Chapter 3 - life on the plantation

Around the same time, Jefferson and Randolph made their way back down to Virginia to check up on their own candidate.

Life in Monticello had been a magical experience for Eliza. After spending her entire life being abused and mistreated by vicious masters, she was finally able to relax and enjoy the fruits of her labor. She felt that this opportunity had been a gift from God, a reward for all her years of hard work and top-notch service. And as a result, she reaped as much spoils as the estate had to offer.

She spent the majority of her time sitting down and reading the books from Jefferson's extensive library, having been taught to read by the wife of a former master. While reading, she also took to the habit of snacking, constantly being served new treats and meals from her former servicemen.

Most of her fellow slaves resented the fact that she was getting preferential treatment and didn't have to work anymore. They masked their frustrations with big fake smiles and an abundance of free food, constantly cooking up new dishes to fatten her up with. They thought that if Mister Jefferson saw her looking like a whale when he came back down south, that he would put her back in her place at the bottom of the ladder. So they fed her and fed her and fed her, each meal getting bigger than the last. Eliza, too naive to recognize what was going on and too kind to refuse the food they had worked so hard to make her, ate until she couldn't eat anymore; still attempting to force down whatever remained in her plate.

As a result of her self-imposed immobility and the massive amount of food being pushed on her by her fellow slaves, her body began to suffer the consequences. Muscles built up over the course of two decades of back-breaking labor had withered away, quickly being replaced by soft, yielding adipose. Her rear end, almost always planted in a chair, was growing rounder and fuller by each day. It eventually got to the point that she got stuck in Jefferson's swivel chair prototype, needing two men to remove the arms and help her out.

Her bottom heavy shape didn't stop at the expansion of her behind. Her thighs thickened to the point that they rubbed together whenever she walked, leading to the development of a waddle in her step. Her hips grew so wide that they'd eclipse the sides of chairs and occasionally brush against some of the narrower doorways. Her belly began to bloat out, even when not stuffed with pork and sweets, accompanied by a healthy pair of love handles.

She had grown lazy, her lack of activity and added weight making simple tasks like walking and cleaning up undesirable to her; instead relying on the slaves to do everything for her. The simple act of waddling to the bathroom was enough to have her sweating and out of breath. The fatter she got, the lazier she got. The lazier she got, the fatter she got. It was a never ending cycle that caused a great deal of laughter to permeate the slave quarters. Even though they had to work harder to cater to her increasingly embarrassing whims (like rubbing her plump little feet after she took a few short steps or feeding her more when she was too full to do it herself), it was worth it to see just how far she had fallen.

When Jefferson and Randolph both arrived at Monticello, they eagerly awaited to see how much of a lady the young Eliza had become. The giddiness brought on by their own self-importance was shaken away as soon as they were led into her quarters by another house servant who could barely contain her laughter. What sat before them was a blobbish woman who's gut was distended down her ham hock thighs as she feebly attempted to grab another truffle off her heavily-burdened plate, flailing her chunky arms in vain as she was too stuffed to bend forward. The look on Jefferson and Randolph's faces were those of pure shock, both men slack jawed at the sight of Eliza's ass spreading across two chairs with little room to spare.

She was startled when she finally noticed them, resulting in a loud and hearty burp to escape from her mouth instead of words. She knew that her obese figure was not what they had in mind when it came to being Miss America. She knew they would make her go back to work, or worse, sell her to another slaver. Too full to speak, she just sat there in stunned silence.

When Jefferson asked to have the room, she thought it was the end of the line. Yet in the absence of Randolph and the other servant, Jefferson put his hand on her bloated belly and told her to keep up the good work. He then vacated the room to join the others, leaving her to try and make sense of what he just said. If keeping up the good work meant to continue stuffing her face while sitting on her fat butt, then she would happily do so.