Is This What You Really Want? Ch. 03

"Well, here's my, uh, information...why don't you, uh..." But she cut him off, holding up her hand as she came off from leaning on her car and stood up straight, her hands still folded across her chest.

"I don't care about that," she said.

"You don't? Uh...well, thanks..." he said, turning to leave.

"Oh no you don't," she laughed, stopping him in his tracks. "I don't care about that, but you don't just get to walk away from me like that." He turned around, not understanding. She was looking at him with that same hungry look he had seen from her initially, and it went straight to his cock...it made him feel even smaller.

"I'm not doing anything later on this evening," she said, her dark eyes twinkling at him. "Why don't we grab dinner? Your treat to me and we'll call it even, how about that?"

"Uhh, like...a date?" Timothy couldn't believe his ears. s

"Yeah," she said coolly, "like a date."

"O-ok."

"How about at The Black Pig?" she asked smoothly, enjoying his slight wince at her mention of one of the most expensive restaurants in town. "You can afford that, can't you, Timothy? You're a young professional with some spending money, right?"

"Y-yeah, yeah, that sounds good," he said, blushing at his inability to hide how expensive the restaurant sounded to him.

"Ok, Timothy, see you there...about 7?"

"7...sounds good."

"And we're doing an honor code thing here, ok? You better not stand me up, little guy, or I'll come looking for you," she said, winking at him.

"No — I'll...I'll be there," he said. She nodded, grinning, and then turned to get back in her car, treating Timothy to a healthy view of one of the most impressive asses he had ever seen. While it was true that this woman was large, tall, and curvy in nearly every way, Timothy had not expected her ass to be...like that. If he had gawked at Katie's large ass earlier that day, he was positively flabbergasted at this one...it was almost cartoonish, although the natural way it rippled and swayed behind her told him that it was as natural as every other part of her. Her...her name! He hadn't gotten her name!

"E-excuse me?" he called out as she got in her car, "what's — what's your name?"

She turned back around and gave him another smile that seemed to indicate...some kind of appetite. With her billowing black hair, her sharp black nails, her black lips, her heavy make-up, and her dark eyes...all juxtaposed with her pale white skin and long, exquisite neck, she almost looked...like a vampire.

"Beatrice," she said, that strange smile still on her lips. Then she got in her car and sped away through the light, which was just turning red again. Timothy walked back to his car in a daze, turned it back on, and suddenly realized that he had to slightly re-adjust his seat again. He did so almost without thinking. He looked at the clock. 5:25. How far was the Black Pig from his house? Fifteen minutes? He had enough time to pop over to the store, buy a scale, and then go home and measure himself before...before he went on this...date...with Beatrice. He suddenly smacked his head into the steering wheel as the reality of the situation became clear to him. That was her!! She was exactly what he asked for!!

"Ha!!" he laughed out loud in his car. "Hahaha, oh my god, Timothy, you're just a fucking idiot!" Most of that exchange, he had been trying to find his insurance card, and the whole time she was just leaning there against her car, arms folded, watching him squirm and struggle with that smile on her face. Oh my god...her face...she was...gorgeous. "Holy shit!" he shouted, out loud again as he put his car into "drive" and waited for the green light. "Holy shit!!" Maia was working faster than he could have ever believed possible — it hadn't even been an entire day yet, and already he had shrunk around four inches, lost a bunch of weight, and literally crashed into the girl of his dreams.

It was all so perfect!! He racked his brain as he drove to the store, trying to remember every detail of Beatrice's body. He was kicking himself for not catching on to the whole thing sooner, but he was far too thrilled to be too put-out with himself. Her ass...it was just unbelievable! A lot of girls these days had fat asses, Katie by far being the least of them, but he had never, ever quite seen a backside like Beatrice's. It just...it fit perfectly in between everything else she had. It didn't look artificially huge, because she had such thick, curvy, womanly thighs. But it didn't disappear into her midsection like it did on so many other women, because her waist was actually pretty small...maybe even his size...although maybe it was an inch or so bigger than his at this point...his brain was positively buzzing with excitement as he navigated his way through the department store, finally finding the scale he was looking for. It was late afternoon and the store was busy. Timothy couldn't help but notice how...plain everyone looked to him initially. He had Beatrice on his mind, and next to her, everyone else just looked drab. Except, well, there was a mother in line in front of him, who was holding her one-year old in one arm as she waited her turn; she couldn't have been older than Timothy, and yet...well, she looked pretty damn fine, despite the presence of her child. The arm that she was holding the child in looked impressively developed, and substantial and fleshy at the same time.

'Motherhood must be hard work,' Timothy briefly mused as his eyes went over her large hips, her solid legs, and her big breasts. 'It makes sense that...well, that all that activity would...pay off physically.' He glanced briefly down at his own form, and Clare's word "shrimpy," immediately jumped to mind. He suddenly realized that this mother in front of him (maybe even younger than him, actually, by the looks of it) was a couple inches taller and probably at least 30 pounds heavier than he was. And she...just looked good. Even the teenaged cashier, who looked distant and preoccupied and was chewing gum, looked...fresh. She was about his height...and just the way she moved, the precision of her gestures (even though she was just scanning the barcode on the scale) made him feel slightly weak. But Beatrice...Beatrice! His mind snapped back to her, and remained fixated on her as he drove home. It was 6:00 now, just enough time to measure himself, take a quick shower, and then put on some nice clothes before his literal "dream date."

He quickly got out his tape measure and stood up against the wall. He stood well under the mark from the previous night — that much was certain. Once again, he was careful to stand up straight to get as precise a measurement as possible. He marked himself down, turned around, and took a step backward to measure. Four feet, four foot 6, five feet...one, two, three...and a half. He was FIVE FOOT THREE...AND A HALF. Shorter than Patricia...shorter than Katie. He briefly imagined what they would say tomorrow, and how they react. But more than anything, he thought about Beatrice. She was almost a foot — a foot taller than him in those platform boots of hers. And even then, those were only four-inch heels. Just by the looks of her, Timothy imagined that she had some higher platforms or heels in her wardrobe. He was about to go on a date with someone who for all intents and purposes was a foot taller than him. His cock was instantly erect, and he positively tore the scale out of the box, fumbled to install the batteries, and then, after a few minutes, finally stood on the scale to get his weight.

119.

119???

He weighed less than 120 pounds?? This was incredible! He couldn't wait any longer. He collapsed on the floor and started to jerk himself off, all the while thinking about Beatrice and her huge, luscious curves, and how much, at 5'10, she probably weighed. 170? 180?? Surely almost 60 pounds more than he did...it wasn't very long before he was spilling his seed all over his work clothes.

A few minutes later her was in the shower...he had to hurry; in his hasty lust he had burned through the time. It was 6:40 by the time he stepped out of the shower. He hurried through his closet, trying to find anything that would fit him...but nothing really did. Everything was far too big around the waist, far too long in the legs, and far too wide on his shoulders. He was going to look ridiculous tonight, but at this point, Timothy didn't really even care. He was too over-the-moon for meeting Beatrice again. He finally settled for some kakis that he managed to roll up, a collared golf shirt that hung on him loosely, and loafers that looked not quite but almost like clown shoes on his shrunken feet.

He drove to the restaurant with difficulty, and eventually he decided to take his shoes off before he got himself into another accident. He pulled into the restaurant parking lot and, after a few minutes of searching, managed to find a parking spot. The Black Pig was one of the fanciest joints in town, and popular with the young and well-to-do crowd, a crowd that Timothy most certainly was not a member of. This fact could not have been more obvious as he stumbled out of his car in his oversized shoes and clothes and walked unsteadily to the door. A few patrons stopped to look at him, and he even noticed two young, expensively well-dressed, and attractive women pointing at him and whispering as he went in through the front door.

He went past the loud crowd of people in front, almost all of them taller than him (and far better dressed), to the hostess's desk, where a young woman with trendy dyed white hair was standing. In her heels she was a good half-foot taller than him at least, and she regarded him curiously, as if he was someone who was lost and in need of directions.

"Can I...help you sir?" she asked.

"Umm...yes...uh...table for two...uh, yes. Table for two, please."

"Do you have a reservation, Mr...?"

"S-springer...and, uh...no, actually." He felt something drop off in his intestines. Had he messed up the date already? Was he supposed to have made a reservation?

"Hmmm, well, we're pretty booked up here, Mr. Springer," said the hostess, clicking her tongue...except...well..." she looked down at him, that same curious expression on her face. "What's your first name, Mr. Springer?"

"Uhh...Timmy," he said, then shook his head, not understanding how he could've misspoke. "Timothy, Timothy."

The hostess's face lit up. "Timothy? Oh yes, Mr. Springer, your date is actually already at her table. Follow me, please."

He followed the hostess through the throngs of professional, laughing, fancy people, noticing how the swell of her ass swayed in her steel-grey dress. A moment later, the crowd seemed to open up, and the hostess was indicating to a candle-lit table where Beatrice sat, smiling, her curves barely contained by a fancy blood-red dress. Timothy instinctively looked down and saw that she was wearing heels...tall heels.

"Hello, Timothy," she said, slowly and majestically rising out of her chair, holding out her arms. "Long time no see."