Chapter 3

Despite the fact the afternoon had been cancelled, we’d still been instructed that work-attire was the dress code of the evening. I got down a little earlier than 21:00, wanting to make sure I could secure a table and as many chairs as might be required for Tricia. I was glad that I had, because upon my arrival, I was just able to bag the last sofa table, three legged stool and sofa. Keeping the leather sofa unoccupied was not easy, as the bar was quite filled already, and more than five times I had to wave people away. But it was worth it.

When the elevator dinged and Tricia’s slightly reddened face appeared I stood up so quickly I toppled my stool. I waved to her and she came over as quickly as a woman of her size could. She lowered herself cautiously into the sofa, all but filling it even though it was built for three, before leaning back and smiling up at me. She had undone a couple of buttons on her faintly striped shirt, and I could not recall a time I had ever seen more cleavage. Averting my gaze, I righted my stool and waved at a passing waiter.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, keeping his eyes down on the floor.

“Yes, please, we’re with the AMSTC party, and we’d like a couple of drinks. I’ll take a rum and coke, and the lady will have…”

“The same,” Tricia supplied, smiling. “Also, do you have any snacks?”

“Snacks, ma’am?”

“Yeah, like crisps, pork scratchings, nuts. Muffins. You know, snacks.”

“I’ll see what I can do," the waiter responded stiffly.

“Just bring whatever you can find,” Tricia called after him, before turning her bright green attention back to me. “Drinking always makes me peckish,” she explained.

There were a number of ways in which I wanted to respond to that comment, but I bit my tongue. I did not know her well enough yet.

“So, did you get that work done?”

To my surprise, her cheeks flushed pink and Tricia averted her gaze. “Uh, yeah,” she answered. “I got it done.”

“Well, who wants to talk about work anyway?” I tried a different tack.

“Exactly!” Tricia said, beaming.

The drinks arrived, as did two half-filled bowls of nacho chips. The waiter set them down on the sofa table and walked off.

I handed one of the rum and cokes to Tricia and took the other. “Cheers,” I offered, and we clinked glasses before taking our first sips.

Immediately, Tricia’s hand reached out to one of the bowls and a triangular chip entered her mouth.

“You know what we should do, Dave,” Tricia said, “we should play a drinking game.”

“Oh, yeah?” I answered, hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Tricia insisted. “Nothing crazy, just like those icebreakers from earlier.”

“OK, sure. What did you have in mind?"

She thought for a second, in which time she managed to consume four more of the nachos.

“Alright, I’ve got it." A mischievous gleam had come into her eyes. “You have to make an assumption about me, true or false, and if it’s true, I’ll drink. If not, you drink.”

I swallowed. “OK,” I said, “you’re on.”

I studied her for a few moments, my mind racing through the possibilities and the potential pitfalls of such a game. Could I offend her if I said the wrong thing? Probably. Could I bore her if I didn’t say something interesting enough? Probably. Oh, shit.

“Come on, Dave,” she said, pouting slightly when she realised the first bowl of chips was empty. I absently handed her the second.

“I don’t think your hair is your natural colour,” I said.

She laughed and stroked my arm. “Drink up, honey,” she said.

I did so, thinking.

“You’re wearing contact lenses.”

Again she laughed and again I drank, slowly, playing for time.

“You like chocolate?” I said haltingly, feeling pressured into saying something when the silence had grown too long.

“Are you kidding me, Dave? Of course I like chocolate, look at me.” She softly slapped the side of her shirt covered stomach.” Anyone would think you’re trying to get yourself drunk. Come on, ask me something fun!”

“Uh, I don’t know,” I said, my mind racing. “You, you went to university?”

She laughed again. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dave. Right, you’re terrible at this game, you know, you really are. OK, OK,” she said, passing another chip between her full, grinning lips. “How about we do that icebreaker one from earlier?”

I nodded, feeling slightly bewildered.

“Right, I’ll start,” she said, thinking aloud. “OK, got one. I didn’t do any work this afternoon.”

I frowned. “Um, false?”

“Drink up, Dave.”

“What did you do, then?”

She shook her head and waved a finger at him. “That’s not how this game works, Dave. You had your chance guessing.”

The waiter came back to us at that point and Tricia ordered in another round of drinks, and a double up on the chips.

“OK, here’s a good one.” She leant forward and kept her voice low so that I had to bend closer to hear her. The hairs in my ears were tickled by her hot breath as she whispered, “I’m a virgin.”

I choked, pulling back to see the expression of mirth on her beautiful face. “Not a chance,” I said immediately, and she laughed.

“Alright,” she said, drinking. “Now, your turn.”

I grinned. “What were you doing this afternoon, then?”

She waved that finger again. “You’re supposed to say something about yourself, Dave, not ask me an open question.”

“But what if I’m curious?”

She grinned, teasing her bottom lip between her white canines. “Alright, Dave, tell you what. You can use your turns asking me true or false questions, and I’ll use my turns as normal. Agreed?”

I nodded, watching another chip pass through her lips.

“If you weren’t working, then I bet you went to a spa!” I accused her jokingly.

“Drink up, hon!” She laughed back. “Do you really think I’d still be in my work clothes if I’d been to a spa? Honestly, Dave.”

“Your turn,” I said, absently thanking the waiter who had returned with our replenishment. There were four bowls, this time, and they were all filled to the brim, I noticed.

“OK, OK, let me see. Oh, I know. “I’ve never kissed anyone on a first date.”

I studied her for a while, but the mask she kept never cracked. In the end, I had to gamble. “False.”

She scowled before laughing once more, and taking a swig of her drink.

“OK, then,” I started, pondering, “not a spa, then.” A sudden thought struck me, based on something Tricia had said earlier. “I bet you went out to try one of the local restaurants.”

A look of mild surprise flittered across her face, but the smile remained. And then she drank. I was honing in, I could sense it.

“My turn,” she then said. I made to protest because it wasn’t, but then, what did it matter? “OK. I’ve never given head on a first date.”

I hadn't known my eyes could widen as far as they did until that moment. I almost felt like a cartoon, and that my jaw would drop and my tongue fall out like an unfurled carpet any second. My mind reeled, and again, I gambled. “False?” I gasped.

For three seconds, Tricia didn’t move, and then she drank. I grinned. It was my turn, and so I began thinking. I knew she’d gone to a restaurant, which probably meant she had still been hungry after lunch. And then I had the answer.

“You went to a buffet!” I exclaimed, triumphant.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tricia shook her head, patting her chest slightly with one hand, brushing away a few crumbs that threatened to tumble down into that mountain of cleavage.

“I did not,” she said, softly.

Tricia leant forward again, beckoning me close once more. Our cheeks brushed as she whispered into my ear. “I’ve never had sex on a first date.”

I shuddered, and could not prevent my hand from reaching down to rest on the end of her soft, round knee. The fabric of her trousers was smooth and exquisitely made, I realised, but it was nothing to the wonder that I knew was contained within.

“True,” I said, shakily.

Tricia leaned back, but I did not remove my hand. And then, she drank.

“A girl has standards,” she said, coyly, before biting down on two more chips. “Your turn.”

Standards. There was something about that word that triggered my slightly drunken mind into a whirlwind of association. Standards. Tricia had mentioned that word before, during one of the other ice breakers. She was a self-proclaimed foodie, and the evidence of that was indisputable, but she didn’t always just eat gourmet burgers or Michelin dinners. No, sometimes her standards were far simpler. Far more basic.

“McDonalds,” I breathed, and the flash in her green eyes confirmed it. “You went to McDonalds.”

She laughed her usual laugh. “I might have underestimated you, Dave, you’re not as bad at this as I’d thought!”

I grinned, and squeezed her knee slightly.

“OK, Dave, I’ve got one that will make you squirm,” Tricia said, once again beckoning me close so that her fragrance filled my nostrils and rendered me dizzy. “I haven’t been wearing any panties all, day, long.”

When our eyes met, I could tell that I had lost the game. Somehow, through rules that couldn’t be counted, quantified or verified, I’d lost the game. I wasn’t even sure that we were playing a game anymore. I just knew that I’d lost, and I was perfectly happy about that fact.

“False,” I said, easily. The answer didn’t matter, I knew, but it was undoubtedly the answer she wanted to hear.

“Drink up, Dave,” she said, that gleam in her eye had returned.

I did so, finishing my drink and setting it down next to three empty bowls on the sofa table.

“Prove it,” I demanded.

Something flickered across her face, and I removed my hand from her knee.

“What’s the matter, Dave, you don’t trust me?” She shrugged, “fine. Fine, but you’ll have to come closer.

I did. Without hesitation. I shuffled my stool around to the corner of the sofa as Tricia, finishing her own drink before handing me the glass to set aside, began to slowly pull the side of her shirt out of her trousers. I sat transfixed as the hem of the blouse came free, revealing a wealth of smooth, white flesh, peeping out to spill over between the top of her suit pants and the bottom of her shirt. Tricia fished her thumb beneath the trouser line and pulled slightly, but all that happened was that her fat flowed with the adjusted shape of her waistline, filling the gap before any gap had begun to appear. She grunted softly and shifted her bulk over to the other side of the sofa, but it didn’t matter, her trousers were skin tight to her, and afforded no give whatsoever.

“I guess you’ll just have to take me at my word,” Tricia said softly, letting the flap of untucked shirt fall back down to cover her exposed hip fat, but not before she'd retrieved another bowl.

“I’d rather not,” I answered.

She looked me in the eye, and I was glad to see she was still enjoying herself.

“OK, Dave, this is not as easy to do seated as I’d thought.”

To my excitement and pleasure, she placed the bowl to one side and ran her hands around the waistband of her suit pants, having to push and lean back against the sofa to be able to reach around her immense stomach that heaved against the trousers. I had not realised before then, just how tightly packed into them Tricia was, and it came to me, then, that once unbuttoned, there was no way Tricia would be able to get them fastened up again. Not on this sofa.

“Wait,” I forestalled her, placing my hand over hers just as her fingers had begun fumbling with the straining button. “Let us go to your room.”

She looked into my eyes, and the cloud of rum and excitement seemed to clear for just long enough for her to realise the sense behind my words. I helped her to her feet, this time Tricia had no aversion to using my hand. I, however, had not expected the load she would exact on it, and I staggered as she rocked herself to her feet again, pulling on my hand for balancing support.

“Hang on,” she said, as I pushed the table away from the sofa to make room for her exit. “Oh, never mind.”

I followed her gaze to where the two remaining bowls of chips still stood.

As soon as we were in the lift, Tricia wasted no further time in undoing the button of her pants, pulling the rest of her shirt free from its confines. She sighed in satisfaction as her gut pounded free, hanging more than halfway down her thighs. The shirt she left buttoned, which seemed fair enough, but it did nothing to cover her escaped belly now resting heavily out in the open.

“Here,” she said, gesturing as she turned. In such a small elevator, there wasn’t room for someone Tricia’s size to turn without her hip pressing into me, but I didn’t complain. “Grab a side, and pull it down. Only enough to see, Dave, don’t go trying anything now.”

I did as she said, peeling away the side of her trousers, revealing one humongous, white buttock and the top of the roundest, widest thigh I had ever seen. I wanted to run my hands along it, to fully appreciate its contours, but I resisted. Somehow, I found the strength to resist.

“OK,” I admitted, my throat dry again, “you weren’t lying.”

The lift dinged, and I realised what a sight we would have made had anyone been there to greet us. Fortunately, the floor was empty and I exited, guiding the slightly tipsy Tricia by the arm, while at the same time admiring the way her exposed buttock pounded with every step as well as the shuddering of the great tyre of visible stomach hanging over her trousers. I moved in close to steady her, putting my arms around her as far as they’d go, though I do not think they got very far at all, the one hand resting on something immeasurably soft, and the left hand doing exactly the same, but elsewhere.

“Easy there, hon,” Tricia said, gently prising away my grip, “I’m not about to fall over.”

“Sorry,” I grunted, “you just looked a little off balance to me.”

She laughed, and her stomach quivered with the motion. “I bet I did. Come on, you can walk me to my door, since you’re being such a gentleman.”

Hand in hand, we walked the few floor-trembling paces to room 602.

“Well, this is me,” she said, and rummaged around in her handbag for the key, unmindful of the bits of litter that got dislodged, some of them tumbling to the carpeted floor.

Producing her room key, she put it in the card reader and opened the door. Tricia half entered the room but stopped and turned, I couldn’t help but notice how her hips brushed both sides of the doorframe.

“Thank you for tonight, Dave,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Tricia,” I answered, smiling.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything, hon,” she said, laughing softly, “I told you, I’ve never had sex on a first date.”

I blinked. “No, but I –“

"And this wasn't even a date, was it?"

"Um, no, I gue-"

“Come here, then,” she said, grinning, and grabbing me by the collar.

Tricia pulled me into her and kissed me, her warm tongue thrusting its way into my mouth. She tasted of rum and coke and chips, and something infinitely sweeter. I pressed myself into her and found my hands wandering entirely of their own accord, to that abundant shelf of flesh that was her enormous, hanging stomach. My fingers traced the curved, smooth lines of it before digging in softly and hefting, marvelling at its weight. I felt Tricia’s mouth smile beneath my lips and suddenly her hand had squeezed in between her giant gut and my midriff to stroke my throbbing, impossibly hard penis. I shuddered, breaking off our kiss to gasp as she gripped tightly and, beneath the burgeoning press of her bulging belly, she rubbed the tautened fabric of my own trousers. I shuddered again, powerless, and she laughed at me before at last relinquishing her hold.

“I hope you packed spare underwear,” she said, winking.

I had. I always did, but at that moment, I was incredibly glad that I had.

“Good night, hon,” she said, taking a backward step into her room. “I look forward to getting to know you even more tomorrow.”

For a few moments I simply stood there, unable to take my eyes off her closed door. Then, when my wits began to return, I shook my head and turned to go. Something on the floor caught my eye, then, and I turned. It was the litter that Tricia had dropped while looking for her key. I bent down and picked up the rubbish. Just as I was disposing of them in a nearby bin, I noticed a large M printed on the top of one of the bundles of paper and realised it was a receipt. Glancing over my shoulder, feeling incredibly guilty yet at the same time unable to resist, I unrolled the receipt. And I kept unrolling it. And I kept unrolling it. I double checked the timestamp and confirmed that it was indeed today’s. By the time I had the entire receipt unfurled, it was longer than my leg. I stood for just a moment, letting it hang down from my belt to where it just reached the laces on my shoes.

“Tricia,” I breathed.