Yes Chelsea, Part 11 (Patreon)

*Olivia Richter, age 34


“Sure, I could go for a run!”


Chelsea ended up moving out with her boyfriend a few months ago out of the blue. To be fair, it was a quick and easy transition since Greg has a couple rental properties and this one just happened to open up that we could just move their stuff over to. I was pretty hesitant to let my baby girl move away from me, but Greg sat me down and reminded me that she may still be young, but she has a strong foundation and a good head on her shoulders. That and even if I said no, she was still an adult and I couldn’t really do anything about it. 


He was right, really. Chelsea had more than enough money to get by and both her and Phoenix work. Stack on top of all of that the fact that their townhome only costs them $800 a month, they do have a much sweeter gig than I ever did. It does worry me that she hasn’t checked in at all, but I hear no news is good news and Chelsea’s always been more careful than I was. Then again, that may be because of me going out of my way to make sure she knew how to avoid problems so that she wouldn’t have to solve them later. She got through school and isn’t pregnant, in jail, or on drugs, so I guess that I didn’t do too bad.


With my daughter having left the nest, I’ve also lost my workout buddy. I thought it was going to be an issue at first but then after a few house parties with Greg’s friends, I got to make a few gal pals of my own with the other wives. We did joke that we’d become the rich white women in our area, but it was nice to be around other women my age who are still lively enough to go enjoy themselves. In reality, I know I’m not old, but something about having to raise a kid by yourself through a recession, a plague, and a society that just hates professional women in general just takes the fight out of you over time. By the time Chelsea was old enough to drive, I found myself lonely all the time with no one but my daughter to keep me company. Honestly it’s no surprise she was so eager to get away for a while.
Since she’s been gone however, the girls and I have been trading off diet and fitness tips, and I’ve switched from going to the gym to having one in my own home what with the advent of a suddenly free bedroom. It’s amazing what availability and freedom does for your ability to exercise. Now that I’m not doting on a teenager or fretting about work as much, I’ve been able to double the amount of time I spend burning calories. I’m still plenty chubby, but I can feel the weight just falling off of me, leaving behind a set of curved I NEVER had when I was a skinny teen. The girls and I have even taken to going for a mile run together every day. I know it’s kinda #housewifeshit but I’m so excited for whenever Chels comes to visit next so I can see her reaction to how I look. 


I do feel guilty, but having seen the way her boyfriend spoils her and just how easily bribed with food or money she is, I am a vindictively curious to see how long that teenage metabolism holds out. I used to look just like her until I turned 20 and then my body just puffed up like a balloon. Who knows, with any luck, I’ll end up being the thin one for once!

*Chelsea Richter, age 19

“We just need to stop eating out is all.”


It’s been three months since I moved out of my mom’s place and into my first townhome with my boyfriend. The place isn’t huge and we’re definitely not rich, but the upper end of middle class is really not a bad place for us to be just starting out. My mom is deathly worried I’m going to start smoking crack or get run over, while Phoenix’s mom thinks I’m an absolute harlot witch, coming to steal him away with my evil pagan wiles. Which may as well be true. In high school I was all about being a dark, spooky weirdo who hated everyone, but also wanted every hot guy to be fawning over her. It was cringy, but what the fuck ever. That’s just a phase that girls go through, and now that I’m out of it I feel a lot more mature than I used to be.


Now I have adult concerns and adult worries. I pay bills and work a job. It’s not luxurious, but I’ve got a spot as a teller for a local bank that treats me pretty well. Phoenix is still in school to be a dentist so he doesn’t work, but he graduates in two more years. I’m excited because when he does, we’ll both be rolling in cash basically the same way our parents did. Admittedly we had help, but that doesn’t make me feel like we deserve this any less. I really had to pull a lot of strings to get my job and it pays fairly well, even if it keeps me stuck in a chair all day. All that matters is that I make enough to tide us over until we can really make it big.


Phoenix is great. He’s sweet, he’s caring, he cooks, he cleans, he rubs my feet and reads to me at bedtime. It really is a dream romance. Or it would be if he wasn’t constantly nagging me to be more frugal and stop spending as much. I mean on one hand, I get saving up and building a future or having it for a rainy day or whatever. On the other hand, it’s MY money and I can do what I want with it. I make enough to keep us well take care of AND save a little, so if I want to spend the extra on something nice just for myself, that’s not really his call to make. Plus, all I have to do is pout a little and he’ll back off. ~


The only problem with being with Phoenix all the time is how much we EAT. I feel like every day we’re getting fast food or going out and since I don’t really have anyone to work out with anymore, I am not burning calories like I used to. It super sucks too because I know it’s me doing it. I got tired of all our old meals and ended up experimenting all over the place and now I’m both craving like a motherfucker and I’m ALWAYS hungry. That’s actually the reason that I lost my job as a model; all this binge eating is making me fat. FAST.


My mom always said my metabolism would slow down when I turned 20, but holy shit this is insane. Nothing I do keeps me from gaining more weight. It’s hard to work out because after work I am too tired to drive to the gym just to be gone for another hour and a half trying to work off the double-fish sandwich sandwich with bacon and chiptle sauce my body told me I NEEDED by lunch time. Granted, my ass has gotten bigger and my tits look AMAZING, but now I have this round potbelly that is starting to get too big even for the stretchy high-waisted jeans I got because I couldn’t fit my old pants anymore. I’m not….devastated to be honest. Like….I HAVE Prince Charming. He says he likes my thicker body. I guess it’s still the idea of the stigma against weight gain and me not wanting to be like my mom that’s getting to me really bad. 


Sometimes I feel like the most beautiful girl in the world: fat and happy and pampered by the coolest, most hottest guy ever who both loves me tenderly every day and fucks me brainless every night. Other days, I’m an inconsolable mess of emotion because I feel like I’ve failed my younger self and turned into everything I never wanted to be. I’ll just sit there and bawl my eyes out until Phoenix comes home, from school, at which point he calms me down and fucks me brainless. Which is also nice.


But like I said: the nagging that man does needs to stop. I’ve never seen a guy SO paranoid about every little thing. I buy a dress, I’m wasting money. If I gain any weight, I’m automatically pregnant. That’s been his big thing lately. He saw me dipping my blackberries into honey mustard the other day just because I felt like the sweet and sour would go good together (and it fucking was btw omg), and he just lost his shit and started listing all the reasons why I MUST be pregnant. Really all he had was that I’m getting fat and eating differently, but I told him the two are probably related. I tried telling him that while it wasn’t IMPOSSIBLE given the fact that we do have sex, it’s not likely because I make sure to wait until after my period ends to have sex and stop the week before, and most of the time he pulls out anyways.
Still though, he’s freaking out about my emotions and how I look. I told him that if I was pregnant, I wouldn’t be showing already, and that I wouldn’t be gaining so much weight in my thighs and my belly would be firm and round, not all chubby and bloated like it is now. My solution was to just stop eating out so we can save money and reduce our intake, but he still insists on going out and getting tests, so that’s what we’re doing now. I think it’s annoying and a little bit of a waste, but if it makes him feel better then it’s cool. Plus, on the gigantic off-chance that I somehow got knocked up at 19 while only having sex half the month AND pulling out 90% of the time, I guess I should know about it.


Oh well. Here goes nothing.