Elsewhere, back at La Louvre, the high-end French restaurant, its celebrity chef owner, Jordan Randalls, was chewing out another of his waitstaff over a minor error with a customer's wine order.
"Yew gave them our last bottle of '71 Boulenger, instead of a '77. And why? Because your tiny little mind cannae tell difference between a seven and an one."
The waiter was almost in tears now, blubbering out an apology. And he wasn't the only emotional wreck, as Randalls had been on a warpath since hearing rumours that La Louvre going to get a visit from the notorious restaurant critic, Chester Darrow, whose words could make or break this place.
Of course, he had no idea that the critic had a friend on the inside. Abby, one of the few opening day waitresses still on staff, had known Chester for years, both of them moving in the LGBT social circles of the city. She'd called in a favor after finally reaching her limit yesterday when her boss fired someone simply because one of the customers didn't like gay people. But if you'd pressed her, she would not have a name for the fired waiter.
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Chester Darrow arrived at La Louvre just a little after the dinner rush had begun. Dressed in his usual outfit of an ill-fitting blue button down shirt with short sleeves and grey dress pants. The former was held up suspenders that strained against his huge belly. He tapped a black sneaker cover foot impatiently, as the maitre'd looked in the book.
"Well, am I on the list or not?"
"Ah...yes..."
"Then I'd like to be seated.
Chester smiled at the other man's nervous fidgeting, knowing that his reputation as a critic proceeded him. He scratched his thick beard that mostly hid the fat rolls of his neck.
"R.. Right this..."
The maitre'd paused in mid sentence as a stunning blonde in a lavender dress entered the restaurant and approached. She carried herself with the confidence borne only by a life lived in wealth and luxury as she stepped in front of Chester.
"Good evening, is my usual table available?"
The host checked the reservation book and nodded affirmatively. The mystery woman smiled and started to walk into the restaurant proper, having no need for an escort. However, an annoyed Chester decided to voice an objection.
"Ah, Miss. There is a line."
He put all of his snarkiness into tye words but the woman seemed more amused than annoyed by them as she turned around.
"And your point is?"
"Some of us were here first, and..."
The woman cut Chester off with a wave of her hand. Her expression had shifted from smused to annoyed now, as if she sensed something about him.
"How quaint is it that a queer fellow like you thinks they are ahead of me by virtue of the clock. But ultimately, your objection is irrelevant, peasant. Ta-ta."
And with that, she turned and continued into the restaurant, leaving a now flustered Chester to stand there to vent on the poor maitre'd, unaware that the were-breeder curse now had a hold on him, waiting to only to be triggered.
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Meanwhile, Abby was busy serving another table, at which sat acouple named Jimmy and Sienna. She did her job, taking their orders, and bringing out the food. But she wasn't so distracted that she missed a comment one of them made about about the recent engagement of Jack Burton and Jessica Bling.
"Isn't it great that those two are standing up against the gay agenda in Hollywood?"
And then there was another victim of the curse...
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An annoyed Chester was finally being brought to his table by an attractive male waiter. The heavyset queer critic allowed himself to enjoy his escort's good looks, hoping to lighten his mood. But the intial flash of lust quickly faded, as the curse he carried began to kick in.
It started with a rumble in his ample belly. With a shake followed by a tugging, all of the fat that a life of eating had built up in the gay crtic's torso began to recede, leaving in its wake the hardened abdominals and pectorals of a regular gym goer, well defined but not overly developed
As Chester's stomach deflated, the rest of his body began to absorb the disappating bulk, using it to grow his muscles. His arms and legs, always disproportionately thinner in comparison to his gut, gained muscle and mass. Likewise, his long suffering spine straightened up, no longer burdened by carrying his tremendous belly. He stood taller, nearly six feet tall.
His button down shirt now hung loose on Chester's changing body, but the short sleeves started to grow longer, sliding down his toned arms. The blue of the shirt was consumed by a tide of black that washed over it, snapping his suspenders free at the same time. One of them wrapped his neck, wiggling under the now crisp collar of his dress shirt, thinning and flattening itself into a dark grey silk tie that knotted itself perfectly.
The other strap of the broken suspenders slid itself into the loops of his now too large pants, becoming a slick black leather belt that cinched itself tight. This caused the waist of the pants to also narrow until they now fit properly. The legs of the pants also tightened up, showing off his now leanly muscled thighs and ass. The grey coloring of the slacks did not change, but the material they were made of did. Cheap cotton became expensive, gaining a slight sheen in the process.
Inside the mind of the gay critic, a struggle was beginning. A new straight persona was emerging from the depths of Chester's mind, one whose arrogance was unmatched. Already, it had drained away his lust for food and men, allowing a new interest in women to fill that void. He tried to remember why he'd come here today, but only recalled having been asked by a woman to do so...
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And that woman was currently moving towards another table. Quietly, Abby was wondering where Chester was. She'd heard him berating the maitre'd earlier, but then nothing. Had Randalls thrown him out?
This was the thought in her head as she neared the table where the attractive socialite (and were-breeder) Charise now sat. But neither of them noticed a second place setting being added to the table...
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The intended user of that setting was continuing his transformation, as the changes reached his head. As his beard receded, the thinning brown hair on the top of his head now grew back in, thicker than before. An unseen hand slicked it back, while the fat that had been hidden by Chester's former facial hair was wicked away to nothing, leaving behind a lantern jaw with a cleft chin. His yellowed teeth cleaned and straightened into a perfect smile, even as his bulbous nose thinned.
A matching grey jacket had appeared on Chester, butttoning itself closed. His right hand reached up to adjust his tie, causing his neck to grow more muscular, causing his nasally voice to deepen. A pocket square of grey silk rose up out of the front pocket.
As his sneakers were torn and twisted into a pair of fine Italian leather shoes, Chester was losing the battle for control. His new self knew why it was here, asserting itself and forcing the gay to be buried under the layer of wealthy hetero arrogance that was Lester Barrow.
A smirk appeared on his face as he dismissed his waiter escort. After all, why would he need such help, not when the beauty of his girlfriend Charise shined like a beacon, even among the beautiful people who frequented La Louvre?
He pulled out the chair at their usual table, and leaned over to kiss Charise on the cheek. She seemed surprised for a second before her memories adjusted themselves to this new reality
"Sorry for being tardy, my dear. Ran into a spot of traffic on the way over."
"Oh, darling. There's no need for an apology. We're never late. Everyone else is early."
The two hyper-hetero snobs shared an arrogant laugh, cementing their new relationship. Meanwhile, their waitress waited to take their order, while trying to not seem like a creeper as Abby admired Charise. She'd never admit it, but the lesbian had a type she liked. However, that brief moment of oogling was enough to trigger the curse...