't believe I'm married to this pig. I've got to put him on a diet. He's getting so fat he's not going to fit into any of his clothes soon. I doubt he can even get his football jersey on. He usually wears it on Sundays, but he's just laying here with nothing on because he's probably too freaking fat to get into anything anymore.

He interrupted my ruminating with a loud snort, didn't wake up, but let out a loud belch, and started snoring again. Positively disgusting.

...

I didn't wake him, but I couldn't bring myself to go in there and clean up all of his trash. I'd planned this whole nice dinner and I was getting angrier and angrier that he wasn't going to have room to even eat any of it. Just laying in there like a beached whale. In my anger, I got louder and louder with the pots and pans. A nice salad, wine, twice baked potatoes, marinated skirt steak, chimicurri, and banana cream pie. All to waste.

I was fuming at the sink cleaning up while the grill heated up when the sound of wrappers being stuffed into the trash can brings me back to reality. He comes up behind me and hugs me warmly, his huge hands and arms wrapping around my waist and his beard nuzzling into my neck. "Thanks for cooking dinner, baby."

My heart melts and I can't stay mad at him. He's letting himself go a bit, but he's still my strong, handsome Mark. "I'm gonna go grab a shower and I'll be down to grill in like 15 minutes, ok?" He gives me a little pat on the butt before he lugs himself up the stairs.

He's acting as if he did not just eat three thousand calories worth of junk and then pass out in front of the TV to digest them. I hurry to the den to make sure I'm not insane, but all the wrappers are cleaned up and gone. He's even picked up the pair of shorts to (hopefully) put them in his closet. Everybody needs a binge here and there I guess. A one off night where you need to eat peanut putter and cry a little. It's not that out of the ordinary.

...

Dinner was delicious if I do say so myself. I didn't mention Mark's previous indiscretions and he didn't seem to have ruined his appetite at all. He had at least seconds, I think maybe even thirds and we were deep in conversation when I remembered I hadn't even put out the pie yet!

"Oh babe, I'm getting pretty stuffed. What kind of pie is it?"

"Banana cream, your favorite. It's ok though, we can save it for tomorrow."

"Banana cream? Aww I'll have just a little piece or two. Bring it out." Even knowing how big he's getting, it still makes me feel the warm and fuzzies when he compliments my cooking.

"Babe, I don't want to be gross, but ... can I unbutton these pants? I'm just about ready to burst from all of your good cooking." Mark said, blushing a bit as he adjusted himself in his chair. I feel a rush of embarrassment coloring my cheeks as well, but don't want to make a big deal of it. I call over my shoulder, "You do you, honey" as I walk into the kitchen to get the pie.

When I come back, he got his pants unbuttoned and I can see the bottom of his fat paunch sitting on his thighs, making the bottom of his button down shirt spread apart. He whistles a the appearance of his favorite pie and my eyes stop focusing on his outgrown pants. We finish the wine, laughing and chatting over pie until it's half gone.

He leans back and pats his gut softly, "Babe, I gotta go to bed. I've eaten way too much." I try to give him a serious, but playful look, "You really have, Mark. Look at you." His gut looked like an inflatable beach ball. His legs were spread wide and it looked like he was arching his back forward a little to make room for all that food. He was breathing a little shallow and his forehead was damp with sweat despite it being only about 70 degrees. The pants obviously didn't fit anymore, but even the shirt was about to pop. He let out a little burp while covering his mouth with his hand and immediately apologized after.

He heaved himself up off of the chair and slowly waddled his way to the bedroom. I noticed that he stopped to catch his breath midway up the stairs.

...

After cleaning up the kitchen a bit, bed was calling me, too. As I made my way up the stairs, I could hear faint moans getting louder and louder. Is he watching porn? Or no... wait, is he sick? Anxiety builds as I round the corner to the bedroom. He's on his side in our bed, eyes closed, back arched. His free hand is slowly rubbing up and down his fat gut as he moans and whimpers. He lets out a long, loud belch and then gives a sigh of relief before he starts rubbing again.

"Mark, are you ok?"

"Babe I ate way too much. I don't feel well." He whines without opening his eyes. "Help me." He pouts. I can't stand to see him in pain like this. I curl up behind him, cradling his sweaty head in one arm and kissing his forehead repeatedly while kooing, shushing, and whispering that it'll be ok. I use my other hand to rub where he was rubbing. I can feel his muscles relax and I help him arch his back with the support of my hips. I give him little pats at the areas that feel full of stomach gas until he lets out big belches and stops moaning in pain. Slowly, he seems to be feeling better and better until he finally turns around.

"I love you, babe. Thank you." He kisses me deeply. Oh god, he wants to have sex now. I did not see this coming. He kisses me again and reaches around to grab a big handful of my ass. I can feel him shaking it subtly to feel it jiggle and I get a little turned on. He's already hard.

He slowly pulls one wrist above my head and holds it there. He uses the other hand to pull down my panties and then pins the other wrist while climbing on top of me. HIs belly hangs down onto me, that's new. I can feel his fat laying on me and I try to wrap my legs around him so my pelvis is under his big belly. He grunts and that sound turns me on even more.

He starts thrusting and I can't move. I love this. His chest bounces up and down in front of my face, making a little noise when it slaps his upper belly. He's getting so sweaty and he's breathing so hard. He has to take a break every few thrusts and he can't seem to catch his breath. He arches his back and puts his head up, adjusting his fat with one hand and plopping his belly on my stomach. He seems to breath deeper and starts thrusting again, all of his belly jiggling on top of me, making us both moan with pleasure. He's so fucking horny and disgusting... in the best way?