Being Don Being Donna - Chapter Five

OTHER CHAPTERS | ALL STORY LIST

It was my turn to hesitate again. I didn’t want to appear anxious. I had trouble looking at her. If I flinched, she’d know I was bluffing, baiting her. I had to play a cool hand, even if I was burning up inside. I didn’t want to go to a foster home any more than I wanted to live with crabby Mrs. Sullivan next door. That would be a living hell. Yikes! 100, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, can’t stall too long. She’ll balk!

"Yeah, sure. Why not? We can talk things out and see what happens. Most of the things you want me to do are okay with me, except the exercise program. It won’t work, because I don’t want to look like someone enrolled in a ‘fat farm’ for girls. If they don’t wrestle, use weights or do guy’s gymnastics, count me out." I looked out the side window of the car. A man stood in the shadows, watching us. "Start the car, ma’am. We’ve got an audience outside. He must think I’m your boyfriend and we’re having a spat, or he expects to see some X-rated action."

She reacted like a robot, putting the car into gear, and peeling away from the curb, while we laughed like two kids who were caught making out in a car. Her nice apartment was only a few blocks from where we were parked. "I hope he wasn’t a neighbor of yours. Imagine what he’s going to tell his wife when he gets home. He’ll say you were a ‘cradle robber’ with bad eyesight." We roared in unison until the car was inside her stall in the three-sided carport.

It took me four trips to drag all the stuff up to her apartment. She didn’t help me. Said women have to ‘go’ more often. I lined everything up on the sofa and waited for her. She was taking a long time in the ‘john’. I turned around as she opened the door and joined me. My eyes almost popped out of my head. She had this short see-through thing on, that left almost all of her body show. Her long legs were covered in a glimmering pair of stockings held up by three suspenders on each leg, and her huge breasts were plain as day above her corset. GULP!

She had a black silk lounging jacket thrown back over one shoulder, suspended by her long index finger which was next to her left breast, drawing attention to it as she wiggled it back and forth.

"Well, Donny. Let’s discuss your clothes. Which would you rather be wearing at this time? Want to keep your faded jeans and that threadbare rag you call a shirt on, or would you prefer to sit next to me in this lounge coat, wearing a sexy pair of your new silk underwear? Take your pick!"

"I, the coat,"

"Then first get into the shower and wash that filth off of your body." She tossed the jacket to me and rummaged through the pile on the couch until she found the one package she was looking for. When she bent over, I could see the darkness of her crease between the twin globes of her tempting lower cheeks. She wiggled it in my face a few seconds, and stood up quickly, catching my frozen gaze.

"See something you like, or do you want to wear these black ones I bought for you earlier? You tried to act all grown up with me in the car. What’s wrong, now? Don’t you want to assert that macho power anymore? In two years you’ll be in your prime. You’ll be eighteen, going on Twenty-five. By then you’ll beg me to wear an outfit like this. Why wait? You wanted to act like a man in the car, why stop now? I’ll be as accommodating as you’d like me to be. All you have to do is be my big, strong hero. Make demands of me like you did in the car. I’m yours."

"I, uh, one year. I’ll be eighteen in one year and three weeks."

"Well, what do you know? I thought I’d have to wait for two whole long years for you, before you would make any adult demands of me. Here you are all grown up and ready to go. If you want to be treated like an adult, all you have to do is charm my panties off, handsome. Who knows? I may fall in love with you and keep you, my pet! Do you want me? You think you’re a prize worthy of my admiration, don’t you? Go ahead, you’d like to take what you see, don’t you?"

"Yes, no. I mean no, yes. I don’t think I’m a prize but I’d like to take what, no I don’t. I mean I’d like to but I haven’t the right to take..."

"No you don’t, do you?"

"No, ma’am."

"You don’t because I have the kind of body that is something beautiful to behold and you don’t think you can face the challenge of becoming worthy to take any woman like me for your own. Take a good look in the mirror once you’re in there, Donny. Ask yourself if a girl like me should cower in your masterful presence if you desire her. Ask yourself if you’re that worthy. I wanted to help you to become worthy of knowing what a beautiful woman wants to see in a man. I wanted to help you become a heartthrob. What’s the use! All you want to do is to lie around and blubber, wallow in your own self-pity, and strike out at someone in spite.

Oh, you’d rather question my motives and make demands of me, instead. Fine. Get clean, put a nice set of clothes on and see how you look. See if you think I like what you see. See if you want to continue being an overweight nerd. Go!"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Wait! Don’t go yet. Think about this, after you take a good long, look at yourself. In a year, you could be that man, Donny. But you’ll have to follow my guidance and do what I suggest to you. I’ve never done it before, so I may not always say things in a nice way. Go ahead, and resist me! Tell me where to get off! After all, who am I to tell you what you should do? In a year, you can write me off. Give me my walking papers. You don’t have to do anything I ask of you. We’ll see what you look like if you continue doing things your own way.

On the other hand, you can take my advice, no matter how careless I am in the way I present it. If you do, you’ll be very pleasantly surprised and you’ll be able to feel proud in what you’ve accomplished. I know, because I’ve done it, myself. I’m a swan now, and I don’t mind bragging. It took a lot of sweat and strain. See the results! What do you think? Was it worth the effort? Do you want to develop a body with fine lines and smooth curves, to cause others to lust after you? Take your pick, kid. The choice is yours.

Call the caseworker in the morning, if you’d like. I felt like letting you see what a well-defined woman looks like up close before you make a decision." She turned around and went into her bedroom and slammed the door in my face.

Whew! She got to me. She showed me what to expect in a sexy body, all right! What I wouldn’t be willing to do to turn the head of a girl like her. I took my hot shower, and turned the hot tap off, finishing with an icy shower, to cool myself off. I previously had a scant, perverted idea of what a sexy girl looked like for real. Her body was a lot more vividly vibrant, soft, and more provocative than any of the many racy images of women in dad’s filthy sex magazines. They were all good-looking, but nothing like Miss Morgan.

I dried off and put on the black briefs she bought me. Halfway up my legs, I got as hard as a rock. The cold shower didn’t deter my sex drive much. I donned the smooth jacket and went to bed, and tossed and turned all night. The new briefs kept me erect. I didn’t dare go to the john to relieve the torture. She’d know what I was up to. I wouldn’t give in. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

In the morning we both had toast and black coffee. We sat silently, waiting for the other to back down and give in. Neither of us did. She curtly dropped me off at the house and drove off to the bank without comment. I read for a while, but I had trouble keeping my mind on the book. All I could think of was some way to back off without seeming like a wimp. She was silent all through lunch. Lunch! Hah!

We split a can of tuna on a bed of lots and lots of lettuce, with a few pickle slices and saltine crackers. She handed me another one of her computer-generated lists. She was good at making up lists. No misunderstandings. How can you say you misunderstood or forgot instructions given in writing, clear and precise?

It explained that she wanted to go shopping again, as soon as she arrived. I was not to plan on dinner. We’d eat out for a change.

Reluctantly, I started emptying out my dresser and beat-up chest of drawers. In fear of not having anything to wear, I was lax in discarding stuff that was way too small. I had to do laundry every few days to stay dressed in the same old things that still fit, sort of fit. If I lost some weight as Miss Morgan suggested, I might still be able to squeeze into some of the stuff, but I was kidding myself. I’d never get to wear any of this trash!

The stacks on the bed were meager. The sweats I was wearing were probably almost as heavy as all of my laid-out, worn-out junk. I bagged it all up. No sense kidding myself. All I had beside what was in the bathroom hamper was a few worthless rags, except for all those things she bought for me the evening before.

I thought about my first reaction when she insulted me last night. Glad that I let her have it, both barrels, at close range. I’ll let her get her rocks off by buying me new stuff. Why not? What did I have to lose? I could toss out or ignore the things she buys that I didn’t like. Sure! That’s it! Let her pick out the things she thinks will ‘inspire’ me to lose weight. Wouldn’t hurt to look presentable, but I wasn’t about to let her dictate how I dress. She had to be told. I wanted some latitude in how I dress. Be damned if she’d dress me up in sissy stuff women like!

I flipped the half empty bag over my shoulder and headed for the garbage can in the back yard, next to our empty garage. Maybe a neighbor would be interested in renting the garage. Dad’s car was beyond repair after his last fender bender and went to the junkyard to pay for his booze. Dad sold whatever wasn’t nailed down to support his drinking. I could pay a few more dollars toward the overdue utility bills with rent money from a neighbor for the using the garage

I spotted a business envelope taped to the glass on the back door on my way out and put down the bag of old clothes. At first I thought it was another ‘final’ notice from the gas or electric company about turning off a utility. Then I noticed it was a plain white envelope. I set the bag clothes down and pulled the envelope off of the door. It wasn’t sealed, so I looked inside and took out the single typed out sheet of paper and unfolded it.

Lawyers. They write everything down, to prove they told you something, so you can’t deny that they did. Okay! Let’s see what’s on her mind:

Dear Donny,

Please read this entire note before you throw it away. I’m sorry for being pushy with you last night. Please accept my formal apology. I’m not used to acting as a guardian for someone, so I beg you to forgive my impatience and lack of propriety.

You will need to experience for yourself the difference in the way people will treat you once you lose some weight. I know because I was much heavier than you are when I began. Yes, I wore size 3X clothes when I was your age. People ducked from me, when they could. I ignored the signs and attributed their attitude to my bland personality. I wouldn’t admit it was the prejudice people have against those who are overweight that isolated me from normal social ties.

I was forced to lose weight, completely against my will, by the pain and starvation imposed on me by my uncles like your dad is being forced to abstain from drinking. They only wanted me to become a sex slave, willing to be used for their pleasure and profit whether I wanted to become one or not.

My modifications were achieved quite rapidly by using some severe medical and psychological controls they forced upon me like the team of qualified doctors is forcing a strict alcohol deprivation regimen on your dad to rid his body of his physical dependence on his health destructive addiction.

You have an addiction, too, much like your dad’s, one with a major difference. The difference is: since you resist taking my advice, as you must have resisted the advice of countless others to become as heavy as you are, you must choose to change of your own accord. Mere coercion will not be enough.

Your dad’s change must be imposed on him. No one will force you to control your excessive eating. I can offer a healthy diet on a daily basis, but I can’t constantly stand over you to see that you don’t sneak food when you can. No one will beat you into submission, as my uncles once did to me.

You must WANT to change. For your own sake, I hope you do. Write one word on the face of the envelope. YES, NO, or leave a big question mark. I won’t even ask you again

Terry.

I read the letter twice. Food Addiction! A cruel term for something most people fight to control day in and day out. What’s so bad about being fat? Lot’s of us are heavy as stone. We don’t go around smashing cars, driving over our neighbors’ lawns and bushes or fighting and being nuisances to everyone around us. My compulsive eating harms no one but me.

No one but me! She knew it would be my downfall. People don’t like me because I’m fat. The neighbors only tolerate me and are finally putting aside the prejudice in favor of helping me preserve the house, for their own interests, so they don’t end up with worse new neighbors. George said it yesterday. I’d be better than a ‘passel’ of kids running under foot, a nuisance! Is that what he compares me to?

Am I a lesser nuisance to George? How often did I admonish myself into thinking I shouldn’t lose any weight or the few things I have would hang on me funny, so I could justify my eating food off of dad’s plate, not to waste it. The older things might fit me better if I drop a few pounds. What difference would it make? I’m about to toss all that stuff away, anyway. I’ll have no excuse. Terry will buy me any clothes I want, whether I lose weight or not.

I searched the kitchen for a pencil. I was about to write a big question mark on the envelope. I could always change my mind, later.

Who’s kidding whom? I’ll never lose any weight. I’ll be fat for as long as I live.

Who’s to care? Hey say fat people die younger. Mom died young. The weight was cited as a major factor in her early demise. Liquor kills too! It’s killing dad as sure as if he took poison, slow agonizing poison.

Is that what food is, too? Are we all put on Earth to choose whether we die from the slow agonizing torture we put our bodies through by overeating, or by picking some other torturous way to die? I stared at the blank face of the envelope, and thought about Miss Morgan’s habit of writing things down. The power of words, that’s what lawyers use to win their cases. Research, like the pile of books sitting in the living room, waiting for me to read, that’s the way to eradicate ignorance and prejudice. We read and learn ways to wipe out the vacuum of our stupidity.

The books! They’re not for me to learn how to deal with dad’s addiction! She had me get them to learn to deal with mine! Everything in the books about alcohol abuse applies directly to food, as well. Dad is in qualified hands. Professionals are treating his addiction. It’s my addiction she got the books for!

How stupid of me! She knew! I’d read the books to be of help to dad, who is far beyond my helping. Instead, I’d be learning to deal with my own addition, without guessing why I was doing it. Why didn’t she tell me? Why?

Because, if she did, I wouldn’t bother to read the books! Of course! Well, she’s wrong! I’ll read every last one. Not for dad, but because I need to read them!

I left the bag of old clothes where they were and sat down in the easy chair in the living room. I sorted the books out by what I felt was most germane. I chose one and read it from cover to cover, circling passages that were equally applicable to eating disorders. It was amazing how many times the book made the correlation.

I devoured the book and chose the second. It was small and took no time at all to read. I speed-read a third, and a fourth, looking for things that weren’t covered in the first three. After four, I decided to hit the john. The amount of veggies we had added to the diet was making my stomach grumble. I took the fifth book into the john with me.

It was for naught. I never got a chance to read it. The recent changes in my diet enabled me to ‘clip a loaf’ as soon as I sat down, unlike my usual fifteen minutes of arduous coaxing. I returned to the living room after getting myself a can of soda, ugh, diet soda. That’s all we had in the house.

Within an hour, I was halfway through reading the fifth book when the sudden urge propelled me into the bathroom. A second bout with my overactive digestion resulted in rapid expulsion, equal in proportion to the first. That was odd, I couldn’t remember having two urgent movements within an hour of each other.

I had to take better notice of what I was ingesting, or it could be embarrassing.

I dropped the book as I turned to do some paperwork. The list of books from the library slipped out and onto the floor. After hiking up my pants and washing my hands, I retrieved the book and the folded list from the floor. I glanced at the list. The first five books were the ones I had read over the past four hours or so.

They were listed in the same order that I chose earlier, on my own, to read the books. That clinched it. She had me go to the library to get books that applied equally to my addiction to food, not for the problem dad was facing! I was glad the books weren’t long, drawn-out theoretical theses. They were quite small, so it didn’t take long for me to see the connection. Question is, did she know I’d see the pattern and understand her motive, without her spelling it all out to me.

Miss Morgan’s carefully planned intent was obvious. She wasn’t only interested in my welfare. My health and happiness were higher priorities to her. Otherwise she’d have made a list of the bills that needed to be paid, not the books I needed to read. I paced back and forth across the worn-out living room rug, tapping the envelope in one hand against the other. Time was running out.

I went to the kitchen and wrote one word across the face of the envelope.