DAHLIA
I felt almost manic as I worked through the different
outfits in my wardrobe, filled with that crazy kind of excitement you get when
you’re doing something fun but dangerous too; like riding a bike down a winding
mountain path. Like at any moment a rock or a sudden drop might be there and
that delightful thrill could turn to disaster.
But at the same time – though part of me was detached from
this, what was happening – I couldn’t make myself quite stop. I knew I could stop whenever I wanted to but now
that this peculiar situation was in the open I didn’t want to hold back. I
wanted to grip the handlebars tightly and ride as fast as I could.
Not least because I really was having more fun now than I
had done in years!
Melissa stood well clear but I could sense her there in the
corner of my eye, watching me; maybe even judging me. But that didn’t matter.
It really didn’t. She was my employee. If it got weird afterwards I could just
hire a different cleaner.
A big part of me thought that it would be weird afterwards
but I had little compulsion to pay heed to it. What did it really matter? I
wanted to do it. I was doing it. That was that.
I drew a mental line under the debate in my mind. Path
decided.
The challenge now was finding something that Melissa could
wear. I would be alright in her oversized dress but the reverse wasn’t true.
Almost everything I owned was made to my specifications – literally made to
order by the same seamstress I’d been using since I was eighteen years old,
usually to designs I created myself. It was a hobby I enjoyed; nothing serious;
but it kept me busy from time to time.
In the end I picked out a floral wrap; basically a large
patterned sheet; meant to be wound round my body and tied in place with a
broach, leaving shoulders and arms bare. It went more than once round me which
made it likely to be perfect. Melissa was prestigiously fat but even she wasn’t
bloated enough to outstrip that.
I took it off its hanger and held it up, pleased with
myself. “Here,” I said. “This should do.”
She scrutinised it sceptically but let herself be guided
back into the bedroom.
“We should probably keep our own underwear on,” I said, “but
I can wear your dress and I’ll set you up with this. Is that okay?”
She nodded, shrugging. “You’re paying for my time. I’ll
follow your lead.”
There was a long frozen moment where we both just looked at
one another. The oddity of the situation returned in full force. But ignoring
that, I took off my silk robe and laid it on the bed. I had my bathing suit on
underneath which was still slightly damp from my swim. Feeling self-conscious I
took out some dry underwear and went to the en suite bathroom door.
“I’ll...I’ll just get changed into these.”
When I came out, Melissa’s dress was laid on the bed next to
my robe and she was holding the wrap round her chest, trying to work out the
best way to manage it.
“Here,” I said, “let me help you.”
I took a broach from my jewellery box and helped her get it
straight. She really was obese with broad arms and a gigantic chest but with
her shoes off we were eye to eye with one another. We held our gazes for a
moment; her eyes distorted by the thick lenses in her glasses; then I fussed
with the broach, tying the wrap in place. It was a little snug round her chest
but it worked. I stepped back to admire my handiwork but caught the glum
expression on her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It hardly makes me look like you,” she replied.
I smiled sympathetically. “You should get yourself a
personal trainer like mine. He’d whip you into shape in no time.”
The minute I said it I felt a jolt of regret for my
insensitivity. Of course she couldn’t afford something like that. Melissa
looked out the window, probably hiding the inverse jolt she’d got herself.
I stepped over to her dress.
It really was gigantic compared to the figure-hugging
outfits I normally wore, but I wanted this aspect of it. I didn’t know why I
did, but I did.
I held it up to my body. As expected, it was the right
length for my frame but enough to swamp me. With it covering my front I could
almost imagine I really were fat enough to fill it and as that occurred to me a
vibration ran through me like an electric shock, surprising me far more than
the original impulse to swap places.
It had been a charge of sexual titillation. I was sure of
it. I covered my mouth and nose with the dress for a second as though I could
hide it, though of course Melissa would have had no idea.
Was that it? Did the idea of becoming so fat actually turn
me on? I searched my thoughts but there was no answer apart from that quiver of
arousal.
For a minute I imagined what it would be like being so
obese; so anonymous. I imagined myself right into Melissa’s body, picturing the
thick glasses on my face, the dark brown bobbed hair, the great double chin,
the bulging breasts and apple-shaped body. I imagined being like that, dressed
in this dress, doing the cleaning round this house and that same urgency
returned; that scratch of stimulation.
I almost wished I owned a magic ring or something that could
really swap our places; really transform us. It was just a shame that magic
didn’t exist.
Sensing Melissa’s expectation and curiosity I recalled my
surroundings and raised the dress one more time to look at.
Here goes nothing,
I thought. Then I bunched it up and slipped it over my head. It fell about me
quickly and freely with almost no resistance and I pushed my arms into the sleeves,
gripping two great bunches of spare cloth at my waist.
This was it.
It was really happening.
