Cleaner: Chapter Three - Part Two

DAHLIA

I was stunned to silence moments after Melissa made the suggestion to swap places for the morning again.

This time she led the way toward the stairs and I followed her, dazzled by the fact that it was happening again. I had decided I couldn’t possibly go through with it. The fact of her asking had bowled me over.

She went up the stairs and I went with her, mouth shut, eyes wary. The excitement from yesterday had changed. There was a reserve in me; a nervousness. It made a difference that she had suggested it but I wasn’t sure what kind of difference. This was what I had wanted; what I’d been too afraid to suggest myself. I was eager but I was also very edgy. I didn’t know exactly why.

We went into my bedroom and Melissa walked toward the wardrobe.

“Hang on,” I said. She looked back at me. “I bought some new things.”

She waited with interest as I retrieved the shopping bags I’d left on the floor under the window, unsure what else to do with them. I set them on the bed and started to lay out the garments one by one as she watched.

That edginess continued. This situation was so absurd and unique, how could I know how to process it? I felt deeply embarrassed. This wasn’t right. It was madness. A private fantasy was one thing. Getting this woman I barely knew to act it out was something else. I should just tell her to forget it; bow out with some semblance of self-respect. I darted a glance at her but the expression on her face surprised me; made me stop removing the clothes.

“I’m so nervous,” she said.

I didn’t respond, just looked back at her curiously.

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to do it again and it...” She smiled shyly. “It was so much fun.”

My eyes widened a shade. I moistened my lips.

“I was afraid to ask,” she said. “Afraid you’d think it was weird.”

I smiled tentatively. “It is a little bit weird.”

We both giggled. “No it’s not,” she said. “It’s just a bit of a laugh. It doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“I guess.”

We said nothing for getting on for a minute, then Melissa looked down at the clothes on the bed and said, “What have you got for me to wear?”

It was such a simple question, said matter-of-factly, but it made all the difference, tipping us from one side of a line where this whole thing was a silly, possibly even barmy activity, to the other where it was just a bit of fun between friends.

I brightened, warming to Melissa. It surprised me what a good sport she was to go along with it. I’d obviously been wrong in my initial impression: that she resented my wealth and her lack of it; that she didn’t like me at all.

I raised the long skirt I’d bought for her to her waist and she took it, pushing one foot forward to examine the length. “This’ll look nice on you,” I said, “and I’ve got a pretty top to go with it.”

“Shall we change now?” asked Melissa.

“Sure.”

She smiled and pulled her dress up over her head, struggling to get it round her bulging buttocks, stomach and chest. It caught until she gave it a wrench, then it came free. She fiddled, getting it over her head but I had several long seconds to really see her in her undies for the first time.

Melissa was grossly obese. Her thighs were gigantic, merging with a great pair of buttocks. Her torso was made up of great folds of fat that concealed the straps of her underwear. Her arms were extremely fat too.

What would it be like to be as obese as that? I wondered. Would it feel entirely different than I felt now? Would people treat me differently? Surely they would. I couldn’t have continued with my comeback; that much was certain. This wasn’t the renaissance. Fat was still very much out.

Her head came free in a shower of tumbling hair and she gave me a little smile that said, This is what it's like to be me.

To disguise the fact I’d been staring I passed her the top and she put it on, struggling a little again but not as much. It looked really good on her. She didn’t look like me but it made her look a lot better. She put on the skirt as well and I offered her some jewellery that would complement it. “Make-up would be even better,” I said.

“I’ve never been much cop at putting it on.”

“I could help. And with your hair as well. If you want.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Why not?”

I sat her down at my dressing table and set to work sprucing her up. It was a lot of fun and Melissa clearly enjoyed it. Getting dolled up was always nice for a woman and exploring it for the first time must have been a lovely experience.

I accentuated her cheek bones and her eyes then styled her hair, tying it up and off her face to make more of the earrings I’d lent her. When I was done she looked a lot nicer.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think I still look fat,” she replied sadly. “And I wish I didn’t have to wear these.” She pointed to her thick glasses.

“Have you ever tried contacts?”

“No.... I don’t like the idea of sticking my fingers in my eyes.”

“You have nice eyes,” I said. “I bet you’d look even nicer if you did.”

She shrugged but I could see she felt a little better.

I left her in front of the mirror, checking herself, and walked over to my own outfit.