The following story is a work of fiction. It is for entertainment purposes only, and should not be taken seriously by anyone.
**
Mikayla saw her at a party.
It was one of those big ritzy hotels that caters to the general public, but has just enough wealthy clients that they can justify hiring valets and doormen.
There was a lot of plastic surgery there that night. A lot of fake breasts and liposuction.
A mountain of pills and powders, legal, illegal, and soon to be illegal being consumed, along with an ocean of watered down cheap booze.
The steaks were hockey pucks.
The chicken was undercooked and would give a number of guests food poisoning.
Looking around, Mikayla and her husband Andre were, with a few exceptions, the only black people there.
So, it didn't take Mikayla long to notice the slender black woman across the room, wearing a red dress that hugged her skin.
She was beautiful.
A lovely woman with a very prominent baby bump.
Mikayla noticed her, then turned away, only to turn back.
She knew her.
It took a moment to place her. Then, it seemed impossible to reconcile the face with the body that came with it.
Oh my god, she thought. Is that Tasha?
No.
No, it can't be her.
Tasha was an ugly, fat woman. No one special. One of those forgotten little drones who make the world work, but don't actually live in it.
She was anonymous by design, and forgettable by nature.
But something had changed.
This woman was beautiful. Her clothes were stylish and expensive. Her hair was worn in the latest fashion.
Tasha was beautiful. Her figure was completely transformed. She had lost weight. She had curves. Her arms and legs were shaped and toned.
The old Tasha, the woman Mikayla knew, had oily skin and pimples.
This woman's complexion was clear.
And more so, she was pregnant.
In essence, she had everything Mikayla deemed worthwhile in life.
Mikayla went to her. Her curiosity pulled her towards Tasha like a moth to an open flame.
"Tasha?" She asked. "Is that you?"
"Oh hey, Mikayla!" she smiled politely.
"You look amazing!"
Tasha smiled. "Ohhh thank you!"
She really did. And she knew it. Her confidence gave her a poise that Mikayla had never seen before.
Her dress showed off her new body. It was classy. Sexy, even. The only item that seemed out of place was a choker necklace made of red lace in an intricate design pattern.
Mikayla sensed Tasha didn't want to talk to her, and she wasn't surprised.
She'd never been very nice.
Mikayla shifted uncomfortably, trying to make conversation.
"And you're having a baby! Congratulations!"
"Yes," Tasha said happily, stroking her swollen stomach. "Yes I am."
"You must tell me what you did. Where did you go? Who did you see?"
A strange look crossed Tasha's face, and her hand stopped moving over her belly. She seemed to consider something, to wrestle with it.
"You ever heard of Paul Chase?"
Mikayla's eyes widened. She had not heard of him.
"I hired him," she said. "And all the rest was hard work."
"Hard work and what else?" Mikayla pressed.
There had to be more. It seemed impossible that Tasha had managed this transformation on her own.
There had to be pills. Ozempic? Wegovy?
A surgery?
Some massive sum of money had been dropped somewhere to make this happen.
But Tasha shook her head.
"That's it. It was all Coach Paul. I owe him everything."
She smiled and gently rubbed her stomach.
"It costs. It cost me so much. But I got so much in return."
Mikayla thought about her own life. There was so much on her plate right now.
She might finally make partner this year.
The stress was hitting her hard. She was neglecting her fitness. Her relationship with her husband was starting to strain.
She needed to be confident and Mikayla knew she was most confident, when she was working out on a regular basis.
"I could use a personal trainer."
Tasha watched her closely.
"Is it worth it?" Mikayla asked. "You think he could make a difference?"
The eyes of the two women met. Tasha's words would ring in Mikayla's ears for the rest of her days.
With one sentence, she charted out a new course in Mikayla's journey.
"He changed my life."
*
Paul Chase was working at home when the call came.
He was working through paperwork, billing, the sort of paper pushing that was essential to his work, but made him wish he was dead.
Lavender candles were burning while Miles Davis' King of Blue album was playing.
His wife was humming to herself as she made dinner. At some point he would have to pick up his kids from kindergarten.
His cell rang. Paul frowned at the strange number and let it go to voicemail.
Probably a telemarketer or one of those scammers, but he'd double check at some point.
He looked at the forms on the screen.
How much money did he need to spend on insurance? Somehow it had gotten worse since the pandemic.
His phone buzzed.
Annoyed, but looking to distract himself, he picked it up and read the text.
It was a text from Tasha. He smiled, until he began reading the message.
I've done it.
I've found someone. Expect her call. I am certain Mikayla will please you.
Paul felt his stomach tighten. So, she was finally leaving him. He didn't know whether to feel sad or proud.
The phone buzzed again. It was a picture of a pretty, fit black woman with shoulder length curly hair and a gorgeous smile.
Well, at least she knows my type, he thought.
The phone buzzed twice more.
Release me, Master.
Please let me go.
Paul read that, and grimaced.
He liked Tasha. She was his favorite girl. And while he would never admit it, he had gotten attached to her.
But a deal was a deal.
He texted back.
I release you.
She quickly replied.
Thank you!! Thank you Master!!
He sighed but smiled to himself.
He still didn't know how to feel. But he was leaning more towards happiness than disappointment.
He put the phone down and went back to his forms.
His phone buzzed.
Tasha wanted the last word in their relationship.
He read the words.
I love you.
*
Mikayla was antsy.
Ever since the party, she could not stop thinking about Paul Chase.
Here she was, curled up on her sofa scrolling through her phone, waiting for him to call her back.
It seemed childish. High School.
She had called the number that Tasha had sent her, and he didn't pick up.
Why didn't he pick up?
Was he busy? Working in a gym? How exclusive exactly is his client list?
By her own admission, she had become low-key obsessed with the man.
She pulled up his website for maybe the millionth time. The details were sparing, enigmatic. He didn't have much of a social media presence.
On his website, she went to ABOUT ME, and read his profile.
Paul Chase, ex-military, masters in business, enough certifications in different areas of fitness he could qualify as a Jedi.
Something caught her eyes. Certified in physical therapy too.
She looked at the picture of him.
Smart, handsome, and drop dead gorgeous!
Oh, and white.
Mikayla bit her lip as she studied his arms and shoulders.
I wouldn't mind him putting his hands on me, she thought to herself.
A small moan escaped her throat at the thought.
She looked up at her husband in case he heard her.
Andre remained fixated on his work laptop.
Mikayla smiled and giggled to herself.
If he only knew what's been kicking around my head!
She had never been with a white man, but if she hadn't met Andre she might well have married one.
She switched to youtube, and watched one of the clips of him training in the gym.
His energy, his charisma just came through the screen.
Pushing, encouraging, leading.
In another, she watched him front squat easily about four hundred pounds.
After ten reps, he tossed the bar from his shoulders and stared into the camera.
Mikayla felt her breath catch in her throat.
It was like he was addressing her, and her alone.
"GET your mind RIGHT! GET your HEART in this GAME! YOU'RE NOT ALONE. EVERYONE wants this! Do YOU have the COURAGE to take the first step?"
It was cheesy. It was corny. It was over the top.
But goddamnit if it didn't work.
Not for the first time, Mikayla's mind shifted away from fitness and towards something else entirely.
She glanced towards her husband, who was typing away on his laptop.
Mikayla licked her lips, and played the video again.
As she listened to the sound of Paul's grunts and groans through her airpods, she tried to resist the urge to attend to the feeling growing between her legs. Instead she rubbed her palm slowly over and over the arm of her chair, and imagined it was him.
Look at his hips. He must be an incredible fuck, she thought.
She looked at her husband.
Cool it, girl. You need to cool it.
The website offered a bunch of pictures, videos, and testimonials.
Even if the testimonials were cherry picked, the praise was phenomenal and universal.
The words "life changing," came up over and over again.
She looked at the time.
How long did she have to go before she could call back and not look like a crazy person?
Longer than this.
But that gave her time to solve a smaller problem.
She got up and went to a spare room. It was cool and dark there. She threw herself down on the bed, and watched a few more videos of Paul working out.
What a man.
She glanced at the door. Alone. It wasn't locked, but this won't take long.
She pulled her shirt up, and with one hand reached beneath her sports bra, and gently began caressing her right breast.
She closed her eyes and sighed, imagining herself in a gym.
It's hot and musky. The air is so thick its hazy. It's full of muscle bound meatheads, who watch her every move like a pack of ravenous wolves.
She sets her phone down, and her fingers slip beneath her tights to tease her clit.
But this familiar fantasy had a new wrinkle.
It just popped in there.
Her husband was there too, working out in a corner. Oblivious of the men ogling his wife.
She wants to warn him, as they close in around her. But no words come out.
Then Paul is there.
He's so big. A bare-chested giant. She had seen his chest in videos, so she knew he had a thick forest of chest hair, and his body was covered in tattoos.
