The Un-Real Life (Part II) (Patreon)

The Un-Real Life

By Maverick

Most mornings, Mark arrived at class just as the bell rang.  He considered school compulsory drudgery and tried not to stay a second more than necessary.  The morning after cyber-stuffing his former girlfriend, however, he arrived ten minutes early. 

The night’s events had seemed like an AI-assisted fever dream…until he saw the tear streaming down his ex’s avatar.  That had sent a chill through him which remained even as he stepped inside from the cool autumn air into Lincoln High’s stuffy, crowded corridors. 

The chill became a full-blown shiver when he stopped by Dawn’s first period class, Conversational French, only to find her desk empty. 

Had his pretty ex-girlfriend been kidnapped and sold into sex slavery?  It seemed ludicrous.  But, after last night, he wasn’t so sure. 

It wasn’t until he spotted Dawn at her locker, regaling a group of girls like a queen holding court, that the shiver subsided.  She smiled and laughed and looked beautiful in jeans and a light-purple V-neck sweater with the hem tucked casually into the front of her waistband.  She didn’t look like someone who’d been coerced into sex trafficking, or even someone who’d broken up with their boyfriend 48 hours earlier.  This girl, to borrow an expression from the Conversational French teacher, had joie de vivre.

Mark suddenly felt foolish for fearing for her safety.  He also felt a little sad.  He’d fucked things up royally with Dawn.  Of that, there was no doubt.  Their relationship was probably destined to fail anyway, but that was little consolation as he gazed at the radiant beauty glowing at the end of the hall.

The fact that they’d gotten together at all had defied convention. He was a loner, and she was the most popular girl at school.  Opposites may attract in the real world, but in high school, birds of a feather flocked together.  Cheerleaders dated football players.  Nerds dated nerds.  Theater geeks dated other theater geeks.  It was a tale as old as time. 

They weren’t exactly equal on the looks front either, though, to be fair, most were several digits from Dawn’s 10.  Mark was decent-looking.  Tall, brooding, and mysterious.  At least, that’s how a girl in his English class once described him.  In truth, he wasn’t mysterious at all.  He just didn’t like to talk.  When he did, people discovered he was like most teenage boys.  He was an average student who enjoyed sports, video games, and hanging out with close friends.  He was boring, really.  The only real mystery about him was his sexual preference for fat girls.  That was a mystery he didn’t want solved, and, apart from his computer’s browser, no one knew anything about.

Dawn’s beauty intimidated most guys, but it didn’t intimidate him.  While it would be easy to attribute his immunity to Dawn’s stammer-inducing charms to his penchant for thicker chicks, that wasn’t it.  At least, that wasn’t entirely it.  It’s not like he was smooth with the ladies otherwise.  He was shy and, whenever a pretty girl spoke to him, he usually spat out a one-word answer to end the conversation as quickly as possible.  But he wasn’t like that with Dawn.  There are people in life you naturally jibe with, and Dawn was one of those people for Mark.  Her zest for life and carefree effervescence coaxed him out of his shell. 

They hadn’t had many classes together (they weren’t equals on the academic front either), but when they did, the dreary guy at the back of the class disappeared.  He smiled, laughed, and was even a bit flirty.  And when Dawn went through a growth spurt sophomore year that filled her hourglass to sweater-popping perfection, he, along with every other guy, took notice. 

Albeit for different reasons.  

This year, they had Pre-Calculus together and, like most of the boys in the class, he focused more on her figure than the ones scribbled on the whiteboard by their bookish professor.  And while Albert Einstein himself would’ve undoubtedly appreciated Dawn’s curves, Mark kept his eyes open for the continuous change the course promised. Every once in a while, he’d swear Dawn’s thighs spread thicker against her hard plastic seat or that the buttons on her blouse were puckering, but by the following week, any perceptible gains would be gone.  This tidal ebb and flow of Dawn’s curves drove Mark crazy.  Or maybe he was crazy to begin with, and his desperate mind was merely playing tricks.

Either way, he decided to do something about it.

“Would you go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”  The question popped out of his mouth on a random Friday after class.  It hadn’t been planned or even considered beforehand.  The last time he’d asked a girl out—Jennifer Tiller at the beginning of the school year—had been fraught with worry and rehearsal.  And when he finally stammered out the question over the phone, after practicing in the mirror for thirty minutes, her answer had been a flat “no.” 

This time, the response was better.

“Sure!” Dawn gushed.  Mark couldn’t tell if her reaction was genuine enthusiasm or shock at the out-of-character request, but he didn’t care.  All that mattered was that she had said yes. 

“Cool,” he said.  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”  Then he hustled down the hall before she could reconsider.  

It was only after he reached his locker that he realized he didn’t know her address.  Or her phone number.  Or even how to spell her last name.

A moment later, there was a tap on his shoulder.  “Here.”  Dawn smiled as she handed him a folded piece of paper.  “You might need this.”

After watching Dawn’s butt wiggle off into a sea of high school humanity, he unfolded it—

Dawn Akselsen

572 Aventura Blvd.

945-672-3353

See you tomorrow!

By the time Mark arrived on Dawn’s porch the next day, his nonchalant smoothness was gone, and his knees started knocking long before his knuckles rapped against the heavy wooden door.   He was going on a date with the hottest girl in town.  Not only was he not in her league, he wasn't certain they were playing the same sport. 

“Hey!”  Dawn greeted him with a smile. 

Dear God, that smile.  Mark’s already wobbly legs grew weaker.  Her golden hair was neatly done up, with a single wisp strategically dangled to frame her fabulous face.  She wore a pastel blue sweater that muted her curves but didn’t contain them entirely, and just a touch of lightly applied makeup that, although she would’ve still been beautiful without it, drew his eyes to her sharp features like dewdrops on a blade of grass. 

“You ready?” she asked, after several seconds of staring.

No, Mark thought, but he nodded anyway.

Dawn followed Mark to his car, a blue Toyota Camry that, much like its owner, suddenly seemed inferior.  It was a 2016 model that, like his Nintendo, had been a heavily used hand-me-down from his father.   While he’d inherited most of its mileage, the blemishes—a dent on the back bumper and a garish scratch running along the driver’s side door—he’d created on his own. 

He hoped he could eventually say the same thing about Dawn.

“Where are you taking me?” the buxom beauty asked as she buckled her seatbelt.  “I thought we’d go to Chili’s.”  Mark had considered taking Dawn someplace fancier, but it was a first date, and his finances—as well as his ulterior motive—dictated something more economical.  What was the point of taking her to Chez Luis if all he could afford was soup?  And since most kids their age were content to spend Saturday night at Burger World or even the QuikTrip on the corner of Main and Broad, Chili’s seemed a happy medium. 

Fortunately, Dawn seemed to think so, too.

“Sounds good.”  Then she said the words that sprang his manhood and his beat-up Toyota into motion.  “I’m starving.”

After arriving at the restaurant, the hostess sat them in a corner, away from the hustle and bustle.  A part of Mark was disappointed—Dawn was a girl you wanted to be seen with—but on a larger scale (and he wanted Dawn on a larger scale), the quiet shadows were perfect for pigging out.

Mark’s face fell when Dawn ordered the obligatory girly drink, Diet Coke, but it rose again, along with another part of his anatomy, when the server returned for their food order after delivering their beverages and a chips-and-salsa appetizer.

“I’ll have the Big Mouth burger with onion rings,” Dawn told them with a smile.

“You should try one of their milkshakes,” Mark said, pushing his chips, literally and figuratively, to the center of the table.  “They’re delicious.”

Dawn reflexively placed a hand on her stomach.  “I shouldn’t.”

“You can workout tomorrow,” he urged. 

“I can’t.  I have too much studying to do.”

“Then you’ll need the extra brain food.”

“Since when is a milkshake considered brain food?” 

Mark tsked and shook his head.  “You haven’t read the most recent studies?”

“Fine.”  Dawn laughed and threw up her hands.  “But if I get fat, it’s your fault.”

Mark smiled slyly.  He certainly didn’t plan to let anyone else take credit for it.

Dawn turned out to be a picky eater.  As in, she picked at everything.  Although she left a bite of her burger behind, ostensibly because she was full, she continued to nervously nosh chips throughout their post-meal conversation, not noticing the server had refilled the basket, at Mark’s request, when she excused herself to the bathroom.   

She did the same thing with the breadsticks at Olive Garden the next Saturday, and the cornbread at Cracker Barrel the Saturday after.

They had a great time on their dates, with Dawn’s easy charm revealing Mark’s quiet confidence.  They laughed and flirted, touching hands across the table and walking arm-in-arm to and from the car.  For his part, Mark was a perfect gentleman.  He opened doors and pulled out chairs.  All the things his pop had told him girls liked but wouldn’t admit. 

In between, however, their relationship was odd.  They didn’t do the things most high school couples did.  They didn’t hold hands in the hall, or sit with each other at lunch, or pass lovey-dovey notes.  Sure, there were a few furtive glances and their “Heys” to one another packed more passion (Dawn once tickled her fingers along Mark’s back as she passed his locker, a gesture which still gave him chills when he thought about it), but for the most part, things remained business as usual.  They were like star-crossed lovers who, after stealing away for a weekend rendezvous, retreated to their respective worlds.

That was fine with Mark.  He didn’t really care about that stuff.  All he cared about was that Dawn’s thighs were spreading and her buttons were puckering.  And this time, it was more than just wishful thinking or an active imagination.

Unfortunately, greed got the better of him.  Following their fourth date, a return trip to Chili’s, some casual kissing on Dawn’s porch transitioned to heavy petting, which, like Dawn herself, Mark wanted to make heavier.  Had he gone for her tits like any other guy, he probably would’ve been fine, but instead, he focused on the small roll of fat spilling over the waistband of her jeans.  It was imperceptible beneath sweaters and blouses, but Mark’s fingers felt the truth--

Dawn was getting fat.

Dawn felt it too, but her reaction couldn’t have been more different.  Her body went rigid, and her stomach sucked away from Mark’s grasp.    

“Are you trying to make me fat?”

“No,” should have been Mark’s immediate response.  But instead, he stammered and turned as red as the hands he’d been caught with. 

Dawn pushed him away.  “Get off my porch, creeper!” she shouted, before slamming the door in his befuddled face.

That was Saturday.  It was followed by radio silence Sunday and silent treatment Monday.  Mark knew that, unless he did something, today would surely turn into no-talk Tuesday.

He hustled down the hall and squeezed through Dawn’s disapproving entourage. 

“Hey.” 

Dawn turned away, suddenly captivated by the contents of her locker.  

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Fine,” she shrugged.  “Talk to me.”

Mark glanced around at the Dawn wannabes staring daggers at him.  “Alone?”

“Just say whatever it is you have to say,” Dawn said as she mindlessly rearranged the textbooks in the steel cubby.

“I…I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”  Dawn finally turned to Mark.  There was anger on her face, but also something else.  A touch of fear, perhaps?   “Did you really think breaking up with you would devastate me THAT much?”

Mark shook his head.  “No…I…”

“Then what?”

“It’s just…something happened last night.  I was worried about you.”

“All that happened last night was I ate a salad for dinner, worked out for a few hours, then went to bed early.”

Dawn really knew how to hurt a guy.

Mark nodded solemnly.  “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”  Dawn slammed her locker door.  Then, before storming off down the hall with her giggling gaggle in tow, she whispered tersely, “I should tell everyone about your freaky little fetish.”  

And then she was gone.  The rest of the day went by in a haze.  Mark couldn’t stop thinking about Dawn and her not-so-thinly veiled threat. 

Driving home that afternoon, however, the veil lifted.  It all made sense.  The sly giggling of her friends.  The sudden appearance of the slapdash flier in his backpack.  The random URL that no doubt linked to some private, untraceable server.  This was Dawn’s way of getting back at him.  Some sort of elaborate hoax designed to humiliate him.  To give her and her cronies a good laugh at his expense. 

Mark wrenched the steering wheel in his hands.

Normally, when he arrived home from school, Mark grabbed a snack from the pantry and watched TV in the living room, but not today.  Instead, he raced up the stairs to his bedroom.  He threw his backpack on his bed, plopped into his desk chair, and booted up his computer.

If he was going down, he was taking Dawn with him.