Fatshionista (8 page)

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.

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.