I could feel my heart beating rapidly as I spotted the freeway exit I'd been instructed to take. Friday afternoon traffic into Seattle had been even heavier than usual but I'd left early knowing the potential consequences if I showed up at the meeting spot late. I silently cursed myself again for having gotten into this situation as I put on my turn signal. At the top of the exit ramp, instead of taking a left turn that crossed over the freeway and into suburbia I turned right onto a gravel road and drove a short distance to a heavily wooded dead end just out of sight of the freeway. I saw her standing by a black SUV parked there. I pulled in beside it, turned off the engine, and took a deep breath to calm my nerves as I got out.
"You made it, Laurie," she said with a broad smile. "I was worried you might get stuck in traffic." I managed a weak smile in return. The woman's name was Megan Danielson and despite the smile she had the intense, confident look of someone used to being in charge. I would have known instinctively that she was a woman not to be messed with even if I hadn't already known she was a cop. Unlike the first time I'd met her though she was wearing street clothes rather than a uniform.
"Are you ready to do this?" she asked.
"I guess so," I replied.
"Good. Go ahead and get undressed."
"Now? Right here? I thought I wouldn't need to get naked until, you know, until it was time."
Megan shook her head. "I'll be driving you to where we're going. You won't be needing your clothes for awhile."
"Yeah, but why can't I take them off when I get there?"
Megan spoke sharply now. "Listen you want to get this thing behind you don't you?" I nodded. "Then you're going to have to do what I tell you to do for the next couple of hours. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said quietly, biting my lip. This was already more than I'd bargained for.
"Good," she said. "Now take off your clothes. Every stitch. Put them in your car and lock it up. Be sure to stash the key somewhere where you can find it later." She looked down at my feet. "You'll need your shoes."
I slowly began unbuttoning my blouse and thought back to that night a week ago that had gotten me into this mess.
BIRTHDAY GIRL
The thumping bass of the live band reverberated through the walls of the ladies' room as I stood in front of the large mirror. I could barely believe it was the same person that I'd seen staring back at me from mirrors for most of my life.
"She has such a pretty face, if only she lost a few pounds." Those were words I'd heard all of my life. I'd been overweight ever since I can remember. Baby fat had turned into adolescent fat which turned into adult fat. "It's just your metabolism" my mom told me and looking at her it sure seemed that being overweight was my genetic fate. Everyone in my family was big and I was no exception. Of course my mom's cooking may have had something to do with it as well. There were always plenty of delicious carbohydrate rich pastas, soups, and breads at our dining table and my willpower rarely exceeded my desire to eat. I'd always been self-conscious about my body and dreaded being seen in even a one-piece bathing suit on trips to the pool or the beach. Wearing a bikini was totally out of the question.
The one constant that I'd always had in my life was Mark. We'd known each other since grade school and began dating our sophomore year. Mark never seemed to be bothered at all about my weight and he made me feel comfortable when I was around him. He was one of those guys who stayed about ten pounds overweight no matter how much or how little he ate so he never bothered at all with diets. Me, I was always on some sort of diet or another. I'd lose five or ten pounds only to gain them back seemingly overnight as soon as I deviated from them. He used to laugh at my constant dieting and told me he'd always love me no matter what I looked like.
After graduating from college we moved in together, much to the disapproval of my family. They wanted us to get married and, the truth be told, that's what I wanted too. But Mark had said he wasn't ready for marriage yet and so I agreed to move in with him. At first I tried to continue my various attempts at dieting but Mark always had to have pizza, chips, beer, and other junk food around the house so I was fighting a losing battle. After awhile I gave up any pretenses of dieting and we settled into a comfortable existence together. Our nights usually involved watching DVDs, playing video games, or going out to party with friends. We continued to talk about marriage and I always assumed that my future would include Mark and a big loving family full of chubby little children.
But something happened on the journey to what I saw as my inevitable future...I kept gaining weight while Mark stayed the same. My extra twenty pounds turned to thirty, then forty, then fifty. Mark's girth, by contrast, stayed the same no matter what he ate. By our third year living together all of my body shame had returned in full force and I could barely stand to look at myself in a mirror. The difference now though was that Mark no longer joked off my concerns. I once again began a series of diets but with Mark's junk food constantly around the house it was a hopeless effort.
Then came the day when all my dreams of the future came crashing down. "Laurie, we need to talk," Mark had said and in my heart I knew what was coming. After stuttering for awhile about how much he cared for me I finally blurted out, "just say it, Mark."
"Okay. Um, I've met someone, Laurie." Even though I'd suspected something was going on it still hit me like a body blow. "It's not that I don't love you Laurie, but you've, well, you've just gotten too fat. I never thought it would bother me, but it does." Through the tears I slowly began packing up my belongings, determined not to spend another night in the house with the man I thought I'd be spending the rest of my life with. As I walked out the door I knew that my best chance for love was gone.
The next month was a blur as I moved into a small apartment and lost myself in the only things left that comforted me...food and alcohol. I took a job doing bookkeeping for a painting contractor that allowed me to work from home. I spent my days with TV soap operas on in the background and my nights wallowing in food, booze, and self-pity.
Then one day I turned on Country Music Television for background music for a change of pace, even though I wasn't a big fan of country music. The videos were filled with beautiful women in tight jeans and I wondered what it would be like to be one of those women for even a day. For some reason the words I'd heard so often, "she has a pretty face if she'd only lose a few pounds" came into my head and I walked to a mirror. For the first time in a long time I really looked closely at my face and I realized that the pretty face was still there although it was connected to a body I hated. It struck me that I was still a young woman and I could become one of those slim, attractive women in tight jeans if I could only summon up the willpower to do it. For some reason that image of a slender me in tight jeans stuck in my mind and never left. For the first time in my life I was determined to be that woman and nothing would divert me from my goal.
THE GIRL IN THE MIRROR
Nearly a year later I found myself in front of that bar bathroom mirror looking at the woman I'd dreamed of becoming so long ago. I turned back and forth examining myself in the mirror and especially loved the view of my breasts in profile to my body. Although I'd always had fairly good sized breasts I'd never really thought of myself as having great boobs until I saw how they hung over a flat stomach. The difference was remarkable and I'd made sure that they were accentuated tonight with a white tank top that displayed just enough cleavage to keep guys wishing they could see more. And those tight jeans I'd seen on those country music women were now displaying my own firm ass. My straight black hair that I'd always kept chopped short now spilled down over my shoulders. I could barely believe that was me staring back in the mirror.
