Monica and I threw Bill a surprise banquet during which we served not only Bill's favorite dishes, but those he had only dreamt of making, like pheasant under glass. That evening the television was his. We placed the remote in a box, wrapped it in beautiful paper, tied a ribbon around it, and handed it to him the minute he walked in. Bill was totally overwhelmed when he walked into the apartment to see the trouble we had gone to, and after all the tears and hugs he insisted 1 order in Chinese and watch any news magazine I wanted to see-even if they were the lesser ones like "MTV Cribs." He couldn't bear to see me white knuckling it through gourmet dishes and watching reality TV (despite my growing weakness for it) when I was dreaming of Chinese and "Nightline." Even though I was embarrassed, I caved in-especially since my pyorrhea had been acting up again and I needed softer foods like lo mein. I didn't want the evening to end. I had the two people in the world who were most important to me and my most favorite programs and food. Thinking it over afterwards, I realized that Bill hadn't become any more enamored of news magazines or Chinese food; he had just wanted me to be happy during our last moments together. I remarked to myself how curious it was that I didn't feel the same way. I loved Bill and wished him the best. But, after all, we only had one television, and while Bill had been served everything he could have ever desired, he certainly didn't get to see his favorite programs, the way I had been hogging the tube.
The mind can play strange tricks. I had blocked the fact that Bill had departed. I was shocked returning home to an empty kitchen that first night after he left. Now Monica and I were like two siblings left alone to fend for ourselves with the parent gone. I'd been doing some volunteer work for a local amateur theater club which was mounting a revival of Fiorello, and when I came home I found Monica lying on the sofa in front of "Oprah" like a beached whale. We'd gotten to the point where we knew each other so well we didn't even need to say anything. Monica went on watching as if I wasn't there.
When "Oprah" ended she said, "I guess we'll just order in some Chinese." I don't know what got into me. I suspect it was some sort of conditioned response provoked by the timing of the finish of the program and the mention of take-out Chinese, but I pulled my dick out of my pants and held it in front of her mouth. She looked at it with the same welcome you might have given a burglar crawling through a bedroom window in the middle of the night. She didn't scream. Her expression was a mixture of amazement, disgust, and fear. I sheepishly stuck my dick back in my pants and flipped our remote to CNN.
Going back to a strict regimen of Chinese food would have perpetuated the same old patterns and would not have been taking into account the growth of Monica's personality-or of her stomach for that matter. I knew that Bill's departure had traumatized her, but Monica also had a tendency to push her feelings down to the deepest recesses of her being, which, considering the increased space her being took up, was now quite a distance from top to bottom. She was plainly sinking into a depression in which nothing mattered. 1 could have eaten Chinese food everyday and it wouldn't have been a symptom of anything. However,1 knew that Monica's willingness to return to our old habits was not a sign of mental health. Monica had been Bill's sous chef and 1 thought getting her back in the kitchen again would be the answer, though it was important that she start small. 1 suggested we take time out of our regimented television schedule to hold a marathon screening of recordings of "The Martha Stewart Show" that we'd made when it looked like Martha was headed to prison, but Monica wasn't responsive.
Isn't it odd how help often comes from the most unexpected places? Who would believe a Swanson's Boneless White Meat Fried Chicken Hungry-Man would be the agent of Monica's salvation. But it was a TV dinner that finally cured her of her malaise. We had stopped off to load up on paper towels and toilet paper at Sam's Club when we passed the frozen food section.
"Swanson's TV dinners, I haven't seen one since 1 was a kid. 1 didn't think they still made them," Monica cried out with childish glee. Her sexual addiction had started at such a young age that she had bypassed many of the experiences other adolescents have. According to SAA (Sex Addicts Anonymous), emotionally, Monica would be the age she was when she had first started acting out, which in her case was twelve. She had bypassed the junk food stage that most teenagers go through when, by the time she was fourteen, she graduated from hand jobs and heavy petting to affairs with married men who wined her and dined her with fine French cuisine.
She wheeled our cart past the frozen food section, but I ran back and grabbed three Fried Chicken Hungry-Mans and a Roast Turkey. TV dinners are okay as far as I'm concerned, though they don't compare to ordering in Chinese, but we had to start somewhere. A sacrifice was needed if she and I were going to get back on our feet again.
The Hungry-Men led us into a whole new area of microwave cookery. There were frozen pizzas, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinners, frozen fish sticks, turkey pot pies, frozen French fries. Monica became so fat that it would have been difficult to have sex even if we wanted to. I would have needed a pretty big dick to get past her huge hanging stomach and, to be honest, my six inches makes me normal, but not what one would call exceptionally well hung. As our relationship matured, sleeping together took on the literal meaning of the words. I began to enjoy the depression in the bed caused by all her blubber. I'd fall into the trough her body created and warm myself. It was different from putting my dick in her hot hole, yet it was a hole all the same and I came to look forward to it almost as much as I did in the days when hole meant something else.
One time in the middle of the night, I had a shock. It was like having a nightmare, only I was awake. I turned to look at her, and due to the darkness and the fat, I barely recognized her face. 1 was so upset, I actually woke her up. Monica's increased heft required more sleep, and she got very irritated when she was disturbed at night. What a far cry from the days when all I had to do was nudge her with my hard rod and a wet orifice would be waiting for me! But I lied and told her I was having chest pains, then added, "it's probably just gas," so as not to cause too much alarm. I simply had to hear her talk in order to reassure myself that her soul hadn't departed from her body. If it had been daylight, the incident would never have happened. But as Fitzgerald once said, "In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning." This time it was only 2:45, but that was bad enough.
The days of our fond embraces were over. But a couple learns to find other pleasures. That was General Shapiro's message from the first days of our counseling. And now that Monica was getting interested in microwave cooking, 1 felt we were hitting our stride. We would sit on the sofa with our tray tables, watching television and eating what in Monica's case turned out to be four or five TV dinners. The Boneless White Meat Fried Chicken Hungry-Man was a favorite we both agreed on, but Monica would go on to a turkey pot pie, a pot roast, a Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and sometimes even the Weight Watchers Fish Sticks, which she gobbled down as the equivalent of an after-dinner digestif. My theater work has always come in fits and starts. However, I have my busy periods, which can be disruptive. We were just starting to get used to microwave cooking and TV dinners around the time of the latest episode of "The Apprentice," only to find our idyll broken. I was asked to work on a touring production of Annie, which was moving from the Boca Raton playhouse to Toledo's Center Stage Rep. Monica was going through a vulnerable period and I'd been afraid of leaving, but when I returned we quickly resumed where we had left off, celebrating our first night back together by sampling some of the Banquet line of TV dinners.