Oblivious to the Obvious

Marian sat back in her seat, the creaking of the chair echoing her own deep sigh as she watched the man – Sebastian, had his name been? – beat a hasty retreat, the restaurant’s glass door slamming shut behind him as he all-but sprinted away down the street. Another failure. This one hadn’t even stayed long enough to finish his fried duck starter course.
Shaking her head, she reached across the table and pulled his plate towards her, licking her plump lips as it drew closer. Well, the evening might be wasted, but there was no point letting good food go to waste just because she’d struck out, was there?

It just didn’t make sense to her. She’d had boys practically – and occasionally literally – fighting for her slightest favours back in high school, a dozen men clamouring for the chance to take her out every evening. Uni had been the same, so many guys competing for her affections that she was fairly sure that she hadn’t actually bought her own drinks at a bar at any point in those five fantastic years. Since then though, the dates and drinks had dropped off precipitously, and now aged thirty-one she couldn’t seem to keep a man around long enough to so much as finish dinner, never mind start a meaningful relationship.
“Do you want to cancel the steak order, Ma’am?” a handsome young waiter had appeared at her elbow, “I’m afraid it didn’t look like your friend was planning on coming back.”
“Oh, no, I’m feeling hungry this evening,” she replied, looking him up and done – and liking what she saw. Perhaps the evening wasn’t a complete loss after all; she took the opportunity and batted her eyelashes at him seductively, “Say, ah – when do you get off work? Perhaps we could-”
“Never,” he interrupted her.
“I- I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry Ma’am, I’m on the long shift.”
She blinked.
“Oh.”
The waiter gave a slight apologetic shrug as he backed away hastily towards the kitchen, leaving her once again sitting alone at the table. Frustrated, she shoved the last of the fried duck into her mouth, then washed it down with a swig of wine.
It didn’t make sense! She was wealthy, intelligent, stunningly beautiful – so why couldn’t she hook herself a man? She hadn’t even been able to wrangle herself a second date with that neck-bearded computer science dork from work!

Growling irritably, she looked down at herself. Was it her fashion sense? No, it couldn’t be; she was wearing her favourite evening dress, the luxurious red fabric clinging tightly to her body, perfectly emphasising her curves and setting off her blonde hair nicely.
She shook her head, disregarding the idea. No, her fashion sense was undeniably stellar. Then… could it be her weight? She had put on a few pounds since uni, she considered mildly, eyeing the way her belly spilled out massively into her lap, burying her knees beneath its warm bulk and even overflowing to take up a good portion of the table. The heavy folds of her love handles strained the thin fabric of her dress, her thick upper arms quivered with the slightest gesture, her legs were forced wide apart by her titanic thighs… but no, it didn’t seem likely; guys liked girls with some curves nowadays, didn’t they? She peered over her shoulder at her backside, struggling to catch a glimpse of the huge expanse of flabby buttock cascading over the sides of her chair, spilling from beneath the hem of her fancy dress, the pasty, stretch-marked bulges of fat wobbling slightly as a breeze blew through the restaurant.

Nah, no way. It had to be something else. Maybe her chest? She glared down at her bust, the flab ringing her neck bunching into a double chin as she considered whether they could be the cause of all her woes, and bit her lip. Her breasts were immense, twin swollen, overinflated udders that seemed constantly on the very verge of spilling from the neckline of her dress into full view, bloated into massiveness far beyond their natural size by her extra weight. Hmm, that seemed a little more likely; she knew guys could be picky about breasts, and it certainly seemed more possible that the blame lay there on her chest than on her weight or something.

Suddenly the waiter appeared again beside her and she looked, excited – but despite her first hopes, he wasn’t crawling back to apologise and beg for a chance with her. Instead, he was simply carrying her carbonara, and the steak Sebastian had ordered before his hasty escape. She tucked in miserably to her enormous meal, shovelling the food into her gluttonous mouth with a reckless, self-pitying urgency, feeling some solace in the heavy, fattening Italian food. The cooking here was incredible – the only downside was that the portions were so small! She’d once heard a friend complain that she could never finish a meal here because they served so much, but that seemed absurd to her; she often ate a starter, main meal and dessert here with room to spare. Sometimes, on days like today, she even ate two main meals, plus the starters and dessert without much issue.
The steak vanished down her throat as she gorged, barely swallowing as she glutted herself gladly on the rich, heavy food, and before long the plate was entirely clean. She pushed it away promptly, swapping in the oversized bowl of carbonara before it could go cold. Not wasting a moment, she twisted a huge knot of spaghetti onto her fork and promptly rammed it into her mouth, groaning a little as the creamy flavours overwhelmed her undiscerning palate. Her free hand slipped down to massage her bloated stomach, though it was a struggle to make her rubbing felt through the thick folds of insulating flab that cushioned her overfull gut. Anybody else would be feeling stuffed by now, struggling to eat another bite, but the past five years of unwitting abuse had rendered her stomach numb to anything but the most excessive of punishment.

Before she knew it, she was scraping the last of the creamy cheese sauce from the inside of the bowl, shuffling slightly on her chair to ease the first twinges of discomfort from her distended gut. The folds of flab that sagged from her massive body brushing over themselves as she shifted, trapping the fabric of her evening dress between the drooping folds of her upper and lower belly for a moment and she tugged it free absent-mindedly, letting out a slight belch before gulping down what was left of her Cabernet Sauvignon.

She paused, the bold taste of the wine lingering in her mouth. Huh… maybe it was her expensive tastes in wine that were putting the guys off? Yeah, that seemed likely! That must be it! All these failed dates were just the result of men being intimidated by her expensive preferences. Grinning happily to herself that she’d finally found the root of her romance problems, she leaned forwards to grab the dessert menu from the centre of the table, her flabby breasts almost drooping into her carbonara, her wine glass almost knocked flying as the pillowy swell of her upper belly spread across the table surface as she heaved her bulk forwards. Puffing and wheezing with the unaccustomed exertion, she nonetheless managed to snare the menu between one plump finger and thumb and flipped it over. Ooh, they had double-fudge sundae - and the quintuple-chocolate melt. For a moment she wondered which she should order, then she remembered that this was a day to celebrate; after all, she’d only moments ago finally solved her romance issues for good. Ordering only one dessert would be almost sacrilegious on such a special day. In fact, just to make sure that today was marked as being as important as it was, she might even order the super-cream surprise as well…