Inhaling the smells of rosemary, butter, and sage, I loaded my plate with some of everything. I knew I’d never match Mr. Henner bite for bite, but thought maybe I could keep up with Dmitri at least. I wasn’t going to let this meal go to waste. While my parents had left me with plenty of food money, it wasn’t every day that I could feast on such rich, heavy, home cooked food. My stomach growled as I set my heavy plate in front of me, ready to dig in.
“Oh Lord, thank you for this meal we are about to enjoy, for this beautiful time of year, and for the people we can share it with.” Mr. Henner’s chins pressed into wide neck rolls as he delivered the blessing—face already glistening with a light layer of sweat. He raised his head and his chins seemed to deflate slightly. Then he moved faster than I’d seen all evening to grab his fork and began digging in. I sat a few seconds watching him grunt and smack mashed potatoes past fat lips before I remembered the food on my own plate. I forked a piece of turkey, dipped it in gravy, and relished in the flavorful meat as I chewed on my admiration for the Henners.
The gravy dribbling from the corners of Rhodes Henner's mouth met crumbs in his beard. Before they could fall onto his tight Hawaiian shirt, Mrs. Henner tucked a large, white napkin into his collar. She pinched his cheek like a chubby baby—he didn’t even pause his gluttony. She sat back down next to his giant ass that covered two chairs, practically purring at her blue-ribbon hog husband as she picked at her own plate. He ripped meat from a huge turkey leg, both hands dripping grease and rotating the meat like a corn cob as he chewed and swallowed. The cleaned bones clattered onto his plate, and he stabbed roasted Brussels sprouts six at time with his fork: barely chewing between bites.
“Geez dad, the food’s not going anywhere!” Dimitri wasn’t feeding so piggishly as his obese father, eating quickly but steadily—certainly a lot more cleanly. He was willing to stuff his face while it stayed messy with crumbs, and let out the occasional burp. But he wasn't smearing his face with gravy or roaring proud belches like his father. I tried not to stare at either Henner man, a goal not shared by Mrs. Henner. Alternating proud smiles at her son and almost feline smirks at her husband, she was content to nibble on what she’d spent all day preparing.
Around these two hearty eaters, it was easier to fall into a cycle of stab, scoop, lift, bite, chew, and swallow. I opened wide and stuffed my mouth until my cheeks bulged with every bite. Specks of mashed potatoes dropped onto my lap and gravy accumulated on my chin. I got into a rhythm of eating, interrupted by burps, belches, and the occasional moan of pleasure. The food was so good it consumed all my attention. If I'd looked up, I'd have seen that the table manners of the other two men were no better. We all dumped the thousands of calories on the table down our throats like feasting barbarians. Each forkful of starchy, buttery, salty goodness landed heavily in my bloated stomach. I felt my belly expanding like a muffin top above my jeans.
“Jeans?! What was I thinking?!” The unforgiving waistband constricted my expanding belly, forcing me to slow my gorging. This had been fun, but my breach in manners had a limit. It was time to politely decline more food before my clothes…
A plastic ricochet sounded the end of Mr. Henner’s khaki shorts button. The nickel-sized disc exploded off his balloon gut, bounced on the bottom of the table, and skittered across the floor until finally spinning to a stop. His fly burst open like a can of biscuits: zipper teeth grinding and popping apart. His massive belly surged through the gap, seeming to expand three inches outward in all directions. Rhodes exhaled in relief, giving his belly three grease-soaked slaps to celebrate the feeling. He belched loudly, and ripped the ruined bib from his neckline, letting it fall to the floor atop accumulating crumbs.
“Ah, now that’s better!” For the first time since dinner began, Mr. Henner paused his eating. He took the opportunity to reach both messy hands under his blubber belly to pull, lift, and plop the fat blob out of his shorts and onto his lap. His rubbing and jiggling forced his Hawaiian shirt up past his cavernous belly button and coated his gut in butter and gravy. His fingers explored different different angles of his buried stomach, until he found the right spot and pushed down to force another belch. He smiled almost sensually, which made me realize I’d been staring.
I forced myself to look away, towards Dimitri. “Wow, dad. Didn’t you just buy those shorts? You should have gone with maternity pants! I guess a meal like this deserves some room!” At that, he reached past his own dome of a belly to flick his pants button open and let his belly breathe. He sighed in relief and smiled at me. “I hope you don’t mind some real eating! Dad usually undoes his pants before we start, but we had guests this time. I’m not sure if popping a button and risking everyone’s eyes is better, but hey. And if you need relief, don’t feel like you can’t join us!”
Distracted by the Henner belly escapes, I’d forgotten my own impending wardrobe malfunction.
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