Unfinished Business (part Two)

Chapter 4

I clutched my purse nervously as the maitre’d escorted me to Neville’s private booth in the back of the lounge. I was wearing a tight-fitting dress that had been sitting in my closet for years. It was clearly too small for me, but it was the nicest outfit I had at that point that I could even pull down over my protruding tummy. As I wobbled along behind the tuxedoed gentleman, I became aware of a large presence in the distance. At first it didn’t even look like a human being; it looked more like a giant overstuffed laundry sack, but as we got closer it became clear to me that what I was seeing was a man — a very, very large man.

“Here you are, madame,” the maitre’d said as he gestured toward an empty seat at the opposite end of the cozy booth. I thanked him cordially, but in my mind I couldn’t even wrap my head around what I was seeing.

“Hello, Jenna,” said the man, “forgive me if I don’t get up, but once I’m in here it’s pretty hard to get me out.”

“Neville?” I said with a dumbfounded look on my face. “Is that you, Neville?”

“The one and only,” he replied, raising a glass in the air gallantly.

I was astounded. He had told me that had gained a bit of weight since the last time I saw him, but at no time did he mention that he had in fact gained enough weight to sink a cruise ship. I couldn’t help myself, I began to snicker. I didn’t mean to be mean or cruel, but it was just so incredibly funny and ironic to see him like this, I just couldn’t suppress the urge to laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said to me, “you can laugh — it’s funny. Go ahead and get it out of your system.”

That’s when I just let loose and let out a hearty guffaw. “Holy shit, Neville!” I cackled. “What the hell happened to you? You’re fucking huge!”

“And proud of it,” he said with a big grin, patting himself on his big belly which seemed to be pushing outward and stretching his enormous starched white shirt to its absolute limits. “Large and in charge!”

Still laughing hysterically, I took a seat in the booth as I plopped my purse down on top of the table unceremoniously. “Oh my God, Neville,” I gasped, nearly out of breath as my face turned three shades of red, “you got soooo fucking FAT!”

Neville sat patiently sipping his Arnold Palmer as he waited for me to regain my composure. Once I got over the initial shock of seeing him like this and I started to settle down, Neville started telling me all about his life since we parted more than ten years earlier. Apparently he had a wealthy uncle he never knew about who passed away and left him full ownership of this very hotel in his will. Since then, Neville had acquired a mass of wealth for himself, allowing him to indulge himself in all manner of luxuries and vices.

“Suddenly I had the ability to eat as much as I wanted whenever I wanted,” he confessed. “Sure, I still had an interest in feeding others. There were a few feedist relationships I’ve been in over the years — although none of them were as special to me as you were.”

“Now what was so special about me?” I asked him. “I was practically still a kid when you knew me. I had no idea what I was doing with you. What was so special about that?”

“Well, I guess that’s exactly what made it special to me,” he said, “the fact that neither one of us really knew what we were doing. We were learning and figuring things out together. It was a very meaningful experience for me.”

Hearing Neville say that out loud made me realize just how much of a meaningful experience it was for me too. The time that Neville and I spent together all those years ago helped to awaken a part of me that was always there, laying dormant just below the surface. In many ways, my relationship with Neville was like an awakening or a rebirth, an invaluable moment of self-discovery that I wouldn’t trade in for the world.


After Neville and I sat talking for a while, a waitress came over to take our dinner order. “I’ll have the usual,” Neville said. “Get the steak,” he suggested to me then, “it’s the best in town!”

“Steak sounds good,” I said to the waitress.

“You’re going to wish you ordered more than one,” Neville informed me, “I’m telling you — you should get a double order.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I said modestly, trying to maintain some sort of decorum in front of this man who I hadn’t seen in years.

“It’s on the house!” he offered. Before I could say another word though, the waitstaff came over with our food.

“That was fast!” I noted.

“They’re the best back there,” Neville said, “they’re always ready to feed me whenever I need it.”

It turns out that Neville’s “usual” was actually four full steak dinners, complimented by four whole chickens, and an entire blueberry pie. The waitress then placed a delicious looking steak dinner in front of me. As nice as it looked, part of me started feeling as if I were depriving myself of something. Looking over at the massive feast in front of Neville, my inner glutton started to rise up inside of me, and I could no longer resist the urge to stuff myself.

“You know what,” I said to the waitress, “maybe I will have — “

Before the words had even come out of my mouth, the waitress placed a second steak dinner in front of me. “I thought you might, madame,” she said to me cordially, “and if you want more later, there is plenty more where that came from.”

I looked up at Neville, taken aback by the whole experience. He again lifted his glass to me, toasting to our friendship. I lifted my glass as well, and as if we were in some sort of an eating contest, we both started to tear into our meals mercilessly. There were long periods where neither of us were talking, focused entirely on stuffing our faces.

I was absolutely amazed by how much Neville was able to take down so quickly, literally inhaling his food as if it were oxygen. Looking over at him, his giant belly seemed to be growing right in front of my eyes as he grunted and groaned like an actual pig at a trough. As much of a spectacle as Neville was, I soon became aware of my own piggish display, as I was slobbering grease and sauce all over my face and dress, my big belly pushing out a full six inches further than it was when I had walked in there.

No sooner had I finished the last bite on my second plate of food did I see Neville give a subtle hand gesture over to a member of the waitstaff, and before I knew it there were two more giant plates loaded with steaks, sausages and whole chickens placed before me. “Oh, Neville,” I said, pushing back in my chair and letting my big overstuffed belly peak out from under the table, “I couldn’t. I mean I just — *hiccup!* — I just couldn’t.”

“No?” Neville asked, daintily wiping the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Well if you don’t want it.” He then gave another hand gesture to the waitress, and from the corner of my eye I could see her approaching to take the food back to the kitchen. It was then that some sort of primal instinct kicked in, and a fight-or-flight survival instinct came over me: no one was going to take food away from me! No one!

“Oh, who am I kidding?” I said with a hearty chuckle as I picked up one of the chickens with my bare hands and tore into with my teeth as though I were a hungry wolf.

“That a girl,” I heard Neville say softly, putting a hand up to signal to the waitress to back off, lest she lose a limb.

Between the two of us, Neville and I must have put away a literal ton of food at dinner that evening, gorging ourselves as if it were our last night on earth. Hours had gone by, and I felt fuller and fatter than I ever had in all my life — even more than I did at the end of my wild binge session with Jordan. After hours of nonstop eating, I could feel my eyes getting heavy and my stomach churning inside of me as it struggled to digest the mammoth meal I just ingested. Finally, when I couldn’t take anymore, I leaned back in my seat and let my tongue hang out of my mouth, breathing heavily as I had just gone for a ten mile run.

“Would you care for anything else, madame?” I heard the waitress ask as she crept up behind me.

“I think the lady has had enough for now,” Neville said.

“Very well,” said the waitress as she took her leave.

“Oh, Neville,” I said as I started massaging my overstuffed gut, “what have you done to me? I’m so full, I think I’m — I’m gonna — *BRAAAAP!* — Oh, excuse me. *huff* — I think I’m gonna — *hiccup!* — explode!”

“Looks like you could use a little rest,” he said to me, and then he invited me up to his private penthouse suite.

“Oh, I don’t know, Neville,” I said, my face wincing with discomfort as the aching in belly grew more and more intense. “I mean, it’s nice to — *hic!* — see you again, but I don’t know — *hiccup!* — if I’m ready for that just — *hic!* — yet.”

“I understand,” Neville said softly, “you know, in all the time I’ve known you, I never wanted to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to be happy and feel comfortable around me.”

As Neville was speaking, the thought of going upstairs and laying down in a soft and comfortable hotel bed sounded better and better to me. I’d have been lying if I said that I wasn’t morbidly curious to see what his suite looked like anyway. So I agreed to go upstairs with him. “I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here though,” I said, “my belly is so stuffed I can — *hup!* — barely move.”

Once again, Neville gave a hand gesture, this time looking over at the maitre’d, and within a minute, there were two large scooters next to our table, one for Neville and one for me. It took several members of the staff to help us both up out of our seats and onto the scooters, but once we did, we were able to scoot ourselves out of a private exit in the back of the lounge, taking us into a large hallway, leading to a private cargo elevator.

It took me a minute to get used to steering this little scooter around as I had never driven one before, but after a few minutes I started to get the hang of it. “I could — *hic!* — get used to this!” I said as I scooted along side Neville, loading ourselves onto the oversized elevator and rocketing up to the top of the building.