“What Pie?”

Grr…

Do you really think that excuse will work every time, you fat little goat? Do you think those pies were all un-missed, every-time you swiped them so greedily? We’ve lived in the same home for months now, and at every turn, you’ve taken advantage of my generosity, and then some - do you think I am wholly blind?

Do you think I don’t remember the thin goat you once were, all that time ago when you first became my roomate? Do you recall that first time that you swiped my pie, left so carefully to cool? You remember the flavor - don’t you? Raspberry. After that, pumpkin. Then blueberry. Then apple. Then strawberry - but that was was favorite wasn’t it? More and more of my tempting pies down your gullet - I remember those thefts… I remember them all well… And I remember watching you swell.

First, a little paunch, a symbol of your greed. A starter belly, you could call it, imperceptible, except with the right eye, and the right moment - as like when you would reach up to grab another pie, your shirt riding up to expose your gains…

From there, a comfortable belly, my how quick it grew. Did you even notice? Of course you did… You must have. But the need to eat my pies - and the thrill of “hiding” the evidence was too much for you… Your stomach expanded, and your appetite too. Did you really think it was just chance that I baked a pie every single day?

Further you ate, and further you grew, a fat doughy thing was in store for you. It hangs off you, now, a testament to the bags of sugar and blocks of butter that entered your maw… Is there a moment you aren’t quivering and wobbling, like some great jello mold? A moment when pie crumbs don’t decorate your yielding chest? When filling doesn’t lay smeared across your greedy lips?

How, I wonder, did you excuse me making pies after every meal…? Was it denial? Greed? Or some deep, ingrained confectionary-kleptomaniac urge? I care not for excuses, except in one sense - you aught to amend your words to the plural sense… So that I may have a chance at one pie, for my own maw, I’ll place double on the counter to cool… Then, next week, perhaps three will do over two, in case of company, or gifts to friends… Now, what say you, my jiggling goat? Will you plop only one in your hungering maw? Or will you give in, and go for them all?

—-

Here’s a fun personal piece from a few days ago - the pose is a new one to me, and the concept a very fun one… He’s such a wily little thief, isn’t he? You’d never know he’d stole a pie at all… All the proof is gone, totally and fully!