Fatshionista

by Vanessa McKnight

  In the midst of my self-flagellation I had missed the fact that Daniel was still staring at my chest. It was as if he were taking it all in for the first time. Maybe it was like a Rorschach test; he was trying to see what shapes and images he could make out of the spilled soup.

  But that heated stare shooting out of those piercing blue eyes was making me all tingly and making me forget my earlier observation that this extremely gay man had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever.

  “Um, Daniel, I’m sure to an artist such as yourself, the living work of art in front of you is fascinating, but your studied attention to my chest has created quite the lull in our conversation.” At no point during my sentence did he even look up.

  After a beat or two, just long enough for my words to settle in, his head jerked up, and were he not already that beautiful café au lait color, I would swear he was blushing.

  “Right, right, of course. Please forgive me—my mind was wandering. They are quite fascinating.”

  Now it was my turn to stare. “They are?” I said as I glanced down at my breasts.

  “The stains, I mean, yes, the stains—so abstract, so red, so…tomatoey, quite right,” he continued to mumble as he picked up his ringing phone from the table.

  Well, I was glad we had cleared that up. Tomato soup 1, Breasts 0. A shame, really, now they were all dressed up and had no place to go. Oh well.

  His phone conversation consisted of a lot of yeses, rights, and of courses. When he hung up, he looked at me apologetically and said, “I have to be off. My samples are here from Delhi, and I need to make sure the colors are right. This resort collection is all about color and texture and it has to be spot on; I only have one shot to truly come out to the New York fashion community, and so much is riding on this collection.” He gathered up his man purse and phone while signaling the waiter for the check. Coming out, indeed.

  “No worries, I know how important those first samples can be. If you are pleased with them, why don’t you call me tomorrow and I can come by and check them out? I have an intern who I’ll bring to take photos; this will help me get a head start on the presentation of the clothes. I need to get an idea of what you’re trying to say and your design aesthetic.”

  “You didn’t get that by me talking about my background? I thought that would give you an idea of what I was trying to say with my clothes.”

  Yeah, what you were trying to say was I don’t know anything about Delhi.

  “The clothes will tell me more about what you’re trying to say than you can. Don’t take this the wrong way, but most designers, especially younger designers, have a difficult time articulating their vision. I’m sure your clothes will say everything I need to hear.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. “How young and inarticulate do you think I am?”

  Great, now he decided to find his ego and his insecurity simultaneously.

  “And what do you think your clothes are telling me right now? You aren’t the only one who can ‘read’ people’s clothing.” He started to get himself all worked up. God Lord but designers were some sensitive creatures!

  “I think you are young enough to think that there has never been anyone like you and that you make clothes no one else has ever made. I think my clothes say I should have made a better choice for lunch, and I think you’re very articulate; you just don’t know when to stop explaining your vision. But all of that will come with time. I’m only here for the first stop on your journey, so far be it from me to comment on any other aspects regarding the longevity of your career.” Two could get huffy around here; the tomato soup stains were practically dancing along my heaving chest as I tried to take some deep breaths and not grab my purse, stick my tongue out, and walk out the door. He was Scarlett’s client, anyway—I made time for him in a jam-packed day and now he was going to get pissy?

  Although maybe if I did stick my tongue out he would tell me not to stick it out unless I was going to use it, and then I could use it, and boy, I could see myself using it on him. He had just the slightest five o’clock shadow that I could almost feel on the tips of my fingers.

  Now who was staring? Yep, busted. “Daniel, thank you for your time; I look forward to hearing from you about the samples and please email me any other information you think I should have prior to our first production meeting. My apologies if I have been a bit snappish today; it has been a long week, and I’m never more out of sorts than at the end of fashion week.” As much as it stuck in my craw to apologize, at the end of the day he was the client and I was the vendor, and I needed to keep him happy and Marta happy. There was a lot more riding on my job than just…well, my job.

  He fiddled with his man purse for a minute, not making any eye contact with me. He seemed to be having some type of discussion with himself, but eventually he came to terms with whatever it was, looked at me, and smiled. “I think we’re both a little on edge today; no need to apologize. I have not been the most gracious lunch companion either. And I am sure you had a full schedule before Scarlett decided to squeeze me into it. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how the samples are and we can set up a time for you to come see them and photograph them. I will also send you the ideas I had for set design and music, so you can take an early look and let me know what you think. I didn’t choose Marta’s company because of her; I chose it because of you. I may be young, but I do know how to research, and while Marta may be the face of the company, I’ve learned that you are the brains and the brawn behind it.” He smiled as he stood up and offered me his hand.

  I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about the brawn comment. No plus-size woman was keen on words like brawn; it brought to image a workhorse or a lumberjack on a roll of paper towels.

  But being the mature, professional, brawny woman I was, I stood up and put my hand in his, shaking it firmly, like a true brawny girl would shake it.

  Tingles. What was it with these tingles? It was like I was on a first date instead of a business meeting. And for just a second, when he looked down at our hands together, I swore it looked like he might be feeling a little something, too.

  Exhaustion was the only thing I could come up with. I was so exhausted I was hallucinating that I had the power to turn gay men straight with a single, brawny handshake. I had to get some sleep. I was becoming delusional.

  CHAPTER 6

  Not again. Stifling foundation garments could mean only one thing; I was dreaming again. Even in my dreams, I found some way to torture myself.

  I looked around to see if I was back in the jungle room, but I didn’t spot any animal prints, so it looked like that was a big no. This room looked more like something out of Marrakech: all silk pillows and floor cushions. I couldn’t understand why if the location changed I was still sporting circa-1950 undergarments, this time a one-piece full body girdle that went all the way to my knees. Oh yes, tres sexy.

  I heard a door open and looked up at the beaded doorway (yes, a beaded doorway, I was completely encased in the most clichéd of Moroccan fantasies—didn’t say much for my imagination). The beaded curtain parted to reveal Daniel dressed in a long cream-colored kurta and pants. He even had the traditional slippers on. His five o’clock shadow was more like ten, and I was itching to get my hands on that truly beautiful face.

  I still couldn’t figure out why he was so dressed for the part and I was still stuck in the ‘50s, but I decided to just go with it. I mean, what the hell! It was my fantasy no matter how bizarre it was; I just needed to take ownership of it!

  “I hope we don’t have a repeat of last time. I can’t seem to have these wild sex fantasies with you unless I’m wearing some type of puritanical underwear. If you recall, last time you lacked the skill and finesse to get me out of it.” It was practically impossible for me to adjust any of the skin-tight clothing to add some sultriness to my little statement; I decided instead to take my hair down and fluff it out around me.

  Daniel said nothing, just tracked my movements
with his eyes and slowly dropped the curtain to swing behind him as he stepped a little farther into the room. He was looking down at me with hooded eyes, taking in the pillows, my reclining pose, and the impenetrable nature of the Lycra fabric.

  I was practically squirming on my silk pillows. Ever since I heard the first click of the beads, I was on high alert. All my parts were on high alert. I felt a faint flush work its way up my chest. The look in his dark, brown eyes told me he had seen it as well.

  Wait . . . brown? What the what? Maybe it was a trick of the low lighting. I twirled a piece of hair around my finger and moistened my lips, which had suddenly gone very dry.

  “I’m serious, Daniel, you need to snap your fingers and tell me to wake up and take care of myself in the real world if this is going to be a repeat performance of the jungle room disaster. I’m about to set these silk pillows on fire down here, and if I can’t get out of this contraption, I think I might go up in flames with it.”

  Slowly he reached into the voluminous pocket of his kurta. Was it a bullhorn he was going to use to wake me up? Was it cherry-flavored motion lotion? Was it a blindfold? Handcuffs? (This was, after all, a fantasy. A girl was entitled to a little bondage fantasy every now and then, right?)

  The light of the candles shone off the metallic object he pulled out of his pocket. He grinned a wicked grin as he held it up to the light and then raised one perfectly arched, ebony eyebrow at me.

  Scissors. My man was a frickin’ genius.

  “Get to it, master craftsmen. This chastity girdle isn’t going to cut itself off, and I can’t wait another second to get out of it.”

  “Your wish is my command, my dear Millicent; I, too, am looking forward to getting that off of you and me into you.” Ohhhhh, this fantasy was oodles better than the last one. No arguing, no fighting, and he was going to be able to get me naked? A+ job, subconscious Millie!

  He knelt down on the pillows next to me, his knee to the side of my right hip. He leaned down, forcing me to lie back deeper into the cushions. He placed light kisses all around the edge of the white, industrial Lycra. The soft, light kisses were such a contrast to the hard, unforgiving edge of the Lycra. I moaned when he pushed his tongue lightly into the cleavage that the tight garment created.

  My fingers sunk into his thick, black hair and I arched my back as he became more insistent with his exploration of my hidden assets. He shifted me between his legs, straddling my hips. He laid the scissors down on the pillow next to me and leaned over me, trailing kisses from my stomach up to my breasts. I could barely feel the pressure of his lips or the heat of his breath through the tight Lycra.

  “Please…,” I sighed. I was about to grab those scissors and make short work of this myself.

  “Please what, my darling Millie? Please continue to tease me with your tongue? Please release me from the bonds of this synthetic, man-made material? Why in the world you dream yourself into this fabric is beyond me. You have a lush, gorgeous figure; why would you want to confine it in this horrible contraption?”

  “Maybe I dream myself into this impenetrable undergarment because I need a real man to get me out of it. Only the best, the cleverest, and the one most worthy of the prize.” My toes were curling at the idea of him being the best…purrrrrr.

  “Ahhhh, so this is some type of test to see if I am worthy of your hidden bounties? Trust me, my dear sweet Rapunzel, trapped in your tower of Lycra, I am just the man to free you from this constricting prison. You cannot possibly want out of this garment any more than I want you out of it. I’ve been dreaming about your luscious shape for what seems like an eternity.”

  And I have been waiting for your hot naked body plastered up against mine for years, I thought as I wiggled deeper into the pillows.

  “And I swear to God if I wake up twisting and turning and completely unfulfilled, I will never invite you to another fantasy again!” Sexually frustrated Millie was simmering right below the surface.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Patience, my sweet, Lycra-covered sex goddess. All good things come to those who wait.” He reached down to pull his kurta up over his hips and then held my gaze while he paused mid-strip.

  Then, slowly, he pulled it over his head, mussing his hair and revealing a downright delicious-looking chest. Not much hair—just a sprinkling in all the right places that led down to the drawstring of his pants. I was thrumming with excitement and torn between running my hands all over that golden goodness and slapping the crap out of him because I was still stuck in this foundation garment!

  I opened my mouth to issue yet another order and he covered it with one long, brown finger.

  “Shhhhh, I got it. Just breathe; I got this.”

  He leaned down and gently kissed my forehead, his stubble lightly grazing my skin. He kissed my closed eyelids; he kissed the tip of my nose, while his thumb ran back and forth over my bottom lip. My hips were arching up toward him, my whole body straining to get closer to his. All of this with just his thumb touching my lip. I was hard-pressed to imagine what would happen if he ever did get me out of this garment.

  “Kiss me, Millie. Kiss me long, slow, and wet, and maybe, just maybe, I will use the tools of my trade and free you from this synthetic prison.”

  “Stop talking,” I said as I grabbed his head and brought his lips down to mine.

  He refused to be manhandled and resisted my pull on the back of his neck and just lightly brushed his lips back and forth over mine. I could feel the heat of his breath and see his smile as he teased me. This was completely unacceptable. I touched the bottom of his lip with my tongue, then drew it into my mouth and gave it a quick little bite.

  Something shifted in his eyes and with a low growl he took my mouth. And it was his for the taking. The man knew what to do. My eyes slammed shut and I was lost in the heat of his kiss. All at once I couldn’t get enough; my hands were alternating between running up and down the smooth skin of his back and delving into his thick hair. I was being consumed by so many sensations at once but still not the one I was longing for. And in the back of my mind, I heard a tiny voice continue to point out that this sexy Daniel had eyes that were as deep and brown as the Ganges.

  “Please, Daniel. I can’t breathe; I can’t…please.” At this point I was beyond pride, beyond arguing. If begging was what he wanted, then begging he would get. I had to get this horrible thing off so I could feel his naked skin next to mine.

  He pulled out of my grasp and sat back. He stared at me, taking it all in. My swollen lips, my hair, my chest moving up and down in time to the ragged breaths I was taking in. He reached over and picked up the scissors. He shifted down and sat over my lower legs. I felt the cool metal of the scissors as he worked it under the tight material at the top of my knee. He slowly began to cut it free. The material split right down the middle, revealing my thigh all the way to the top of my hip. He repeated the same on the right leg, leaving my thighs exposed, but everything else covered.

  Then he shifted back up my body and slid the cold metal blade between my breasts. He slowly began to cut the fabric right down the middle. The tight material parted and pulled to the side immediately, revealing almost all of the girls. He kept cutting until he reached my naval, then he put the scissors aside and pushed back the fabric with his hands.

  The contrast of his warm hands where the cold metal had been almost made me come up off the pillows. I was drowning in desire at this point, aching for him to remove the final section of garment. The precise cuts he made created something akin to a bikini bottom, everything revealed except that one secret place. He pulled the straps off my shoulders and down my arms.

  I felt like I was one of those surfers who comes out of the water and peels off their wetsuit, only I was burning up with heat and only wet in one particular place.

  “Beautiful. Such a shame to cover all this beauty with that horrid fabric. Whatever were you thinking, Millie?” He smiled as he shifted to lay down beside me, curling me into his chest.

  “
Well, I can only assume I have some deep-seated body issues that are culminating in my subconscious need to cover myself, even in a fantasy environment. I can only assume that you being gay is still not safe enough for my subconscious and these layers of stable, formidable undergarments are my way of continuing to keep someone whom I have an interest in at bay, even within the confines of a private fantasy.”

  “You think that’s really it?” he asked as he lowered his head down to the nearest nipple. “Maybe you just like to make it harder on me. You’re making things quite hard right now, my dear.” He closed his lips around my nipple, slowly pulling it into his hot mouth.

  “Who cares? Just…yes…keep…yes…right there…doing that…yes.” How was that for intellectual?

  “Millie, Millie. Take off the rest. I’m a little busy here with your friends.”