Fat Dad Club, part 2

HENRY

Well, that was a rather interesting venture. Henry felt a certain… invigoration following the very first Fat Dad Club.

‘I think you would have enjoyed that, Charles. They were quite the lively lot,’ he said as he entered the bedroom of his home that evening, shoes removed, jacket disrobed. ‘Oh my, yes.’

Henry then undid his tie, then his belt, allowing his girthy stomach the release it had been yearning for all day.

‘Especially that fellow named Joe. He really was quite a character.’

Henry took off his glasses and placed them down on the dusty bedside dresser, parking his large rump onto the unmade bed.

‘Quite the character indeed…’

He plucked a sock from each long foot, pulling his legs up with some difficulty in order to do so, and threw them unseeingly onto one of the many piles of dirty clothing slathered about the room.

Joe and his speech. How compelling.

Well, Joe was a handsome young man, there was no denying that, not that Henry would linger on such a thought, of course. Just an observation.

But the message of the night. This business about eating whatever one wanted. Not worrying what society thought. Enjoying one’s own bigger body. Enjoying the spread of dad-ness, as it were. What a novel concept.

(Yes, you would have enjoyed it very much, Charles), Henry thought, now undoing his shirt.

He stood with a soft groan and stepped in front of the worn and cracked full-length mirror, seeing his tall, overweight body staring back, lone occupant of the bedroom.

(Eating whatever one wanted, goodness.)

He grabbed his own belly from beneath, cupped it in both hands, lifted to feel the weight as an experiment. He most certainly had gotten fat. He’d been surprised any of the chaps at the Fat Dad Club had recognized him from his heyday. Nowadays, with his hair and goatee beard turned white, most people mistook him for Colonel Sanders. If they noticed him at all, that was. It’s not like he ventured out that much.

‘Just another fat old man,’ he mumbled to his reflection.

But he enjoyed food. Sweet treats in particular had always been a weakness of his.

‘Charles, you used to tease me about my growing lovehandles, do you remember? Not unkindly, of course. You could never be unkind.’ He let out a small, mostly habitual chuckle in the silence that followed. ‘Just look at me now.’

What was it José had said? "The belly wants out."

Fat Dad Club and Joe and all of it - thinking on the day was making Henry hungry. He turned to view the fullness of his curving stomach in profile, stroking it with a large hand, seeing it with fresh eyes, through this new lens. The feeling was… curious.

Perhaps a late night snack wouldn’t go amiss.

Out in the hallway, Henry bumped into his live-in assistant, Hudson, who often stayed up late. ‘Henry, I didn’t hear you come in,’ he said in surprise. ‘How was the, er… your club thing?’

‘Oh, it was fine, thank you,’ Henry replied. ‘I was about to prepare myself something to eat.’

‘At this hour?’ Hudson raised a well-tended eyebrow.

‘Well, there was a lot of talk of food, all of us being bigger fellows and such. It got me feeling a little peckish, that was all.’

There was more to it than that, but it was so new, Henry couldn’t articulate it yet. He didn’t know what it was, exactly.

‘Oh, I see,’ Hudson responded. ‘And did you talk to them about Charles?’

‘Uh, no, not… I might do that another time…,’ Henry replied, brow furrowing. ‘It was more of an… introductory outing…’

‘So you had no-one to talk to about him?’

Henry felt the young man’s slender hand clasping lightly over his own; he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

‘No, I - I didn’t…’

‘Well, you know I’m always here,’ Hudson intoned quietly. ‘For you.’

Henry nodded along. ‘I know…’

Hudson had been invaluable these last two years. Without him, Henry wasn’t sure he’d have been able to function at all.

‘Would you… like some company?’ Hudson asked him.

Hudson was in his 20s, a classically handsome man, anyone could see that. Perfect hair swept back, chiselled jaw. But those weren’t the point, or… not really, anyway. His presence was the thing. The thing that kept Henry… together.

Henry simply nodded again, and let Hudson guide him away from the kitchen.

‘We’ll go to my room and talk, okay?’ Hudson said.

‘Okay…’

As usual, they passed right by Henry and Charles’ bedroom; that was off limits.

Hudson kept his own room neat and tidy, of course. No dust billowed up when Henry sat heavily down onto the edge of the young man’s bed. No piles of unfolded clothing here.

‘I know it was a big step for you to go out tonight,’ Hudson told him, still holding his hand.

(It was.)

‘Do you think Charles would have been okay with you meeting other guys like that?’ Hudson asked this lightly.

Henry bristled his moustache for a moment, in thought.

‘Well, it was purely a social gathering,’ he replied, watching the fine young fellow undo the top button of his shirt, midnight snack plans fading.

‘Yes, but you said all they talked about was food. Sounds like you didn’t even get to open up to them at all.’

(I didn’t say that), Henry thought. But… maybe Hudson had a point. Henry hadn’t been able to divest much of his pain this evening. That was true.

‘It’s okay to take things one step at a time, of course. It can be difficult, opening up to strangers,’ Hudson carried on, and he took Henry’s other hand in his. ‘Do you… need some companionship tonight, Henry?’

He did. Tonight and every night. Every moment since Charles had passed away. Hudson knew this. He’d been so good to Henry, being there for him through his worst these last couple of years.

Henry gently tugged Hudson toward him and put his arms around that slender, defined waist.

‘Yes please,’ he whispered. ‘You know how I get.’

The nights were the worst. Spent alone in that bedroom full of memories.

Hudson laid his head on top of Henry’s, his cheek resting in the nest of white hair.

‘I wanted to ask you something,’ Hudson said.

‘Go on.’ Henry held him closer.

‘A friend of mine is coming to town next week. I wanted to show him around Maupinton, show him the best it has to offer, finest dining, you know, that sort of thing.’

‘Do you need some extra funds for you and your friend?’

‘Would that be okay?’ Hudson stroked Henry’s hair.

‘I’ll have it transferred tomorrow.’

‘Much obliged.’

‘Would you… would you hold me tonight, Hudson?’ Henry asked him. ‘I can’t bear to be alone, you know I can’t.’

‘Of course.’

Henry exhaled. ‘You are a dear friend.’

That’s what this was. Help from a friend. Hudson helped him in so many ways, that’s why he was here. He dealt with a lot of the housework, even took calls and emails, and most importantly offered his companionship.

This wasn’t cheating on Charles. Not like taking a fancy to Joe earlier. No, this was nothing to feel guilty over. Henry needed this.

‘If you like, we can talk about Charles while I hold you in bed,’ Hudson suggested.

‘I’d like that,’ Henry uttered softly, and began to undress himself.

‘Oh, and my Ray-Bans broke the other day, I was going to mention…’ Hudson added.

‘I’ll get you a new pair,’ Henry told him, now unbuttoning the rest of the young man’s shirt, letting his fat hands rest a moment against those hard pectorals.

A month or so after their initial outing, it was decided that Fat Dad Club would next meet at Landlubbers - a local surf and turf buffet known for its lobster and rib-eye in particular. Conversation came a little easier this time, the gentlemen loosening up over some beers and appetizers.

‘Okay, hands up who thinks Joe’s hot,’ said Gus, since Joe hadn’t arrived yet. He was already sticking his own pudgy hand up before he’d even finished the sentence.

Boony flushed, Carl said nothing, so Henry responded, ‘He is rather easy on the eye, I’ll admit,’ then immediately felt he shouldn’t have.

‘See?’ Gus leaned across to his husband, as if proving an unspoken point, then added, ‘Oh, sorry Carl, I forgot you’re straight.’

‘Oh, that’s alright, heh,’ replied Carl, sipping on his Budweiser. His polo shirt appeared to Henry to be a little tighter than when last they’d met. Henry had to admit he’d also been indulging a mite more of late.

‘What’s good, Fat Dads?’

Joe made his entrance in much the same way as last time; fashionably late, and in a tee that left no doubt as to the definition of his arms and rotundity of his stomach, which also looked fuller and rounder. ‘How’s everyone doing?’ Evidently he cared not one iota what the other diners here thought as he casually wended his way past them, the exposed lower portion of his dad-gut bobbing happily in his stride. On his way, he caught a waitress and asked, ‘Hey, can I get a couple beers? I’m with these big fellas here. Thanks so much. In fact, can we all get a couple more? You’re amazing, thanks.’

Joe plonked himself down at the Fat Dad Club table with a little sigh of exertion.

‘What is happening, my dads? How we all been?’

‘Hey Joe, doingood, uh - doing good here, thanks,’ Carl said, lifting his beer in a short salute.

‘Welcome back, José,’ Henry added, inclining his head.

‘Colonel, good to see you!’ Joe replied, then unexpectedly patted Henry’s obviously larger stomach. ‘All doing well I see, haha!’

This caused Henry some internal discombobulation, and he found himself making a stunted chortle.

‘How have you been, Joe?’ Boony asked, and fed himself some beer nuts.

‘Me? Fucking great, man, thanks,’ Joe replied. ‘Did you guys eat already? Cos I need to get stuck in on the buffet action pronto, haha. Anyone with me?’

And this seemed as good a starting point as any. Henry and the others got up to browse the buffet, each returning to the table with a plate of delicious-smelling meats and sea foods, Henry himself being drawn to the scallops and mussels which he accompanied with green beans and baby red potatoes. He found two more beers waiting for him back at the table, and looked across to see that Joe had returned with three plates stacked precariously with succulent fare.

‘My goodness, you are living up to your words,’ Henry said to him, with a smile to show he meant no ill will.

‘I’m telling you, dude,’ Joe replied, mouth already full of lobster, ‘once you let go, you’ll never look back. It’s like… addictive, almost.’

‘Let go?’ Boony asked over his modest plate. Gus had returned with even less.

‘You mean like, uh, letting go of your… your inhibitions?’ Carl added.

Joe looked up in thought for a moment, chomping absently. ‘Well yeah, kinda like that. But also like letting go of this idea that you have to be, like, perfect. Or the whole notion of whatever perfect is anyway, you know?’

Henry found himself agreeing, ‘My husband used to say there was no such thing as perfect.’ But he wasn’t at all ready to discuss Charles with this group yet, and had no idea why he’d blurted that out.

‘He’s a wise man, my dude,’ Joe retorted, waving a lobster tail sagely in Henry’s direction. ‘A wise man indeed. Think about it - isn’t “perfect” just, like, a… whatdyacallit? Like made up?’

‘A contrivance?’ Carl suggested.

‘Yeah, man!’ Joe said. ‘A total contrivance. If you think about it, anyone could be perfect, right? Like, anyone at all.’ He took a large gulp of beer (Henry decided to follow suit). ‘We’ve just decided as a society that ‘perfect’ has to mean thin, or muscled, or, I don’t know, blonde…’

‘Or young!’ Henry laughed quite unexpectedly, which was mirrored by the others.

‘Right!’ said Joe. ‘Well, what if Big is “perfect”? What if my fat dad-belly is “perfect”, you know what I’m saying? Don’t we get to decide that for ourselves?’

Henry was eating faster. The scallops were sumptuous and almost depleted. Being honest with himself, he wanted more.

‘That’s really interesting-‘ Boony began.

‘No it’s not,’ Gus huffed. ‘No-one’s ever gonna think that this is perfect, are they?’ And he grabbed a roll of his own lovehandle and wibbled it up and down for show.

‘They could,’ Boony replied, looking almost hopeful.

‘No, sweetheart. They couldn’t.’ Gus made a condescending face.

Suddenly Henry stood up, his chair scraping loudly behind him.

‘I’m going back for another plate,’ he declared, ignoring Gus’ negativity and feeling quite emboldened by Joe and what he had to say for himself. Plus, he was still hungry, and there was even more lurking behind that. More to be investigated.

‘Fuckin’ aye, dude,’ Joe raised his beer aloft. ‘I’ll be right there with you in a moment. The tank isn’t full yet, haha.’ He gave his ballooning beer-gut another of those hearty pats.

Carl stood next. ‘Henry, I’ll come with you. I… I feel like another plate myself.’

Joe addressed Boony next, ‘Boonster, you in? Did you try the strip steak yet? It’s amazing, man.’

‘He’s done,’ Gus said.

But Boony also stood, much to the horror of his husband.

‘I wanna try the steak,’ he said plainly.

‘Yeah dude!’ Joe laughed. ‘Fill your boots!’

Each of the fat dads, excluding Gus, went back for seconds, then thirds. Then more beers were brought. More seafood consumed; lobster, scallops, mussels, big jumbo shrimp, crabs legs which Henry broke apart with precision, not wanting to create mess. He delighted in filling up on soft sea bass with crispy skin before moving onto the ‘turf’ side of things: tender, seared steak drizzled in bearnaise sauce, juicy pork cutlets, spiced sausage and lamb on the bone coated in a thick mint gravy. It was all wondrous. As was being here, filling his belly with good food, with these fellows of mutual stature. Carl’s polo looked more snug than ever, the undercarriage of his flabby, fat belly beginning to expose itself, his dadly moobs and side-rolls spreading outwards ever the further. Joe appeared stuffed to the gills, more of his ballgut on display now than had been earlier, thoroughly packed; it was almost gravity-defying, like a pumped-up sphere of flesh lightly heaving with each of his breaths. And even Boony had clearly eaten his fill, warping his teacher-shirt-and-pullover-combo with the expansion of his extra dad-poundage. Looking around, this filled Henry with a warmth he’d sorely missed over the last two years. Something only the companionship of a group could provide.

(What would you think of this, Charles? Of me ‘letting go’? Of the size of me now?)

He didn’t think Charles would have minded his fatter body - Charles had always been the kindest, the most understanding soul - but it got Henry thinking. Perhaps he should mention the death of his husband to this new group. He wasn’t sure. Hudson had suggested they might be too concerned with food to care about it, and… perhaps he was right. Perhaps they wouldn’t want to listen. Who wants to hear an old man prattle on about his departed spouse anyway?

Only Hudson. Only Hudson listened. He’d been there for Henry ever since the funeral, always an ear to confide in, a shoulder to cry on.

There had been much of that.

(So, so much.)

‘This is ridiculous!’ Gus’ voice suddenly rang out, pulling Henry from his thoughts. ‘We’re supposed to be losing weight!’ It wasn’t clear if he was referring specifically to himself and his husband Boony, or to the group at large.

‘The steak is tasty, sweetheart,’ Boony said to him. ‘Why don’t you give it a try-‘

‘I don’t WANT to give the steak a try!’ Gus seethed. ‘I want to get rid of this goddamned spare tire! And you should want that too!’

Other diners were watching.

Joe held up his hands in peace. ‘Dude, it’s all good. You do you-‘

‘Oh, I’m gonna ”do me”,’’ Gus cut in yet again. ‘Don’t you worry about that. First thing tomorrow we’re getting straight on the treadmill.’ Then he grabbed his husband’s forearm. ‘C’mon, Boon. We’re leaving.’

Boony had been in the process of lifting his fork, loaded with soft pink beef, to his mouth before he was jerked into a standing position, the fork clattering noisily onto the table.

‘Are - are you sure, guys?’ Carl looked somewhat deflated.

‘Aww, don’t go, man,’ Joe added. ‘Each to their own, you know? There’s no pressure here. Stay and chill.’

Henry remained silent as he watched Boony start to say something, only to be hissed down in hushed tones by Gus, who still hadn’t released his arm. The two of them continued a short, whispered conversation before Gus turned and headed to the exit.

Turning back, Boony addressed the Fat Dad Club, ‘I’m sorry, everyone. I’ll see you again and pay what we owe for dinner. Sorry.’ He then did a waddling jog to catch up with his spouse.

It was difficult for Henry not to form an impolite opinion of Gus. Charles had always been so keen to give anyone the benefit of the doubt, but this was a beautiful trait Henry lacked. He knew his own temper too well - the state of his bedroom mirror could attest to that.

‘Damn, dude,’ Joe said quietly. ‘I feel bad now.’

‘It’s not your fault, José,’ Henry said. ‘They’ll do whatever they’re going to do.’

‘And I thought - I mean, I thought Fat Dad Club was going pretty well,’ Carl said, looking down into his beer.

Henry drew himself upright, feeling his now very-full stomach pushing fiercely against his shirt. And, quite frankly, enjoying it.

‘It still is,’ he said. ‘Don’t let this deter you, Carl. You’ve done a wonderful thing in bringing us together. A sterling job. Now, I don’t know about you fellows, but I’m in the mood for another round.’

And with his shirt taut and his stomach stretched, Henry made the march back to the buffet. He loaded up a new plate with more lobster, more crab, more steak, more potatoes, more greens, more sides, now flush with this intangible sensation within.

‘Daaamn, Colonel,’ Joe remarked upon seeing Henry park back down and immediately get to work eating. ‘Have at it, bro!’

This desire to keep filling himself was taking Henry over completely. His stomach may have been full and certainly didn’t need any more, but this was no longer about ‘need’. He chomped on soft lobster meat, plowed creamy mashed potato between his cheeks. This was about… well, he wasn’t sure of that yet. All Henry knew was that this was physical, emotional, and curiously sexual - he couldn’t deny that it was awakening his loins. But it ran even deeper than that. Perhaps it might even have been spiritual. Something key to his being.

‘I can’t eat another bite,’ Carl exclaimed, watching Henry in awe. ‘I don’t know how you’ve got the room!’

Henry didn’t know either. All he knew was that pushing, stretching his stomach past its limits was unlocking some vital part of him he’d never known existed.

And he wanted more… so much more.