“Let’s just say I’m looking forward to having some newfound freedoms.” Evan said coyly.
“Those are always nice.” Katie took the money and had Evan sign for the delivery. “Well, you have a good rest of the night.” She eyed the stack of four pizzas with renewed incredulity. “Try not to rupture your stomach lining or anything.”
Evan smiled. “I’ve never eaten a meal that could even fill me up. I think I can handle it.”
“Well more power to you. Take care.” Katie hopped into her car and drove off into the night.
Evan awkwardly hefted the four large pizza boxes and cautiously reopened the door. He eased the door shut behind him as cautiously as possible, ever concerned about waking his strict parents. Carrying the heavy load of boxes through the house in the dark was even more challenging, and he had to move very cautiously to avoid crashing into anything.
The scent arising from the warm boxes he held was intoxicating. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep from tearing into the boxes right on the living room floor, but he knew if he lingered, that same smell might reach his parents, and that was the last thing he wanted. No, he had to reach the sanctity of his room.
Finally, after scaling a treacherous staircase and easing the door to his room shut, he could relax. Only, he wasn’t interested in relaxing. He was interested in pizza.
He sat on his bed and opened two of the boxes. They were both 14 inch meatlovers and, per his special arrangements with Katie, they had double the already excessive amount of toppings. He grabbed a slice in each hand, and immediately began to feast.
What Evan said was true: he had never eaten a meal that had actually filled him up, and despite the fact that this little “midnight snack” of his contained more than 16,000 calories, it was not going to be the exception to the rule. It took him about twenty minutes to down the first pizza, twenty more to get through the second. He had eaten almost seven pounds of food, but he wasn’t even coming close to capacity.
His shirt was, though. With each inch-thick slice of pizza he crammed into his mouth, his stomach bulged more assertively outwards, turning from a floppy paunch that typically hung about an inch and a half over his pants into a swollen half-globe that was cautiously peering out into the world beyond the hem of his shirt and weighing the options of exploring it further. By the time he was about halfway done with his third pizza, his gut had expanded to roughly the size of a volleyball, and was hanging out of his increasingly inadequate shirt a good two inches.
He couldn’t care less. He paid no attention to the creaking seams of his t-shirt as he barreled on through his meal. He ate another slice, and another, and by the time he had finished the third pizza, his shirt had become stretched so tight it was almost transparent, and its seams were perilously near their breaking point.
As he finished his fourth and final slice of pizza, his shirt began to die. A tear appeared along his right side, and another appeared over his belly button. Well, that is, it appeared over the part of his shirt that had been covering his belly button before he started eating. His belly button had worked its way out of his shirt’s custody by the end of the third pizza, and was now hanging out of the bottom of his shirt along with a good six inches of extra flesh. His astonishing belly was now the size of a mid-sized beach ball, and it imposed onto his lap up until about mid-thigh.
He stood up to brush the crumbs off his bed and set the boxes aside. As he did, his belly sloshed and churned with him. His shirt rode up even higher as he stood, settling about two inches above his impressive lovehandles, in much the same way that a person might cautiously back up a hill away from dangerous rising floodwaters. It was in vain, though. Evan was a nice guy, but he was murder on shirts.
Evan sat back down and rubbed his swollen belly in satisfaction. In spite of its alarming increase in size, he was pretty sure he could fit four more pizzas in there, if he had any more. There was probably quite a bit of food lying around the house that he could get at if he was quiet, and the thought of putting even more food, even if it was his parents’ irritatingly healthy crap, into his gut was enticing. However, there was a risk of being caught, and given his current state, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as stealthy as he was earlier. Plus, it was going to be hard enough hiding the effects of this binge in the morning as it was. Did he dare risk foraging for more food? Or should he wait until his visit to the Jones’s in the morning?
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