Fatshionista (16 page)

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.”