Fat Chance

Chapter 1 - Button

‘Was that tasty?’ Natalie asks as you push the last fluffy steak-cut chip around your plate to soak up the juice. You nod, too full to speak. This is the fifth meal you and Natalie have had at a restaurant in as many days and you can feel the band of your trousers cutting into your packed stomach.

But Natalie is paying, she always does, and you don’t want to appear ungrateful. You can’t believe that she even agreed to date you and it’s even more unbelievable that she asked you to move in at the beginning of this month. How could someone like you score the affections of such a wealthy, well-to-do and beautiful woman? It has to be a miracle. You swear one day you’re going to blink and wake up and this whole thing will turn out to be a dream.

‘Are you sure?’ she persists. ‘You’re very quiet, Sasha.’

You clear your throat and smile, although you’ve eaten so much that it feels painful to breathe.

‘Oh yeah, Nat, thank you, I’m just a bit full.’ You pause, contemplating, before adding, ‘I think I overdid it.’

You know as soon as you said that it was the wrong thing.

‘Gosh, over did it? Come on now Sash, if you didn’t want it why did you order it?’ She shakes her head but a smile lifts the corners of her cherry red lips. ‘There’s dessert still to come. And you haven’t finished your beer.’

You look at the pint of lager. You’d forgotten about it. Your fourth tonight. You’ve drank every night this week. It just seemed like the right thing to do when going out for a meal. It’s not entirely the healthiest choice. But you can’t let Natalie realise you regret it. You take a couple of big gulps as the waiter comes over to collect the empty plates and asks how your food was.

You’re still swallowing, Natalie answers for the both of you, ‘lovely thank you, he really seemed to enjoy it.’

She looks at you, teasingly and the waiter gives you a judgemental look. Natalie is the usual clientele of establishments like this, you, patently, are not. It’s hard to believe just months ago you were working as a gardener on her dad’s sprawling country estate. You never thought she’d even talk to you. Now you’re one step away from being his son in law. It’s a dizzying prospect. Or perhaps that’s just because you’re quite stuffed and drunk.  

It’s only been a few weeks since you moved into her town house but almost every night she has taken you out for food or you have ordered in. There was only one night when you ate a home cooked meal and it’s when you made pizza. She seemed to like it and gushed about how delicious it was. But she only ate three slices leaving you to eat the rest of hers and your own.

You wonder, then, if that’s how she stays so thin. You’ve already been struggling with the sheer volume of food and this has been her way of living since she was born, yet Natalie is as thin and tall and beautiful as a runway model. In fact in her heels she is taller than you, but you were never bothered by that. It draws attention to her and she always liked that, and you always preferred the opposite. That’s why you work so well as a couple.

‘How do you stay so...?’ you start to ask, then reconsider.

‘So...?’ Natalie asks in her straightforward manner that is so hard to rebuff.

You feel your cheeks reddening at the silliness of your question and because of your own tight and overstuffed belly pushing at the buttons of your shirt and band of your trousers.

‘So thin,’ you finish pathetically. ‘And gorgeous.’ You hope the added compliment will reduce the clanging stupidity of the question.

Natalie laughs in her usual carefree manner.

‘Oh gosh Sasha, you are so silly.’ Predictably she doesn’t answer your question. ‘And look, here comes dessert.’

You turn to look over your shoulder where she is looking, noting how the tightness of your clothes and your belly make this movement much more difficult than it usually is, as if you’ve lost your flexibility. There is a new roll if fat on your back that bunches as you twist, you’re hyper aware of it and suddenly hope that your tight dress shirt doesn’t cling close enough for Natalie to notice. She hasn’t said anything but you know you have already gained weight since dating her.

You remember with trepidation that you ordered the medley of desserts. You thought it would be just small taster portions but looking at the large slate the waiter sets down in front of you, you realise your mistake.

There are five desserts, each the same size as a portion on its own. There’s a slice of chocolate gateaux with a scoop of organic vanilla ice cream, a glass dish of crème Brule with a thick crisp crust of toasted sugar, a rich slice of orange and mango cheese cake drizzled with red current jam, a tall glass containing creamy thick lemon posset and, to top it all off, a warm oozing chocolate brownie with a flaky crust. It looks incredible and even though your tight stomach is already telling you it can’t fit another thing, you feel a warm hypnotic hunger gripping you. The beer has weakened your resolve and boosted your appetite.

You look up to see Natalie’s playful expression. She did not order dessert.

‘D’you...do you want to share it?’ you ask, suddenly aware of how greedy you must look after already eating a T-bone steak with all the sides, a grilled king prawn skewers starter, all washed down with generous amounts of lager. You could open the top button of your trousers, release the pressure on your gut but how to do it without Natalie noticing, not to mention that snooty waiter?

In response to your question Natalie calmly shakes her head.

‘If there’s any left I’ll help out but I don’t want to spoil your dinner,’ she says sweetly. ‘This is a Michelin Star restaurant, you ought to get the full experience.’

Full. That’s exactly how you feel and yet you’re about to keep on eating.

Three weeks of living with Natalie and eating like this, not to mention the three months of extra indulgences when you started dating, have already started to have an impact on your figure. You’re not sure if she’s noticed yet but you certainly have. All your clothes are fitting much more snugly. Even when you haven’t packed your belly as full as you have tonight it still is a belly. It pushes out over the elastic of your boxers in a small muffin top of fat. Your whole body has widened. Ever so slightly. You can still fit in your old clothes but it is a squeeze and many of your t-shirts leave little to the imagination. They cling to your paunch and fattened pectorals, which have started to jiggle. A few more pounds and you’ll undeniably have moobs. A lot of you jiggles actually. Again not enough for anyone else to notice but you feel it, the extra movement on your stomach, hips and thighs as you walk. The shakiness of your biceps and chest as you lift the loads at work. You feel slower, sluggish, weighed down.

But ok, if a diet is in order one more indulgence isn’t going to change that. You might as well enjoy it one last time.

You start with the lemon posset, that’s the lightest one. Maybe you’ll have digested a bit by the time you get to the cake. It’s rich and creamy but it goes down easily and you’re surprised to find your spoon already scraping the bottom of the empty glass just as you’ve started to enjoy it.

You look up at Natalie who laughs softly and says, ‘seems like you don’t need my help after all.’

You go to reply but a burp escapes your mouth instead. Fortunately it’s only loud enough for Nat to hear, she humorously shakes her head, but you still twist around to check if the waiter heard or not.

Then it’s back to the desserts.

Sticking with the idea of going in the order of what is ‘lightest’ (even though all of them are packed full of calories from chocolate, cream, butter, sugar and all the things you know you shouldn’t be eating) you dig into the crème Brule next. Breaking the crisp sugar crust with your spoon you watch as the creamy filling rises up through the cracks. Gone are your feelings of over-fullness as you spoon it into your mouth. It tastes incredible and is gone far too quickly for your liking.

Onto the cheesecake. It’s denser and more filling than the first two and once again you feel your belly swelling, pushing up against the belt-less rim of your trousers. You’ve stopped needing a belt to hold up any of your trousers, they all cling tight enough around your larger stomach and hips to stay up without it. Most of them are a little too tight to tell the truth. This is one of your biggest pairs and you can feel them starting to strain.

As you finish the cheesecake you take a break, looking at the slab of chocolate cake with its melting ball of ice cream and butter cream icing

‘Getting full honey?’ Nat asks.

You look down at your swollen belly, it is so round now, there’s no hiding it. You place both hands on the sides of it, pressing your fingers gently into the layer of fat. They sink in but overall it is taught like a drum, you’ve eaten so much . Maybe those last two desserts will have to wait.

‘Have a bit of your beer, love,’ Natalie urges.

You look back at the pint glass. Half is left. Yes, that’s a good idea, wash down the rich creaminess of the last three deserts, clear your pallet. Natalie watches as you gulp down the last half pint. You don’t know why you do it so quickly, there’s no rush. As you get to the last few sips, it escapes the corners of your mouth and dribbles down your chin and onto your chest and pot belly.

‘Oh shit,’ you exclaim, wiping your mouth  with the back of one hand and putting the empty glass down on the table. Natalie giggles.

‘What a mucky pup you are, Sasha.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Eat up love.’

Somehow you continue, picking up the brownie by hand and taking a generous bite. Your eyes close. It’s crisp on the outside, soft and gooey in the middle, sweet and rich like chocolate mousse. Before you can stop yourself, you let out a groan of pleasure.

‘That good?’

Your eyes snap open. You’re blushing.

‘Oh don’t worry Sasha,’ Natalie says soothingly. ‘I know how much you love your food.’

You never thought of yourself as ‘loving food’. You enjoyed some foods more than others, sure, but you didn’t live to eat, not the way you feel you’ve been doing recently. Maybe it was just that the food you were eating before just wasn’t that good. It wasn’t from Michelin star restaurants. Or maybe it’s Nat? Maybe you’re finally happy and this is that relationship weight you’ve heard about. After all, relationship weight has to come with a relationship appetite. And you’ve developed quite the appetite. Only a few months ago the idea of having even one desert was alien to you. You didn’t think you even had a sweet tooth. Now it’s like all of them are sweet. Well sweet, savoury, sour, spicy – the whole lot actually.

‘That ice cream’s melting,’ Natalie points out.

‘Oh yeah.’

You pick up the spoon again and dig in. It’s completely different to the synthetic tasting Mr Whippy of your childhood. Just like the other desserts, you can taste the cream, cut through with the unique flavour of organic vanilla. The texture is like clotted cream, that must be why even though it was melting it hasn’t turned to the runny sludge of most normal ice cream. You slice off a piece of the chocolate gateaux for the next scoop of ice cream and eat them together. A towering portion that you struggle to balance on the spoon and fills your mouth almost to capacity. As you chew it and swallow, you realise that you can’t take the pressure of your trousers anymore.

Subtly, with your free hand, you reach down under the table, concealed from Natalie’s view, and begin to attempt to open the top button of your trousers. It’s hard to get a purchase, your overstuffed belly is pushing out so much against it that there’s no slack at all to manoeuvre the button free of the loop. Not to mention as your hand presses against the flesh of your stomach, it feels tender, longing to be gently rubbed not prodded and poked. As you swallow the gargantuan mouthful you pause and make an attempt to suck in, but it hardly makes a difference, you’re too full.

Natalie notices your face reddening with effort and frustration.

‘Are you alright, love?’

You stop trying to open the button, perhaps it will be easier when you lie down later on back at Natalie’s house.

‘F-fine.’

You withdraw your hand and resume eating. Another scoop of ice cream and chocolate cake makes its way into your mouth but you’re slowing now, it’s too much, you feel like a balloon. If you don’t undo them, your shirt buttons and trouser buttons might very well burst.

You continue eating. Hardly even registering the taste, you just want it gone. When it’s gone you can relax, go home and get out of these tight clothes. The last few bites are an immense struggle but you finish it.

With a sigh you lean back into the soft leather cushions of the booth and let go of the spoon. You’re breathing slow and heavy as if you’ve just run hard. Your over stuffed belly makes it a struggle to fill your lungs. Placing a hand either side of your swollen gut, you cradle it gently. You over did it and you’re going to get fat if you keep eating like this. This has to be the last time.

Natalie scoots around the booth so she is sitting next to you and links a skinny arm around the back of your neck and rests her other hand on the crest of your belly. She looks deep into your eyes. Hers are crystal blue, they shine out brightly from her pale porcelain skin framed by her dark brown straight hair. Her cherry colour lips are plump and inviting - you can’t help but lean in hopefully.

A single finger against your chin stops you.

‘Ah, Sasha, you’ve got a bit of...’ She motions around her own lips. ‘...chocolate.’

Of course, you’ve just been shoving loads of food into your gob like your life depended on it, why wouldn’t you have got some of it on your face?

‘And cream too,’ Natalie says as you wipe your chin with the napkin. ‘It’s all in your beard!’ she giggles.

Your beard, of course. Until recently you were clean shaven but when you were shocked to see the development of a small soft double chin, you quickly stopped shaving and started to grow your stubble out. Now you can convince yourself that underneath is still your clean sharp well defined jaw rather than the soft pudgy face of an over indulgent man in his early 30s.

‘Sasha, you are a mucky pup.’ Natalie kisses you on the cheek as your whole face flushes red.

The waiter returns to the table and collects the conspicuously empty platter that once held five desserts.

‘Everything to your taste, I trust, sir.’

‘Yes...thank you...’  You are still breathless.

‘And would sir like anymore?’

Not would the both of you or like more – just you, just ‘sir’. He can quite plainly see the way you are cradling your round belly and has perhaps correctly assumed that out of the two, it is you who might be liable to want to continue stuffing himself as opposed to the lithe and dignified Natalie. Self-consciously, you move your hands from your belly and rest them on your thighs.

‘It’s up to you darling,’ Natalie says sweetly as you look to her for support.

With some effort you shake your head. Not because you want to eat more, far from it, just that everything takes an effort in your overfed state.

‘We’ll have the bill.’

‘Very well.’

When he returns, he pops the bill down in front of you but before you can tell Natalie to be subtle about it, she’s already chucked her credit card down on the little tray.

‘I see,’ the waiter intones. God knows how you look, stuffed to the gills on your girlfriend’s money. A lazy, greedy freeloader.

Soon, though, you can finally leave. As you attempt to stand, your sensitive and swollen belly protests and you have to give up. Natalie is already standing, watching you struggle.

‘Are you alright darling? You have eaten rather a lot,’ she asks after failed attempt number two. You don’t have the breath in you to answer.

Your third go at heaving your bulk upright is successful but not without its price. Your belly swells forward as you bend and you feel and hear an ominous thudding pop followed by a (mercifully) quiet clatter below the table. Without even checking you know what’s happened – you’ve popped the top button off your trousers.

‘What was that?’ Natalie asks as you feel your belly swelling forward, pushing the zip open with its volume alone. The relief it affords you is embarrassing. These are your largest pair of trousers, you always needed a belt for them until recently, and now you’ve eaten so much they can’t even contain you.

You try to get a look but you’re astonished that you can’t actually see the flies of your trousers over the crest of your swollen belly. But Natalie sees where you are looking, her eyes go wide, her hand on her mouth and she giggles.

‘Oh Sasha, you’ve burst your trousers!’ she announces loud enough for the whole boutique restaurant to hear. Pretty much everyone turns to look at your gluttonous shame. ‘Come now dear, let’s get you home.’

She links her arm through yours and leads you out of the restaurant. Your face is ablaze with embarrassment. What a spectacle you made. You can’t blame Natalie, this is all your own doing. In the face of this sudden limitless abundance you have lost all sense of control. All you want to do is gorge yourself. You have to take charge.