Fatshionista

by Vanessa McKnight

  There were so many things on the tip of my tongue, but nothing was coming out. I wanted to tell him no worries, smile and say I would take care of it. Remind him that our business was one of rumors and backstabbing (I had been making a living off of that very thing for the past two years), but I still couldn’t get any words out. And I felt the tears coming as well.

  I didn’t typically cry when I was sad; I cried when I was angry. I had an angry cry. When I got so freaking mad and frustrated that nothing was going the way I wanted and no one was listening, my first urge was to cry. But I was determined not to break down in front of him. First, he was a client—a client for whom I was currently designing a show, although it sounded like it might be my last. Second, I liked him, and I didn’t want him to regret telling me this, or feel like he had to take care of me. I had received bad news before and always bounced back; I just hadn’t had enough time to get my feet back under me.

  “Millie, you’re breaking my heart over here. Please say something.” The grip on my hand tightened as he continued to plead with me to speak. Funny how normally people wished I would shut up, and here was a man begging me to say something. Were I not just slammed down to the floor emotionally, I would have smiled at that. I looked up from our clasped hands into his eyes. They were such kind eyes, filled with concern for me. Whisky brown with just a little bit of gold hints around the irises.

  I didn’t know what came over me. I raised my left hand to his stubble-covered cheek and cupped his face. The feel of his stubble under the sensitive skin of my palm made me tingle. His eyes widened a fraction as I drew his face close to mine while I leaned toward him.

  My eyes drifted shut as I gingerly placed my lips on his. I slowly rubbed them back and forth against his and stroked his stubble-covered cheek with my fingertips. My other hand was still held between both of his, and he tightened his fingers around it when our lips touched.

  I opened my mouth just slightly to taste his lips. They were sweet and spicy from his chai. I sighed into his mouth and continued to gently kiss him, nothing forceful, nothing passion-laced, although passion simmered inside of me.

  I ended the kiss and eased myself back into my chair. I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I stared at my hand still held so tightly between both of his.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “That was completely inappropriate I just needed…” Well, that was a long list, what I needed. Better to just stop there.

  “Millicent.” I loved how he said my whole name, sounding out each syllable with the British accent. “Millicent, look at me.”

  I slowly raised my eyes to his, my cheeks already turning red. I had crossed a line with a client, a gay client at that.

  “I’m so sorry; please forgive my forwardness. I was thrown for a loop by your information, and I reacted inappropriately. I hope this won’t impact our working relationship.” I tried to get it all out in one breath, not letting him interrupt. And I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. What was I thinking? Kissing a client? Kissing a gay client?

  He sighed and squeezed my hand. I couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or mad. I didn’t really want to know either way. I needed to get away from him and get home and process all of this. I had no idea what this meant, but I knew that burying my head in the sand was not an option. I needed some time to figure what to do.

  “I have no intention of letting this be the end of this conversation, but since you look like a scared fox being chased by a pack of hounds, I think we need to bring an end to our discussion. Sleep on it, and I’ll call you tomorrow. You need to have a plan in place before you go to the office on Monday.”

  I finally had the nerve to look up and meet him in the eye. “Daniel, no matter what happens, whether I continue to stay with Marta or she lets me, go I won’t let you down. You will have a great show. I would never let my personal issues impact the work I do with my clients.”

  “I’m not concerned right now about the show. That is not to say that it isn’t an issue we need to discuss—it certainly is—but right now I’m concerned about you and how you’re going to handle things. I consider you a friend, and I can’t stand by while friends are hijacked by other people. So please, go home, get some rest, think about how we should handle this, and we will talk tomorrow.”

  Good, just the exit line I needed. And thank God he was kind enough to not bring up the kiss. I had no idea what I would say to explain that; I didn’t even understand it myself.

  He took our cups over to the counter while I adjusted my scarf and met him at the door. He held it open for me. I rarely went anywhere with a guy and forgot how nice it felt to have those little things done for you. When we hit the sidewalk, he turned toward me and pulled the sides of my sweater together over the coffee stain. Then he tucked the edges of the scarf around to hide the remaining evidence.

  I smiled up at him and was about to tell him not to worry, that I was going straight home where no one would see me, when he leaned down and kissed me. It was so quick that by the time I registered what was happening, he had already turned in the opposite direction and was headed up the street. I stood there with my fingers on my lips and tried desperately to figure out what that meant. Obviously I had a long night of thinking in front me—thinking about work, my future, my career, and maybe just a teeny bit of time thinking about our lip lock in the coffee shop and here on the sidewalk.

  ****

  I tossed and turned that night. I couldn’t settle my mind down. I had no idea what to do about Scarlett, what to do about my career. What did this mean for the blog? And most of all, what had that kiss meant? And more importantly, what had his kiss outside the café meant?

  Surely no straight, sexy, exotically good-looking man with a super seductive accent would masquerade as gay in a city with as many beautiful women as New York. What would be the point? I kept thinking maybe he let me kiss him because I was so upset. Maybe he thought he was helping by not adding one more thing to the list of things I was freaking out about. And the kiss on the street? That was brief and casual; I shouldn’t try to make anything more of that kiss than any other kiss I had ever received from a male acquaintance when we were parting ways. Everyone in the fashion industry kissed their goodbyes.

  With all this kissing on the brain, it was no wonder that after finally drifting off to sleep, I once again found myself deep in the middle of another fantasy romp with one Daniel Singh. Only there was one great big difference between this dream and every other one that had come before.

  This time, I was naked.

  And I was for real naked. Not the naked that I sometimes dreamt myself to be. You know, that twenty-pounds-less naked? No-zits naked? No-faint-stretch-marks naked? In most of my dreams where I ended up naked, it was an airbrushed version of myself, never the actual body I saw in the shower every morning.

  So here I was, buck naked and putting it all out there, flaws and all. But I was alone. I reclined on an orange, Hermes blanket in a beautiful field. The warm summer breeze was drifting over my bare skin and making loose tendrils from my up-do dance around my face. It was alarming to me how comfortable I was just lying on this blanket in the middle of a field, completely naked.

  I was pretty excited about lounging around on an Hermes blanket. I had coveted one of these for years and had planned to purchase one…maybe by the time I was fifty (I figured I might be able to afford it by then). But I couldn’t understand why this time I was naked when every other time I had dreamt about Daniel I was encased in some type of ancient 1950s foundation garment.

  Wait a minute. Where was Daniel? Maybe I was naked this time because I wasn’t even dreaming about Daniel. Maybe this dream was going to consist of the blanket, the field, and me. Wow, this dream was getting a little disturbing. What could I possibly be doing here if not meeting some amazingly handsome lover for some hot monkey sex on this super-soft blanket?

  I noticed the trees around the field rustling a little more than before, but I couldn’t tell if it was
because of the wind picking up or someone being there.

  “Is someone there?” I sat up and drew my legs up to cover myself. Suddenly the thought of some other person lurking in this dream made me a little uncomfortable.

  I was relieved when I saw Daniel walking out from the trees. Relief became alarm again when I realized that he, too, was naked. And man, was he ever naked.

  He walked toward me, making no move to hide his nakedness. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning, either. Not that I was spending a tremendous amount of time staring at his face. He didn’t seem mad, but he didn’t seem too happy, either. I couldn’t stop staring at his broad shoulders. And he had the perfect amount of chest hair—a light brushing along his collarbone and his pecs, forming the perfect treasure trail that meandered down across his flat stomach (not rock-hard abs, but you couldn’t pinch an inch on that stomach), ending in a perfect background to the most fabulous-looking penis I think I had ever seen. Sigh…of course, maybe it wasn’t perfect; it had been quite some time since I had seen one, and I was overenthusiastic about getting a chance to become acquainted with this one, but either way, I was more than happy with what I saw coming toward me.

  I hadn’t moved since I had sat up and drawn my legs in front of me. I couldn’t figure out what he was going to do. Was he going to pull me up and bring me flush against his gorgeous body? Was he going to stretch out above me and bring me more pleasure than I had ever known from a man?

  Or none of the above. None of the above it was. He sat down next to me on the blanket, facing the same direction as I was, and he mimicked my pose as well. We were like two bookends, only one a little paler, softer, and rounder. It was strange to sit next to him like this, almost touching but not touching. And to be so…well, naked. Now don’t get me wrong, I had been naked with men before, but usually I was more comfortable with the lights out, or at least dimmed, or candlelight was good; every woman looked better in candlelight.

  It was funny, though, how at ease I felt with Daniel. Other than me asking who was there, neither of us had said a word since this dream had begun. The inner me silently applauded the dream me. Normally I would have turned into the Chatty Cathy doll by now; I did that every time I was around Daniel, and those times at least I had clothes on.

  He leaned into me a little, brushing my shoulder with his. It felt good to be so close to him but not be burning up with desire or burning up with embarrassment. I was super ready to attack this man and have my merry way with him, but I was enjoying the quietness of our interlude.

  He still hadn’t looked at me since he sat down, but eventually he did speak. And it was to answer my unasked question. “You are naked, Millicent, because I decided it was high time I took charge of these dreams of yours. You can’t seem to get us in the same place at the same time with clothing we can remove. I’m tired of showing up here night after night and waking up alone and unsatisfied in my own bed.”

  Whoa. That sounded a lot like my version of what happened after the dream was over. Was it possible that he was really here? That somehow our minds were able to communicate on a higher level and we were actually dreaming together?

  “Nah, you just seem ready for me to have all the answers, and you seem finally ready to get naked, so here I am. Don’t get all mystical on me; this is still your fantasy, but you wanted me to be a little more take charge, so brace yourself, my dear. I’m taking charge.”

  And with that announcement, he gently pushed me back on to the blanket. I was lying on my back and he was on his side, his head propped up on one hand. He looked at me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “Millicent, I hope you’re prepared to be ravaged from the hair on your head to the very tip of your big toe. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks, and finally you are here and you are naked and you are mine.”

  I had nothing to say. I still hadn’t said anything; he just seemed to be able to read my mind and answer all my questions before I could even ask them. I let my eyes drift shut as he lowered his head to the crook of my neck and placed a soft kiss right where my neck met my shoulder. I shuddered at the light touch and curled my hand around the back of his neck, sinking my fingers into his thick, black hair. He continued to lightly kiss my neck, working his way down to my shoulder, every now and then taking a moment to lick a section or slowly suck it into his mouth. I was drowning in the sensation of his hot mouth on my neck, his soft hair under my fingertips, and the light breeze that was still brushing over my now-on-fire body.

  He worked his way back up to my neck, peppering my chin with light kisses. “Millie, open your eyes,” he whispered. Why would I want to do that? I was perfectly content to watch the colors move beneath my eyelids and let my sense of touch become the dominant one. “Open them,” he commanded.

  My eyelids fluttered open and I was staring into his shimmering brown eyes. “What?” I asked. I wasn’t the least bit concerned that I was snapping at him. For someone who was supposed to be participating in a fantasy that I was orchestrating, he was starting to become a little bossy. Although we didn’t have to fight this time about his complete inability to get me out of my clothes, it felt as if an argument was inevitable.

  He smiled at my sharp tone and stroked my cheek with one long, brown finger. “My dear, I just wanted to discuss my itinerary and make sure it met with your approval. I’m going to start up here with your luscious red lips, your sweet collarbone and soft, sexy neck. I will then be journeying down to your breasts,” (thank God he didn’t use the word boobies; I think that would have been enough to jar me out of my dream), “where I will then spend long moments kissing, licking, sucking, and maybe even lightly nibbling on your beautiful pink nipples. After that, I will spend some time moving down your soft, beautiful belly, kissing and stroking it while moving farther south. I will bypass my final destination to trail hot, sweet kisses down your gorgeous legs, nuzzle the back of your knee just a bit—it is a decidedly favorite spot of mine—and then pressing one perfect kiss to the insole of each foot.”

  Yep, so far, so good. I could only nod in agreement, as I had lost my ability to speak as soon as he touched me.

  “I will then work my way back up your other leg, giving it as much attention as the first one; I would hate for any one body part to feel neglected. And then, and then, my dear, I will slowly ease your legs apart a little more, making just enough room for my shoulders. I will ease one leg over said shoulder and proceed to worship you. Do you understand that?”

  I nodded; I was using everything I had to suck in one breath after another.

  “I will worship your sweet, sweet center with my mouth, lips, fingers, and tongue.”

  I was done. This was the closest I had been to an orgasm that someone else could claim responsibility for (kind of) in a super long time. How did this man know that his words, the visual images he created, were almost as exciting as him actually doing them? All I could see now was the image of my white legs draped down that beautiful, brown back while he pleasured me with his mouth. His voice brought me back to the present.

  “And then, my sweet Millie, then after you have reached your peak—oh, I don’t know, maybe a half dozen times—then I will slide up your body and make sure you can’t remember what it was like to not have me inside of you.”

  Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was done earlier, but now I was really done, like burned to a crisp, going up in flames of my own making and not giving a crap, done. Geez, Louise.

  I closed my eyes as he lowered his head to kiss me. Damn, this man could kiss. He knew just what to do with those lips—when to be hard, when to be soft, and when to slide that sweet tongue of his deep into my mouth. The spicy scent of him overwhelmed me; it was all I could sense, all I could taste, all I could smell; hell, it even felt as if the spicy essence of who he was lingered underneath my fingertips as I slid my hands down his back. I was so in love with this man and what he could do to my body.

  So in love…so in love…so in love.

  When I opened
my eyes, I was back in my dark bedroom, alone, and wearing some hideously unattractive pajamas. I could still smell him in the air and on my skin. I was so rattled by the depth of the dream and how well he seemed to know every thought in my head that I couldn’t help but roll over, grab my phone, and type out a text to him.

  “What are you doing?”

  Crap. How clichéd was that. What are you doing? It was 3:00 in the morning. He was either asleep or doing something that was not conducive to texting.

  I tossed the phone back on the nightstand and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was determined to go back to sleep and forget about the dream, forget about the lingering arousal, and forget about Daniel Singh.

  The vibrating of my phone jerked me back up. I grabbed it and sat up to read the message.

  “I was sleeping; are you okay?”

  Good, at least he wasn’t hitting a homerun with some hot male model or something. Not that it would matter. The man was entitled to his private life, the same way I was entitled to my inappropriate dreams that he would never know about.