Biggest Customer

The first time he came to the restaurant was six months ago and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He stepped through the door with a comfortably masculine confidence, clad in tight fitting boot cut jeans and a plaid flannel. The muted light of the restaurant accentuated his chiseled jaw with dense scruff, broad shoulders with narrow waist that had a healthy paunch curving out from it. He looked to be in his early 30s, probably settling into a comfortable office job just as his metabolism was slowing down from his hedonistic 20s. He sat down with a wide manspread and ordered.

The proportions at the restaurant I work for are notoriously huge and I was curious to know what he requested. Unfortunately, I wasn’t working the section he was sitting in so I would have to wait and see. Now, most of our customers split one dish or take home leftovers, mind you. Not this guy, he ordered one plate of noodles and plowed through the entire thing in one sitting with gusto. My coworker served him but I glanced over at his vigorous feasting every chance I could. With his head close to the plate he shoveled the food in as though he had been surviving off nuts and berries in the wilderness for over a year.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to become one of our regulars. Routinely, he came in around dinner time about once or twice a week, which was a lot considering all the other options in our vicinity. There was something about the place that he must’ve liked and I presumed it was the large portions since he was always ordering something different. One of my coworkers surmised he was aiming to try everything on the menu.

Somehow he never sat in my sections, forcing me to observe his appetite from afar. I couldn’t help but pay close attention. Most visits he ordered a carb-heavy dish and he always polished his plate. As time went on, he began ordering a beer or two with his meal. His clothes were always simple and downplayed, a variety of denim jeans that hugged his rump and thighs with a simple button up shirt or tee. If it was a brisk evening he’d sometimes wear a sweater that tantalizingly clung to his burgeoning paunch and love handles.

Naturally, his waistline expanded with his appetite. What was once a paunch developed quickly into a beer gut that hung over the strained waistband of his jeans. The flannels he used to wear that formerly bloused out a bit at the waist and had a few extra inches of fabric on each side; those were now packed full of fat. They barely buttoned around the spare tire that clung to his midsection like sticky rice and was expanding by the day. Eventually, by the end of his meals you could see the buttons beginning to strain around his swollen tank full of food.

After a few weeks, he was adding appetizers to his order. It started with one appetizer here and there before it became a regular thing with every meal. And as soon as he got used to that he began ordering two appetizers on occasion. Slowly but surely he was leveling up his capacity  as his stomach stretched and the fat piled on. Per usual, he swallowed down the plates of fried and oily food with speed and enthusiasm, sometimes sending his regards to the chef. This man clearly enjoyed eating.

His greedy and growing appetite showed just as much on his physique as his mannerisms. When his food arrived he would become all jittery, spreading his legs wider and sitting up straight so he could tuck in closer to the table. From a distance, I would admire how this move caused his ass fat to ooze outward and encompass the chair beneath him. In front, the bottom of his belly pushed forward underneath the table while the middle of his gut pressed against the rigid edge. Sometimes, from just the right angle, I could even glimpse the way his belly sagged between his meaty thighs and obscured the crotch of his pants. If I was lucky I would even catch him performing a subtle wiggly dance of excited gluttony as he chowed down.

With time, I observed his belly grow from a puffy extension of his midsection to a hearty overhang that wobbled as he walked. At this phase, he began to groan as he bent over to sit down or sit up from the table. It was clear he was beginning to feel the effects of his outlandish appetite. His gait was also evolving into a slow plod with a bit of a waddle, his gut jutting out before him with pride.

At this point, his trademark flannel shirts would no longer button around his circumference. He had given up altogether on even trying to get them to closed. Still he wore them, only unbuttoned with worn T-shirts that clung to the mass of fat he was growing on his belly. The tees were also beginning to reach their max capacity and I anticipated that in a few more weeks he would have no choice but to update his tops. He had already upgraded his form fitting boot cut jeans to elastic waist denim that still seemed uncomfortably tight. I suppose all that mattered was that he could get them on.

Finally, after six months of patronizing our restaurant and inhaling loads of fattening food, this man was certifiably fat. He no longer was your average guy with a beer gut. His jawline became obscured by a puffy double chin. He even grew a slight beard which I assumed was meant to obscure the extra facial chub. His gut now entered the room before the rest of him and kept him a good distance from the table when he sat down to feast. Thick thighs pushed at the seams of his pants and supported an increasingly plush rounded ass. Of course, his orders grew larger as well. He was now ordering an appetizer, main course, one or two beers, dessert, and sometimes an extra course to take home.

His pace of consumption had intensified as well. It was as though he were in a race to stuff as much food down his throat as possible, washing each mouthful down with beer. Sometimes he would grunt mysteriously, or let out a belch and grip his belly. His pace would slow the closer he got to desert yet he would always clean every last morsel from his plate. The man’s appetite was growing immense and becoming a source of gossip at the restaurant. I was no longer the only one gawking at his gluttony.

In fact, the other day he came in and my eyes were on him instantly as whispers spread of his arrival amongst the staff. He was wearing a brand new flannel shirt that somehow already looked like he had outgrown it. It was tucked into a nice pair of blue jeans, also new, that were supported by a sleek pair of suspenders framing his gut. This man was finally adapting to life as a fat ass and learning how to dress his expanded form. The outfit, complemented by his short cropped beard, suited him well.

He lumbered over to a table and sighed as he bent over and parked his rump in the wooden chair. Both the chair and his jeans squeaked underneath his immense weight. He spread his legs wide to accommodate the mountain of belly fat spilling out before him. Surprising myself and all my coworkers he ordered three main dishes this time in addition to two appetizers and a beer. There was no doubting his appetite, yet I did wonder if he had the capacity for all that food.

I watched enraptured as he gobbled up the appetizers and washed them down with beer, ordering a second glass before his three plates came. With gusto, he ate from each plate while gulping down the alcohol. His belly was noticeably expanding before my eyes from all the food and carbonation as he ate. The flannel that fit appropriately snug when he arrived was beginning to strain under the pressure of his swelling gut. The buttons were holding on for dear life and the suspenders were slowly sliding back from his rotundness. The man was ballooning right before my very eyes.

Bloated and flushed red from the feasting, he sipped his third beer casually while awaiting his dessert. With mammoth thighs spread wide, he leaned back in his chair to catch a breath after his focused consumption. The chair groaned under his weight and a burp escaped from his mouth. With an expression of surprise over the belch, he placed a hand on the base of his gut and gently rubbed himself. He looked content yet ready for more.

His dessert was served and he wiped the sweat from his brow before digging in. The chocolate cake was gone in under five minutes. He flagged over my colleague and ordered two more slices. The entire staff of the restaurant was shocked and observing the massive hog stuff himself. By the time he was done with all the cake he looked swollen enough to be launched into orbit. It was like watching a snake expand as it consumed a massive prey.

He signed the check and wiped his brow once more in preparation to stand up. Wedged between the chair and the table, he struggled to scoot his chair back and had to lean onto the table to prop himself out of the chair. As he was almost on his feet the cracking sound of splintered wood echoed through the restaurant and the tabletop collapsed underneath his weight. Losing balance, he toppled back onto his chair which also collapsed from the impact. As he hit the ground the buttons on his flannel finally gave way. In a matter of seconds his dishes had shattered on the ground while the furniture around him was reduced to scrap wood, leaving the man sitting on the floor with his naked belly exposed to the entire restaurant.

As the customers and staff stared in silence I rushed in to help. I gripped his hand and nearly pulled a muscle helping him get onto his feet. My coworkers quickly crowded around to clean up the mess and the manager came by to comp his meal and offer condolences. He turned beat red from the embarrassment and physical exertion. Awkward from all the attention, he hurried out of the restaurant, his underbelly wobbling free all the way out the door.

That was the last time I ever saw him.