Chores

Chapter 1 - Day 1

Waking up that morning, to the smell of bacon and coffee with all my favorite fixings. Heaving myself out of bed, sleepy eyes, rubbing my belly knowing the chores I have to accomplish before the rain comes. Mow the lawn on the riding lawn mower. With a belly full of…what am I seeing on the table…

Pancakes, an omelet, a pound of bacon, cinnamon rolls ready to go in the oven (as soon as I start my chores) and my favorite glass coffee cup, that already has half a heavy cream in it. Waiting for me to wake up and add the hot coffee.

“What’s this feast for”- leaning in for a kiss, my belly touching yours a full foot before my lips do.

“Just want to see you smile.”

Sitting down, I start eating. You telling me stories about the podcast you’ve been listening to. While I shovel over a day’s worth of calories down, for breakfast.

Leaning back, rubbing my tummy, which is peaking out below my shirt “I think I’m ready to cut the grass, can you add sunscreen?” Taking my shirt off.

You oblige, obviously. Feeling how full I am, but I’m about to work up an appetite.

The next two hours, you’re watching me ride around on the tractor, belly jiggling as I add patterns to the front yard.

“Had to stop, it’s starting to…wow it smells good in here.”

With grass all over my exposed belly that’s been baking in the sun, you come over in just your apron, kiss me on the cheek, “Dinner’s almost ready, get cleaned up.”

I take the mason jar of sweet tea and do as I’m told.

Cleaned and ready to eat, I dive into dinner 1, at 3:30 p.m. Double smash burger with mayo, mushrooms, lettuce, and ketchup. Fries cooked in lard, and two more glasses of sweet tea. “Where’s yours?”

“Oh I’m not hungry yet, I’ll make something in a little bit.”

I know what’s about to come; I finish and head to my throne, you bring me a 1/4 of a key lime pie, resting it on my clean belly, cuddling up rubbing my belly, while I take in another 800 calories.

We watch some stupid show that I wanted to see. They keep my glutton to my throne. Two episodes in, my belly isn’t as hard as it was at 4 as it is at 7. So you get up and make fried fish tacos, 6 of them for me, and you only made 8. This time, you made me a key lime pie milkshake…32 oz.

Continue the pattern above, rubbing my belly as I eat the tacos, that you’ve placed on my belly, for easy access. “Starting to make a great table, isn’t it?”

“The best.” You say.

9 p.m. and you’re up again, putting together something you know I can take down, ramen. My eyes glazed over, but knowing we both want…no need for this. You climb on top of my belly, resting the bowl on my gut. “Eat,” you say.

I do as I’m told. Holding the bowl to my lips, I drink some broth to allow the noodles to slide down. Then I’m in my flow state, zoned in, on eating. You see only a little bit left, and the next time I bring it to my lips, you take control.

“Finish it and you can have cookies and milk.”

Grabbing the bowl, damn near about to pass out, I chug the rest in a few seconds, throwing it to the side (knowing you’ll clean it up). Letting out a moan.

With a wet spot on my belly, you slide off, and I try to stand…but can’t. “Help me.”

You won’t and want to see me try. Normally I’d roll off the couch, but today I can’t. “Come on.” I protest. “Every movement is pushing me to the point of popping. Help me stand.”

Doing as you’re told, you help me, helping me to the bedroom, making sure all this food stays down. Propping me up in bed, putting on some music, and going to the kitchen to get some cookies and strawberry milk.

Coming back, seeing me in the candlelight, huffing and puffing, rubbing this mountain of a gut that hangs between my legs. I let out a “Cookies and milk please…”