Chapter 8 - the big fat date (part 2)

The big date finally arrived a few days later. It was the time of year when daylight ran short, accelerating the arrival of nighttime. On this night, the stars gleamed brightly and clearly against the backdrop of the dark, night sky; there wasn't a cloud to be seen.

In her small, urban apartment, Chelsea surveyed her wardrobe carefully. After passing over several outfits, she found the elegant black dress that she used for formal events in college, tucked away in the back of the closet.

"Ah, there she is - 'old reliable'," Chelsea thought; a sense of nostalgia poured into her mind. "It's been awhile. I hope that she can handle the new me."

Chelsea began to put on the dress and as she did so, she started to giggle. It was immediately apparent that she had obviously outgrown it and she felt silly as she stuffed her newly enlarged features into the old dress. She remembered the days, not that long ago, when she would slip on these kinds of sexy outfits and go to parties with her friends. If only they could see her now, trying to relive the past, but now with a bulging belly, heavy breasts, and blubbery Jell-O arms!

"Damn, I've let myself go!" Chelsea exclaimed aloud as she caught sight of her plump reflection. She couldn't help but pat herself down, gently feeling up the soft, fleshy body that somehow now inhabited her old favorite dress.

Suddenly, Chelsea was struck with a realization. Since beginning her endeavor in the summer, she had mostly refrained from weighing herself. Indeed, she estimated that it had been about three months or so since she had peeked at her weight. Certainly, things had changed since then, she figured.

Chelsea made her way to the bathroom and slowly, but curiously stepped onto the untouched digital scale. The scale paused, flickered, calculated, and...

"Oh...oh...really?" Chelsea said with disbelief.

Just then, her phone rang - it was her Uber, come to whisk her away to dinner. She hopped off scale, her mind still swimming with the result she had just seen, and headed outside, eager, yet anxious about enacting her long-awaited plan.

As Chelsea arrived at The Pearl she was immediately greeted by Brent in the entryway. He wore a pin-striped suit jacket and his pompadour looked extra slick and stylish; Chelsea couldn't wait until she never had to see his stupid hair ever again.

"Well, well...you clean up pretty nicely," Brent said, his words filled with a caustic bite. He sniffed loudly and conspicuously, wary of his last encounter with Chelsea. "Very nice indeed."

"Thank you," Chelsea replied. Her contempt boiled underneath her demure exterior, but Brent was none the wiser.

In truth, Chelsea's hygiene was more appropriate and she did look quite beautiful, with her soft green eyes, flawlessly smooth skin, and gorgeous golden hair shimmering in the dim light of the restaurant; It was only under her black parka that one would find the consequences of her months of gluttony: A chunky, thickset body with curves that threatened to burst out of a very much undersized dress.

The maître d' welcomed them and in a few short minutes they were seated at their table. Chelsea removed her parka, slowly and deliberately before sitting down. As she unveiled her plump body, she did her best to accentuate her assets, sticking out her belly and tugging at her obviously ill-fitting dress; she plopped down on the chair with a heavy grunt and sigh.

With raised his eyebrows and bulging eyes, Brent took in the spectacle. He sat down, leered at Chelsea, and calmly said, "I thought we could use this time to get know each other..."

Chelsea interrupted by raising her left elbow and scratching her armpit. "Oooh, sorry - itchy. What was that again?"

Brent felt like rolling his eyes in exasperation, but he remained composed.

"Er, uh, I was saying, we should try to mend fences. I feel like we've gotten off to a bad start."

Chelsea felt like laughing at Brent's staggering ignorance and audacity, though she knew she couldn't. If she wanted to end this, she needed to string him along just a bit more.

"Y-yes, let's...bury the hatchet," she replied hesitantly. Brent grinned mischievously. There was a moment of silence and the stilted atmosphere of the experience was almost too much to bear for Chelsea. She swallowed her pride and said, "You know, I've always admired that hair of yours..."

Brent launched into a meandering lecture on hair products, styling tips, and how he compared to other men at the office; Chelsea skimmed the menu and nodded throughout.

They placed their orders for wine, soup, and entrees and as the waiter left, Chelsea hurriedly added, "And an order of braised short ribs for an appetizer, please!" Brent gave her a quick scowl, but then continued to prattle on about his appearance.

The starters arrived as Brent continued to dominate the conversation. Though Chelsea chimed in sporadically to maintain the appearance that she was interested, she was mostly focused on consuming her wine and gobbling down the appetizers. She slurped her onion soup noisily and helped herself to one of the ribs, "accidentally" dropping a small dollop of sauce on her dress.

Brent's face contorted with disgust. "You've...got something on you, there," he said, pointing to a strap of her dress.

"Oops - well that's embarrassing," Chelsea replied nonchalantly, as she wetted her finger with saliva and dabbed the splotch, smearing it into her dress; Brent sighed.

The entrees arrived and Chelsea wasted no time in digging into her lemon chicken while Brent took his time slicing his porterhouse steak. Other diners at nearby tables couldn't help but notice how the short, but chubby, young woman devoured her entire meal well before her tall, slender partner had finished half of his.

After some time, the waiter took away the plates and asked that simple, but all-important question: "Dessert?"

"Oh, I don't..." began Brent, though Chelsea quickly interrupted.

"Yes, please!"

Brent looked incredulous. However, he knew he didn't have a choice, so he groaned audibly and said, "Sure..."

Chelsea ordered a slice of black forest chocolate cake for herself while Brent declined. In keeping with the rest of the meal, she inhaled the rich dessert quickly, leaving chocolate stains smeared around the corners of her mouth.

Brent could only shake his head. His frustration with Chelsea's antics was building and as the waiter fetched the check he blurted out to her, "Is there anything else you need?"

Chelsea smiled, knowing that her plan to antagonize him was working, she replied, "Well..."

Brent shot her a look of contempt.

"Nope. I'm full," she said quickly.

"About time..." Brent murmured under his breath.

A few moments later, they left the restaurant together and, at the heavy insistence of Brent, decided to stroll through a nearby park. They came upon a small bridge overlooking a pond. The moon was shining brightly and it would have been a romantic scene if not for the circumstances.

Brent slowed to a stop and addressed Chelsea. "So, I know you got testy the last time we discussed this issue, but, in all seriousness, are things done with your guy from back home?"

Chelsea tucked her hands into her coat pockets. She held back a grimace as she lied through her teeth, "Yes, it's over...he...dumped me."

"Aha, I knew it!" Brent thought to himself, "That's why she's been letting herself go - grief!"

"Oh, well, that is...unfortunate," he replied. Realizing that his chance was at hand, he knew it was time to drop his gentlemanly act. "Well, you know, I wouldn't treat you that way. I would treat you like a princess, if you just let me," he said, with all intended sleaziness. He grabbed her upper arm and held her tightly.

Chelsea tried to remain calm as she activated the voice recorder app on her phone. Feigning ignorance, she asked, "What are you suggesting?"

"That you be my girlfriend."

"And if I refuse?"

Brent scoffed. "Chelsea, we've been down this road before. It's the same reason that we're on this date. You do what I say, or I trash your career with a mention to the boss. Trust me, it wouldn't be the first time."

"Oh, right..."

"I think it's time to head back to my place."

"No," Chelsea said firmly, abruptly changing her tone from docile to fierce.

Brent gripped Chelsea more tightly, holding her close and staring at her menacingly. "What did you just say, bitch? Have you gotten dumber as well as fatter? You've blown up like a balloon, you know. Just how..."

"22 pounds. I've gained 22 pounds since July and I now weigh 154 pounds. I'm overweight," Chelsea stated with an odd feeling of pride.

Brent fumed. His anger was boiling over, and with it, his self-control - all according to Chelsea's plan. "Congratulations, fatty. Now..."

"UUURRP!"

Brent winced as Chelsea erupted with a massive belch. "Ugh, you disgusting tramp!" That's it. We're going back to my place where I'm going to fuck this weight off you and teach you how to act like a real lady. No one treats Brent Wormwood this way!"

Chelsea tapped the record button on her phone - she had all that she needed. Though Brent held her arm, she managed to pull away enough to use the small can of pepper spray that she concealed her in pocket. The orange stream hit him squarely in the eyes, causing him to release Chelsea and recoil in pain.

As he continued to thrash about, Chelsea added insult to injury: "I bet the board of directors will be thrilled to hear our conversation!" Realizing that he had been played, Brent shouted at the top of his lungs.

Chelsea merely smirked and said, "Gotcha, bitch," before running off as fast her quivering thunder thighs could take her.