Michelle's Journal (7/7/26) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

Well, my date with Chip was a dud.  First of all, I’d forgotten how small he is!  Stupid, I know—the guy’s nickname at school was “Micro-Chip,” after all—but it seems like he’s shrunk since prom. 

Of course, I’m a little bigger.  Maybe that’s the difference. 

Anyway, we went to see the new Spider-Man movie…which was appropriate considering his hands were stuck to me all night.  I know I said I wanted to be fucked, but that doesn’t mean I want to PDA with a dweeb.  Fortunately, we sat at the back of the theater, so nobody saw who I was with or what we were doing.

He even insisted on holding my hand on the walk back to the car.  I let him—nobody in the crowd was someone I recognized—but it felt icky…both his clammy hand and the size difference.  I felt more like a mom with their kid than a girl on a date.

After the movie, he took me to Burger World.  Fancy.  At least I felt skinny next to the hash-slinging heifers working there.  The jealous hags kept giving me the side-eye, and I swear they made my burger twice as big as Chip’s.  It’s like they wanted to recruit me for their creepy little fat cult.

We sat at a booth at the back of the restaurant near the emergency exit.  At first, I was grateful to be away from the main thoroughfare…until it dawned on me that maybe Chip didn’t want to be seen with me as much as I didn’t want to be seen with him.

“Why are we in the shadows?” I asked.  “Ashamed of me?” I tried to sound playful, but my voice had an edge that cut him.

“N-no,” he stammered.  “I just thought we’d have more privacy here.  D-do you wanna move?”

“It’s fine,” I said, taking a bite of my burger. 

But it wasn’t fine.  Deep down, I knew I was being ridiculous.  Even with a few extra pounds, I was out of his league.  A feather in his cap.  But the thought of him being embarrassed by me kept niggling me.  I wanted a swig from the flask he’d smuggled to prom, but it wasn’t available, so I tore through my burger instead.  I’m not sure what made me more ill, the mound of greasy meat in my belly or Chip’s clammy fingers squeezing my knee beneath the table.

Finally, we drove to the point around midnight.  If we had gone there first, things might’ve been different, but by the time we climbed into the back seat and started doing what I wanted to do in the first place, I wasn’t in the mood.  It was miserable.  It was hot and cramped and uncomfortable, and my heart and mind kept racing.  Meanwhile, Chip groped me like a blind stockboy taking inventory.  Whenever he touched my sides or belly, I went rigid.  He eventually settled on my breasts, which was fine; I was used to guys touching me there.

“I like how big your tits are getting,” he whispered.

He probably didn’t mean anything by it.  It was just an honest admission made in the throes of passion.  But on top of everything else—and with Chip on top of me—I lost it.

“What about my belly?” I asked, stiff-arming his pigeon chest.  “Do you like how big THAT’s getting?”

“W-what?” Chip stammered.

“And my ass.  My fat ass,” I said, recalling my sister’s words from the 4th of July.  “Do you like that?”

“I…I…I don’t know.”

“Then get out!”  

Chip froze above me, partly in fear and partly in confusion at the prospect of having to exit his own vehicle.

“Just get off me.”       

After Chip slid off onto the floorboard, I grabbed my blouse and my bra.  Then I fled the steamy Honda, gulping fresh air like it was a Burger World milkshake. 

“Michelle, wait,” Chip cried from the backseat.  He didn’t follow.  He was as naked as I was.  “It’s five miles home.”

I trudged down the hill, dressing as I went.  Only after Chip’s headlights illuminated me did I realize I had misbuttoned my blouse.

“Michelle,” Chip urged, rolling down his window.  “Please get in the car.”

I didn’t answer.  I didn’t even look at him.  I just kept walking.     

The shabby Honda kept pace as Chip continued pleading.  After 50 yards or so, he gave up.

“Fine,” he said.  “Fat bitch.  You need the exercise anyway.”

Then, he sped away, leaving me alone in darkness, literally and figuratively.

It was 3 AM when I got home.  My feet hurt and my legs burned.  To make matters worse, Jessie was already up for her first day at Dutch Bros.

Thankfully, I was all cried-out by then.

“Hey,” she said, eyeing my blouse, which was still buttoned wrong.

“Hey,” I said back.  I managed a sly little smile.  If she was going to tattle on me anyway, I might as well let her think I’d had the time of my life.

Alone in my bedroom, however, the tears began flowing again.

--Michelle