Chapter 7. Fishing for my feeder

When the door swings open I'm standing facing it, dick still out, big belly on full display. A beet-red Donovan tries to avert his eyes, but the damage has been done.

"Shit shit shit, sorry! Thought this room was empty."

It makes it so much worse that it's someone I know. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment and shame at being caught. But for some reason instead of letting him run away, I'm compelled to explain myself. Part of it is that I don't think there's any way I can make myself look worse by trying to provide context. Another part is that it's an opportunity to talk to someone I'll probably never see again. This isn't exactly something I can tell Vihaan about. Plus, Donovan's now seen the worst of it and there's no taking that back.

"No, no! Please come in, let me try to explain!" I try to adjust my jeans in a way that looks, well, there's not really a way to salvage this, but, not so inappropriate? I guess?

"And close the door behind you, if you don't mind."

I take a seat on the bed, allowing my food baby to take a rest on my lap. For a moment I consider trying to do my jeans back up, but quickly realize it's hopeless with this belly in the way.

Donovan approaches awkwardly, trying not to gawk at my obvious gut. It's clear he doesn't really know what to do with himself, so he just stands in front of me. I realize he's holding a plate of ice cream cake.

"They brought out dessert?" It's the last thing I should be saying in my position, but it's what comes out.

"Yeah. I'm on my break, so, thought I'd come up here to get some peace and quiet. Didn't realize this room was taken."

"Well, it's not really. I came up here with this girl, and the reason I'm sitting here with my shirt off is because she ran real fast when she saw, um, well, this."

I lift up my swollen belly with both hands, feeling how heavy it is packed so full of food.

"I see."

He's looking at me like he's waiting for me to continue. That's all I got though, so we just sit there looking at each other.

"Have you ever had a girl just straight up walk out on you?" I ask impulsively. Here I am, in what's probably one of the most embarrassing situations possible, and I'm asking him personal questions. I'm probably the weirdest guy he's ever met, and he's too nice to make a swift exit.

"I did have a girl once tell me straight up, suddenly, that she knew we weren't gonna work out. I was in the middle of showing her my stamp collection."

"Well that's kind of rude!"

"She said that and just walked out," he chuckles, "it's a way of weeding out the incompatible matches, I suppose. Doesn't mean that the rejection stings any less."

I'm surprised by how thoughtful and vulnerable his answer is.

"Yeah. Thanks, man."

We sit in silence for another beat, then,

"Do you want this ice cream cake?" He offers, "I thought it was vanilla, but turns out it's coconut."

I'm not about to say no to that.

"Your loss, my gain," I snatch the plate and fork and dig in greedily.

My stomach complains that it's too full, too stretched out for any more occupants. My taste buds, on the other hand, clamor for more. When that first drop of sweet coconut cream hits my tongue, the taste buds win. Not only am I going to finish this within a minute, I'll be making my way back down to see how much more is left.

"Well, um, I'll be on my way then," Donovan interrupts my horny thoughts, "I still have a bit more time on my break. You enjoy that ice cream cake."

He heads for the door.

"Wait!" It sounds garbled around a mouthful of ice cream.

He turns in the doorway. Either the doorways here are low, or he's even taller than I thought because his head is practically brushing the frame.

"Do you happen to know where the ice cream cake is from?" It's the best I've ever had.

"Oh yeah, um, you know The Village? It's in there, it's like this new gourmet boutique-y place that just opened up. I can't remember exactly what it's called right now, but it should be easy to find online."

"Thanks." I'll definitely be figuring it out, and perhaps becoming a regular...but he doesn't need to know that.

"No prob. Enjoy the rest of your night, hope you're having a good time at the event."

With that, he's gone. I follow soon after, shirt back on and belly safely covered. A few (well, maybe a bit more than a few) generous slices (if you can even call them that) of ice cream cake later, I'm nursing another beer and my tee can no longer fit the "long and loose" description like it did at the beginning of the night. Instead it clings to my large hard belly, contouring around the round mound like it's its own small geographical feature. The shirt barely covers the fact that my jeans are fully undone, so I have to be mindful of raising my arms up. I have also lost most of my flexibility: I have to stay standing, as bending over in any way is way too uncomfortable with my stuffed stomach.

By this point in the night most people are too drunk to notice or care how bloated I look, or maybe I made too much of an assumption when I worried about what everyone would think in the first place. I find a decently lit spot to work on my beers, standing and bopping a bit to the music. It's somewhere I can both see and be seen - in case there's anyone looking. I'm just about to leave when I see her: there's a girl watching me. She's one of the ones I pointed out to Vihaan earlier, glittery crop top and braids. When I spot her, she's staring at my belly as if transfixed. She could just be zoned out, so I decide to do a little test. I pretend to stretch, which of course flashes her with the bottom curve of my belly pushing my jeans open. Her eyes widen, and she shifts her weight around and takes a sip of her drink. Ha. Looks like I caught her. To sweeten the deal, I rub the bottom of my belly "absentmindedly" and down the rest of my beer. Her mouth drops open just a little bit, pretty deep magenta-painted lips. I wonder if they're soft.

But then she breaks her stare to meet my eyes, and the jig is up. A dark red creeps up her neck into her cheeks, and she whips around so I can't see her face. She's not good at all at pretending she wasn't just sizing me up. Cute. I go to her, but she's moving away from me, and then I'm swarmed by a group of flailing drunk guys trying to reach the dance floor, and then...she's gone. Shit!

I spend the next few hours searching for her, but my luck has run out. I head home alone as the sun is creeping up, having been equally unable to track Vihaan down. But there's another feeling I have now, in addition to the warm pleasure triggered by the painful fullness of my straining belly. It's hope.