Chapter 6. Eating immoderation

Right as I take the first bite of my burrito, a tall shirtless frat boy sidles up to me.

"A drink for you, sir?" I find myself staring into his toned abs. They remind me of the ones I'm trying to bury under a new layer of padding. Realizing he must be the bartender, I gesture to give me a moment while I'm chewing. He waits politely, and I feel heat rising in my cheeks. I shouldn't have taken such a humongous bite. After two beats of awkward silence too long, I swallow.

"Sorry about that. You caught me at a bad time."

"No worries. I get it, all the food looks amazing tonight. Can I getcha anything?"

"Just a beer is fine for now. Can you keep em coming?"

He flashes a winning smile, and I can't help but be jealous of those perfectly straight, even pearly whites. He must be a hit with the ladies.

"You got it. Brb with that."

He's back in a few minutes, by which point I've polished off a burrito and several slices of pizza. He slides a golden pint over to me, careful not to spill. He makes eye contact with me as I'm shovelling ungodly amounts of lasagna down my throat and politely looks away.

"I see you knew to come hungry. Have you been to one of these before?"

Christ, he's chatty. I kind of just want to be left alone to eat. I take a moment to swallow, and take a sip of my beer. It's ice-cold, nice. I'm going to need a lot of it tonight to wash down the feast in front of me.

"Um, no. I just heard there would be free food." I sound like such a pig. I'm getting a kick out of the fact that this is the first impression this random guy is getting of me. That's right, let him see me for what I am. It's thrilling, freeing even, to eat like this in public. And to be seen, by one person at least. Hopefully more. I'm still holding out hope that queenoftoads is on the prowl tonight. I'm more than happy to be her prey, and I'm going to make myself as easy to spot as I can.

"Nice, that's always a great reason to leave the house I find. I'm Donovan, by the way."

"Eric, nice to meet you man."

The hours slip by. Vihaan is nowhere to be found, but that doesn't bother me much. I'm eating and drinking as much as I can, making as much of a spectacle of myself as I dare. Every half hour or so, I stock up on more food. During the first re-fueling trip, I can already feel my tummy brushing up against the fabric of my long, loose-fitting tee. It's rounding out nicely from my efforts. The constricting feeling of my jeans' button only fuels my determination. I want to push past my limits tonight, try to undo my button just by eating my way out of my jeans, and see what it feels like to be bloated to my maximum. It's hot to do this in a public setting, and importantly it still feels safely anonymous as I haven't been approached by anyone I know.

Despite my initial annoyance at Donovan's friendliness, I begin to appreciate his intermittent company. True to his word, he never leaves me with an empty glass. I also like that for the most part, he lets me just listen and eat quietly as he tells me anecdotes. I learn that he did most of the legwork organizing this event, and he seems relieved to see it being executed so well. I also like that he doesn't say anything about the fact that I'm eating excessively and drinking like I'm trying to deplete their whole inventory. It's nice to guzzle all the beer I want and indulge in all the food I please with no judgement.

It gets harder to breathe as my filling stomach expands and pushes on nearby organs. My jeans digging into my waist feel more and more uncomfortable the more I eat, but I use that pain as incentive to double down, slurping up my spaghetti faster and signaling to Donovan for another beer to chug. My arousal has grown into a hard-on that won't go down, and stuffing myself so recklessly is so hot it feels cruel that I can't cum right here, my moans muted by a mouth full of juicy meatballs. I'm taking a bite out of my fourth burger when I feel it - the sweet release of my button slipping through the hole, the zipper of my jeans forced down by the pressure of my inflated gut. I'm so turned on by this that it feels like the universe is rewarding me for my performance when I hear a familiar voice.

"Eric, is that you?"

I turn to see Nadine, looking at me with undeniable lust. I would know, I've seen that look many times before. We had a few hot months in a regular friends-with-benefits arrangement together last year, before she got too busy with finals.

"Oh, hey," I dab at my mouth with a napkin, desperately hoping I'm wiping away any lingering sauces, "what's up?"

She leans in close, playfully pressing a finger adorned with her signature hot pink acrylics into my chest. Thinking about all the times I've had those scraping down my back gets me even more excited.

"I was hoping I'd find you here. Wanna go upstairs with me?" She's clearly drunk, and very horny. I'm horny too, so, only one way this can end. I follow her up the stairs like an over-eager dog that's been promised a treat, forgetting all about my food and queenoftoads and the havoc my actions tonight have wreaked on my physique, which she surely remembers as fit and muscular. By the time we make it to a bedroom, it's too late to turn back.

The consequences hit me like a truck when I whip off my shirt only to see her eyes widen. Her expression cycles through a myriad of emotions. I identify shock, horror, disgust. I follow her gaze down to the bowling ball of a gut I have attached to my front. The flaps of my jeans pushed open, zipper all the way down to make room for a belly that looks like it could be better described as an over-inflated balloon. Oh, yeah...forgot about that.

"This was a mistake. Oh my gosh, Eric, I'm so sorry," she splutters, "I totally forgot, I have to go home to look after my sick cat." She rushes from the room before I can reply. Well, at least she was nice about it.

In the aftermath of whatever that was, hot shame radiates through me. I'm almost in disbelief. I've never had a potential sexual partner abandon ship because they were so repulsed by my body. And it's all my doing. I'm totally out of control tonight. I ate so much I literally scared away a poor girl when she saw what I had done to myself. Now alone in the bedroom, I take a good look at myself in the full-body mirror by the closet.

I mean, I can see why she was spooked. My usually flat stomach is bloated beyond recognition. A stately food baby protrudes outwards from my body, proud and imposing. My skin looks taut, indentations appearing below the belly and above it at my ribcage where it pushes its way off my body to take up more space. I'm in awe of the belly itself - perfectly round, as if I've swallowed a basketball. There's no way I can button my jeans back up with this monstrosity in the way. I run my hands over my belly, feeling how firm it is. I turn sideways.

"Oh yeah, I'm due next week," I say out loud to no one in particular. With how big I look, it's believable. I can't get over how fucking hot I look with this huge gut hanging off my muscular body. Staring at myself and feeling how big I am only strengthens my resolve to make this potbelly a permanent fixture on my body. I worked so hard on this tonight, I just wish the right person was here to see it.

When I climax, I'm thinking about what queenoftoads would have to say to me about this.

I'm revelling in post-nut clarity when I hear the doorknob turn and remember I didn't bother to lock it after Nadine left.