Vegetables Make You Fat

Chapter 1

“What was the person thinking when they discovered cow’s milk was fine for human consumption… and why did they do it in the first place!?”
Glancing sideways at my girlfriend sitting shotgun in my car, I smiled to myself as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I was resigned to her self-righteous ranting by this point, so I did my best to distract myself with the rolling hills of the countryside. It wasn’t that she was ugly or anything, but when she got into one of her mood swings, I would catch myself looking at trees, buildings, anything that would distract me from her ranting.
“Darby?”
“Mm,” the mention of my name snared my attention. “Yes?”
“Look at me for a second.”
A quick glance as I managed a sharp turn, just to remind myself why I hadn’t dumped this woman yet. She glared at me with captivatingly-green eyes, eyelashes preened to perfection. Her skin shone like smoothened marble, crowned with a cape of brown hair laced with blonde highlights. Politeness and caution diverted my gaze from looking any further down than her soft lips, but deep cleavage still managed to ensnare my attention from my peripheral vision.
Yes indeed, Jessica’s breasts were to die for. Strapped in place with DD bras, and only half-contained by her tight blouse, who could blame me for pretending to be vegan? After all, when you’re swiping left and right, pretty much all you look for are bulging boobs, a slender waist, and curvy hips. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t read her profile, was it? How was I supposed to know she was a fanatic?
“Whatever,” Jessica eyed her manicured fingernails.
“What?” I asked.
“Just drive.”
But if I didn’t ask her what was wrong, she’d take it personally. “I’m listening, Jess.”
“I don’t know how you can drive past these concentration camps without getting all pissed. I mean, look at them!”
“The cows?” I asked, eying the slow, beefy animals grazing on the open fields on either side of the road.
“Whatever. Just how far are we from the hotel now?”
“Looks like…” I glanced at my smartphone. “Twenty-six minutes.”
Jessica didn’t answer, but sighed and stared out the window away from me with her arms crossed over her boobs, squeezing them together like sacks of flour.
I returned my full attention to the road, relieved that the conversation was over. This was the first time we would be spending more than a day together, and I had taken a full week’s of paid vacation days to do this. Jessica said she wanted to eat homegrown food, and in the meantime, this was the first time we would be sleeping together. As long as I didn’t fuck up until after getting laid, it would all be worth it. I just had to survive being around her for a little longer…

“Is this it?” Jessica strode ahead, hips swaying with each broad step.
“This is the hotel room,” I said neutrally, trying not to grunt as I lugged our suitcases in.
Since arriving, I had served her every whim, for though this expensive resort nestled in a hillside was a place I had booked, Jessica was the “model.” By that, I mean she posted hundreds of pictures and films of herself on social media. She had me film her walk through the lobby, telling me to centre the camera on her rounded ass, flexing against designer jeans with embroidered pockets.
Now she was opening the slider to take a step outside. Like a queen inspecting her domain, she leaned over the balcony, lithe, white arms spread wide with her long legs crossing each other, tilting her hips at an angle. Staring into the valley below, she passed her judgement.
“Ugh, I can’t believe we’re overlooking these slaughterhouses,” she glanced towards some goats grazing on the side of the far hill. “Well, take a picture already,” she frowned at me over her shoulder before swishing her hair back into place.
“Right,” I reached into the purse she had handed me and readied her phone.
“Not just one,” she explained as she twisted around to give me a good look at her side, arching her back to boost her curves out. “Keep taking them.”
“Like last time?” I asked casually.
If it weren’t for her sunglasses, I’d have guessed she was rolling her eyes as she faced me to lean back against the balcony. Her face was that of an ego-centric supermodel, lips parted sensually, neck bent back and tilted to the side. It was the look most mainstream models (and stuck-up hot chicks) used in their photos, and I loathed it. If you saw a woman with that expression on Tinder, Instagram, Facebook, or wherever, she wasn’t taking a picture for anyone. Hell, she didn’t even see you. All she saw was herself. To these girls – to Jessica – social media was their magic mirror, a mirror they asked “who’s the fairest of them all?” And all the thirsty boys would answer: “you are, my queen.” Even now, Jessica saw me as nothing more than her photographer, and – if I was lucky – her boytoy that had the privilege of buying everything on this little trip. With a slight twitch of my cheek, I snapped the tenth photo, wondering how many other men had such an honour. Judging from the number of photos in her profile, a lot.
But God damn were those tits amazing! Like the soft melons I was sure she ate regularly, they rested before her chest, ripe and delicious, pressing softly against each other within her unbuttoned polo shirt. They better be worth it.
“Right,” I placed her purse on top of the king-size bed. “I’ll be right back.”
“You ordering room service?” she inquired as I made towards the bathroom.
“Not yet… you can if you want. I’ll take awhile.”
“Just don’t leave a stink,” Jessica wrinkled her nose.