5 courses - by agouderia (BHM, Dining, Romance)

[agouderia]

~BHM, Dining, Romance - Best friends re-connect over an extensive dinner and big changes have occurred in the interim

5 courses​

by agouderia​

Giving the delicate burgundy balloon glasses a last polish, Cecily carefully set them next to the slim white wine glass. Plucked a little at the lilac branches with which she had decorated the table. Stepped back to survey her work, a small smile of satisfaction creeping over her face. This had to be good. This was the first time she was meeting Heaton after 7 years, the first dinner she was cooking for him. The first personal encounter since that ill fated phone call in which he had informed her about his wedding with Phoebe, asked for the contact information of various mutual friends – and had not invited her.

Entering the kitchen, Cecily checked her list of preparations: the soup as well as the sauces for the fish and meat course were ready, the fish seasoned in the refrigerator waited to be grilled, the gnocchi in their bowl – now she set to work on the vegetables. Washing, draining and cutting the Frisée salad. Fiddling with the pesky pomegranate seeds. Washing and cutting the tender green beans. Chopping large leaved Italian parsley and delicately plucking chervil. Peeling oranges and slicing baby pineapple. Walnut rye bread, olive fougasse, and dried-tomato whole wheat baguette, waiting to be cut in the bread-basket.

While working away, Cecily couldn’t help remembering how often she and Heaton had worked together in the kitchen, laughing, testing new recipes, talking about politics, travel, friends, dreams … being best friends for over five years. Or doing endless, hours long phone conference cook-ins. All that hadn’t ended when he had met Phoebe, he never told Cecily about her, or even introduced her when they both attended mutual friends’ parties. It had been an awkward situation: Heaton had talked and laughed with Cecily all evening – while Rob had to fill her in that Heaton was there together with Phoebe.

After the wedding non-invitation, Cecily had written a polite congratulations card and then broken off all contact, not answering Heaton’s e-mails or taking his calls until he gave up.

The last item on the preparation list was taking the duck breasts out of the marinade and frying them for 8 minutes, before wrapping them in tin foil and letting them finish slowly in the oven at 190°F. Cecily went into the bathroom and got under the shower, turning under the hot water and lathering her thick strawberry blonde hair. She was still slightly surprised with herself that she was actually having Heaton over for dinner. Normally she excelled in bearing grudges for ages and on her own accord would never have re-connected with him. Rob – with whom she had gotten back in closer contact again 2 years ago through work – easy-going and well-meaning as ever had talked her into it. Insisted she introduce forgive and forget to her vocabulary, calling her grudge childish after so many years: Heaton had paid for his mistakes with a profoundly unhappy marriage and Phoebe running off with her plastic surgeon in the end. Rob explained how miserable Heaton was, appealed to her sense of responsibility as long term, very good friend – until she gave in and allowed him to pass Heaton her new contact information.

Heaton had called the next day: It had been unsettling how effortlessly they had slipped back into the pattern of endless, intimate phone conversations, as if there never had been a 7 year hiatus. Still, she had procrastinated meeting in person for four months.

After liberally applying her favorite body lotion Cecily set to drying and trying to tame her thick, wavy her – in this humid weather it was not worth the effort to really straighten it, so the result was her own natural version of glossy forties style waves down to her shoulders.

Make-up was next, subtle, slightly highlighting her wide blue-green eyes, narrowing her rounded cheeks with rouge and applying dusky berry lip gloss. Without looking into the mirror, she slipped into her blue ‘Malizia’ luxury lace body suit, pulling it up over her full curves, fitting her plump breasts into their D-cups, hitching the straps over her shoulders before wrapping herself in and buttoning her most becoming dusky jeans-blue silk dress. Apart from matching her eyes, it highlighted the best parts of her figure: statuesque shoulders, maybe a bit too powerful for a female, stunning cleavage, a relatively narrow waist, the wide skirt hiding plump hips and thighs, ending in a swirl over surprisingly dainty ankles. To make the most of them, she finished off the outfit with navy blue Pollini high-heeled peep toes.

Finally daring to look into the mirror, Cecily sucked in her stomach and turned slightly – this was as attractive as she would get in this life. A 5’7’, 170 curvy pounds, not fat, but not as thin as socially desired package, as nicely wrapped as possible.

She had not believed him when Rob had stressed how their entire circle of friends had always hoped she and Heaton would finally really get together since they were such a well-matched couple. Phoebe had been an anti-climax to all, estranging Heaton from all his long-term friends and making him miserable. Contrary to Rob’s observations, Cecily had never considered this to be a realistic option – she had always seen herself as the fat, plain best-friend to the seriously attractive Heaton, all of 6’3’ and lean 180 lbs, dark good looks. In those days, she had always been struggling to stay under the 200 lbs. mark, and even now, after having lost 36 lbs. her self-image had not changed much. Heaton seemed to have thought along similar lines despite all emotional closeness, he never made a move and openly professed his preference for the sexy Latina type woman a la Penelope Cruz. Phoebe had sort of fit that mold, being a brunette, but pale, incredibly boring and sparrow-like size 2. Or Ivy, Cecily’s slightly sluttish colleague and arch-enemy, with whom he had had an on-and-off affair before Ivy ensnared their boss in the unplanned pregnancy trap.

Giving the table a final check Cecily cut the bread and placed it on the table together with garlic butter, basil butter and red bell pepper spread. To have something to do, she arranged the amuse-gueles to go with the Champagne – cured salmon with horse-radish cream and green apples, gorgonzola with walnut and pear, grilled yellow pepper and jámon Serrano roles – on a small silver platter. The door bell rang.

Cecily walked to the front door and opened it – only to have trouble keeping her facial features as well as her thighs in line from wildly clenching to control the instantly pooling wetness. Right in front of her, she recognized him all right - the dark slanting eyes, the self-confident smile, the short dark curls – but she probably would have passed him by obliviously on the street. Since he was wearing a suit, Cecily couldn’t make out the details – but Heaton seemed twice as wide as she remembered him, and probably four times as deep with a vast belly mound protruding in front of him, lightly camouflaged by a jacket closed with one straining button. No neck was in sight, only a thick tanned double chin wedged between his original chin and a pale blue shirt collar. She was instantly thankful she was standing a step higher than he was and in high heels, so she could elegantly lean over his great protuberance without bumping into him to cheek kiss in greeting, seriously having to suppress a few lusty shudders as her skin touched the thick fat cushions his cheeks had turned into.

“Cecily, it’s so wonderful to see you again, I’m so grateful you invited me,” Heaton smiled, his dark eyes almost disappearing in the padding of his cheeks. “I’ve missed you awfully.”

Cecily blushed: “It’s been a while, things change … you’ve always been one of the best people I know to cook for… and I haven’t had the opportunity to do 5 courses in a long time.”

“My credentials as taste tester and recipe critic have gotten even better in the interim,” Heaton smirked, patting his belly. “I brought you a special organic dry Sherry and 2 of the Ribera del Duero you like so much from my Spanish friends.”

“Thank you, that’s very nice,” Cecily fought her quickened breath and set the bottles on the kitchen counter. “Since we haven’t seen each other for so long, I think we should celebrate with Champagne, is Lanson Black Label okay for you?”

“Lovely. But that‘s not the only thing here that’s lovely – you look fabulous Cecy. I love the longer hair; you have such great hair, its good you’re finally showing it off. And – if you forgive me for saying so – you’ve lost a lot of weight, but you’re still you, with very impressive curves…” Heaton blushed a bit but held his smiling gaze on her. Cecily, notoriously uncomfortable with compliments, reddened, nodded and turned her face away to mumble: “Thank you,” busying herself with opening the Champagne bottle.

She poured the Champagne and handed him a glass: “Cheers! Welcome back!”

“Here’s to the next seven years as best friends again, ey Cecy?” Heaton looked deep into her eyes, cocking his head in his habitual angle.

“Umm .. yeah, maybe, hopefully,” Cecily stammered, while Heaton quickly fitted his arms around her waist and pulled her in a firm friendly hug, pressing her into the abundant flesh of his belly while she was not able to reach all the way around him. Feeling thick fat roles on his sides, straining through the firm fabric of his jacket – leaving her dizzy as he said: “Mmmh, you always had the best smelling hair products, one more thing about you I missed.”

“How about trying the amuse-gueles?” slyly grinning, Cecily held the small platter under his nose, and Heaton took one of the small salmon ones.

“Ouuh, fish, apple and horseradish – interesting combination,” Heaton smacked his lips.

“Those are Danish in style. Try these, they’re more like Spanish tapas, I made them specially for you, with jámon Serrano and Sherry vinegar,” Cecily couldn’t resist slipping a small grilled pepper role directly into his mouth, before slowly licking her own fingers, but totally incapable of eating anything herself. “Why don’t we move over into the dining room?”

Heaton looked over the table smiling: “Your taste in color-coordinating is as exquisite as ever. You even wrote menu cards – but you could always out-write me 10:1, Cecy, given my tendencies to dyslexia.”

Laughing Cecily teased: “By now I can probably out-write you 15:1 given my increased professional experience. I could never understand why you insisted writing your parts of our joint papers, that often tried my patience because I can do it in 20% of the time with 250% of the results. I was always realistic enough to let you do my calculations. Have a seat,” gesturing to her prized polished steel and gray leather Italian designer chairs.

Carefully Heaton started lowering himself between the floor length curved arm-rests which narrowly framed the leather upholstered seat. Cecily watched mesmerized, as he could fit his backside, always more on the small side with him, through - only to see the thicker ring of fat circling from what must be over-sized love handles around to the huge belly get stuck between the sleek armrests. Heaton wiggled a bit, trying to push his bulk through the confinements while Cecily had to grab her own chair for support as her knees went weak, so turned on was she by his struggle.

Reddening slightly, Heaton straightened himself back up, pushed the chair off his hips, grinning unapologetically. “So sorry Cecy, this is not going to work. Out-growing things is my new hobby-horse - do you happen to have a bigger chair?”

With a quick nod, Cecily turned and rushed down into the basement, leaning her fore-head against the wall, taking a few deep breaths to regain her composure, unable to understand her own responses. Then she pulled out her grandmother’s old-fashioned sturdy wooden garden chair, took the matching cushion out of the closet and carried them up to the dining room. “Here you go, I hope this is okay…” Cecily felt she was more embarrassed by this situation than Heaton was.

“Yeah, that’s more my kind of furniture…,” he smirked and sat down comfortably, opening the straining button of his jacket, giving Cecily the first real look at the sheer size of the belly hidden underneath, it’s enormous globular expanse pushing his legs apart and covering his lap over half-way to his knees. It took all of Cecily’s willpower not to stare as she almost croaked: “Why don’t you finish off the amuse-gueles and help yourself to bread while I get the soup,” and turned to go into the kitchen.

Doing some serious inner damage control she ladled the soup into the pre-warmed plates, giving Heaton a double helping, setting it in front of him with a smile: “Green and white cream of asparagus soup.”

“Delicious,” Heaton stated after a few quick spoons, “So there is a touch of white wine and some herb…?”

“A tiny bit of lemon grass, slightly unusual, I know, sort of Thai style,” Cecily realized how much fun food discussions had always been with him. “Would you like a little bit more?”

“A little bit, need to save some appetite for everything else that is on your menu,” Heaton smirked while Cecily got up and served him some more.

After the hot and slightly spicy soup, Cecily noticed a sheen of perspiration appear on Heaton’s face, his round apple cheeks flush and his breath quicken. Before she had decided how to react, Heaton asked: “It’s pretty warm in here Cecy; would you mind if I take off my jacket?”

“Oh no, of course not, this is not a formal dinner! Wait, it might be a good idea if you take off your tie too,” getting up, Cecily’s fingers reached up to Heaton’s collar before she was aware of what she was doing, on auto-pilot pulled and tugged at the straining button, pushing, prodding, squeezing and rubbing the thick ring of his double chin, taking much more time than strictly necessary.

“Ah, that feels so much better. Thank you Cecy,” Heaton winked at her before he sank down heavily on his chair again. This move made his enormous mound of a belly wobble visibly under the thin fabric of his button down shirt. Cecily noticed with slight shock that he continued his habit of refusing to wear T-shirts under the dress-shirt - despite his vastly increased bulk so very little camouflaged the undulating flesh underneath.
Cecily turned her head to stop staring at the quivering belly fat or the prominent man boobs all too easily identifiable under the pale blue cloth: “Let me get the salad. Do you still share my preference for Pouilly-Fumé with salad and fish?”

“Some things change for the worse, hopefully more things change for the better ... but good things should not change at all,” Heaton smiled.

Cecily quickly handed him the bottle to open before arranging the salad, grilling the small slices of goat-cheese sprinkled with a touch of estragon, arranging the Frisée with the pomegranate seeds, small pickled pink pepper berries and liberally distributing raspberry vinegar and walnut oil vinaigrette over it, topping it off with the cheese.
As she returned to the dining room, Heaton had already made a nice dent into the bread basket: “You have a fabulous new bakery here; I have to get some when I come next time. If there is a next time soon…” grinning up at Cecily mischievously.

“We’ll see, just behave yourself,” Cecily grinned back, raising her wine glass and feeling more at ease after having gotten her bearings back by making the firm resolve to keep her eyes above his chin from now on.

“Pepper with pomegranate seeds, sweet, spicy, tricky! And the estragon on the cheese is unusual, but very tasty with the walnut oil,” Heaton commented.

They talked about joint friends, vacation plans, the recent remodeling of Cecily’s house; Cecily only taking a discreet peek or two at Heaton’s big belly spread out comfortably on and between thick thighs. Each time surprised by the electric jolt this sent down into her stomach and lower regions.

“If you’ll excuse me now, the fish course needs to the minute preparation,” Cecily cleared the table, hoping to have the chance of also clearing her mind in the kitchen.

While putting the sole under the grill, reheating the sauce and boiling water for the linguine, she racked her memory, trying to explain to herself why she felt so wildly turned on by Heaton’s sheer physical presence. Because that had always been the point why – apart from her own inferiority complex of feeling too fat and unattractive for his good looks – she had never seriously pursued turning their friendship into more, despite their emotional closeness: Heaton had never triggered any notable physical reaction in her, at best mild arousal after an evening of sitting together on the coach with a lot of wine, a situation which could lead to a tumble with almost anyone.

Back in those days it had been Patrick, just with the sound of his deep voice, which caused her to melt on her chair. Patrick, 20 years her senior, married, seasoned womanizer, out of the question as a partner, but to die for as lover who literally made her insides sing, leading to an almost 4 year very clandestine affair. Why did Heaton all of a sudden – in spite of or maybe because him being roughly twice as heavy as before – evoke the same feelings of wild lust in her? What was wrong? Did she have a so far unknown penchant for fat men?

True, having a robust build herself, she had always felt more comfortable and protected around men with a certain hulking physical presence. Patrick had been a powerfully built, heavy man with some belly but could not seriously be called fat. Until this day, Cecily rejected every ounce of fat on her own body, even though in more objective moments she was aware she was being over-critical with herself. But right now all she could think of was squeezing as much of Heaton’s fresh flesh masses as she could get her hands on.

“I know you don’t like it, but may I join you here in the kitchen? Despite your nice newspaper collection, I’m feeling a bit lonely alone in the dining room,” Heaton appeared behind her.

“Sure, talking in the kitchen passes time better,” Cecily responded. Her unease immediately heightened again as Heaton took his customary position, only 6’’ behind her, looking over her shoulder. His approach to personal space had always been very different from Cecily’s; him mostly moving in closer than she felt comfortable with, prompting her to make herself a small as possible. Nor had he adapted his approach to the new, much bulkier dimensions of his body so Cecily now felt the warm, heavy round curve of his belly fully touching her back, sending shivers down her spine. To keep him from noticing she tried to mumble a few responses to his questions.

As Cecily had to turn to drain the linguine, she fully bumped into Heaton’s protruding belly, barely avoiding the catastrophe of pouring boiling water all over him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I should be more careful!”

Laughing, Heaton shook his head: “No, totally my fault! My estimates of how much space I currently take up still are disgracefully inaccurate for me as a trained mathematician! I’ll move over to the window to get out of your way.”

Cecily giggled to hide that she could barely contain her excitement after this exchange and started arranging the grilled sole on the linguine, sprinkling them with chervil and smothering them in her best champagne sauce before she slipped the dishes under the grill for a quick ‘au gratin’.

“Oh my god … this fish sauce is sinfully good,” Heaton moaned after his first taste. “I’d be fine with drowning in it. What’s in it – cream, some alcohol..?”

The vision of Heaton drowning in her sauce made Cecily’s imagination do somersaults: Envisioning herself pouring the sauce over his fat body and licking it off his huge belly, those flabby man boobs - forcing her to tighten all muscles between waist and knees and twitch on her chair to stay in control.

“Cecy … are the sauce ingredients so secret you won’t tell me?”

Snapping back to reality, lightly laughing Cecily shook her head: “No, they can’t be secret - the recipe is public as a Bocuse Medaille d’Or winner! The base is fish fond, reduced with Champagne and Noilly Prat and blended with cream, white pepper and nutmeg. Here’s to always drowning life in the best possible sauce,” raising her glass.

“I’ll certainly drink to that,” Heaton cocked his head eyeing her from the side. “Apart from it being so good to talk to you in person again, I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels to have a woman actually cook for me again, let alone this fantastic. Nobody has done that since my mother died two years ago – Phoebe never cooked a single dish for anybody.”

The mention of the name gave Cecily an uncomfortable sting. “Since you never even mentioned Phoebe to me while you were still together, I don’t see why you should start now.” Seeing his face go dark and him swallow very hard, Cecily regretted her sharp words instantly, remembering Rob had made her swear to be as nice and gentle as possible. She tried to make amends, laying her hand on his foreman. “What I mean, Heaton, is Rob told me how extremely difficult the past years have been for you. Don’t torture yourself with painful memories. That’s all tempi passati – let’s not talk about that tonight. Let’s just have a nice evening centering on the here and now and maybe tomorrow, okay?”

Heaton’s face relaxed, he quickly shoveled two more heaped forks full of fish and linguine into his mouth: “Sounds like the perfect plan – to today and tomorrow,” raising his glass again. “There is one last thing about the past I want to say, the lesson I’ve learned the hard way. Instead of easily getting married to my cliché, I should have tried much more seriously to convince my soul mate of getting rid of her commitment phobia,” giving Cecily a long look deep with meaning until she blushed crimson, closed her eyes and held her breath.

As she opened her eyes again and looked up, Heaton was looking at her in amusement, deepening the dimples in his fat cheeks. “You do know fish are seriously afraid of heights and can’t breathe up in the air?” making her notice that during this whole exchange, she had been holding her fork with fish and linguine suspended in mid air. With a naughty small smile, she dabbed the fork back into the sauce and then pushed it into Heaton’s willingly opening mouth, unfortunately dribbling some of the creamy white over his cheek. Deftly catching the stream with her finger, Cecily couldn’t resist giving his apple cheek a sharp pinch before licking the sauce off her finger.

“Oh you’ve already eaten up and I only had 2 sole filets. Would you like the rest of mine, I’m not that hungry after spending most of the day in the kitchen? I can even pour what’s left of the sauce over it,” Cecily offered Heaton her still well half-filled plate smiling seductively.

Sighing, Heaton pushed out his belly even further and patted it. “I really shouldn’t, but this one here never vetoes food that is so great,” accepting the plate as Cecily went to the kitchen to get the rest of the sauce.

Watching Heaton dig in with relish gave Cecily a warm, contented feeling making her relax, lean back and sip her wine, smiling at him. “It’s a rare treat to see one’s work honestly appreciated.”

“You know I’ve always been a serious foodie – it’s one of the things that haven’t changed. But I’m pretty full already now do you really have 2 more full courses?”

“Um… sort of. We’ll take it slow, now it’s time to take a little break, the French “trou” or hole in the middle of the meal.” Cecily winked, took the plates to the kitchen coming back a few minutes later with two Martini glasses. “Voilà, home-made pink grapefruit sorbet, with a little Champagne to cool down your insides, nice and tangy to help digest and prepare you for the courses to come.”

“Oh now I get it, what that funny little symbol in the middle of the menu is for,” Heaton smirked.

The lull between the courses, the warm buzz of drink and the fun and uncomplicated topic of Rob’s adventures juggling 2 crazy bosses made Cecily truly relax for the first time that evening and even suggest. “Now do you want to keep me company in the kitchen preparing the main course right away?”

“Sure. I’d actually love to give you a hand. May I sauté the beans or something?”

“Well, you’re the guest – but if you insist,” Cecily felt a bit drowsy by now.

Working side by side in the kitchen, Cecily caught herself licking her lips just contemplating the size of his bulk next to her, the warmth it was radiating. As she tried to reach past him, open a drawer, she noticed her arm was way too short, she could only reach his big love handle which she – thanks to inhibitions strongly loosened by Champagne – grabbed and playfully squeezed. “Can you please move over so I can open the drawer, my anatomy unfortunately is disproportionate and my arms are too short in reference to my shoulder width.”

Heaton threw back his head laughing, wrapping his arm around her and half hugging her against the squishy roles of flesh on his side, taking her other arm and trying to fit it around his vast middle with no chance of them reaching around. “Cecy, you are always good for taking self-deprecating to new absurd heights. Your anatomy is no problem whatsoever in this context, my circumference is the one and only issue!”

 

[agouderia]

 

[agouderia]

 

[BriarChubNJ]

 

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