| |
For A Change
By
Rob Rosen
Bruce awoke with a start at the sound of his blaring television. Glumly, he glanced up at the screen, only to encounter an all-too-familiar obstacle: his stomach.
“Why, Lord? Why me?” he shouted to no one in particular. Well, maybe to God, but he didn’t think the Almighty was actually listening. The problem didn’t seem to be correcting itself by any divine intervention, as far as he could tell.
“Fucking Jenny Craig,” he muttered, as he swung his tree trunk sized legs over the bed. “Sensible diet plan my ass.”
His ass, along with several other ever-widening body parts, wasn’t succumbing to the effects of his constant dieting. The only thing shrinking was his patience. And his wallet. Sensible, apparently, did not equate to cheap.
Bruce lumbered to the fridge and gulped downed a Slim Fast chocolate drink and a Weight Watcher’s energy bar. Yes, he was a firm believer in hedging his bets. Actually, he had tried pretty much every diet regiment on the market. Swallowed every pill. Consumed every microwaved, low-fat meal. Drank every celebrity-endorsed liquid concoction that he could find. And Atkinsed himself nearly to death. Of course, he did ignore that one key notation on the sides of all those suggestion labels, namely that diet
and exercise were needed to attain one’s goals.
“Fuck that,” he said. “Not gonna get me into a pair of spandex shorts and a tank top just so all those muscle queens can snicker behind my back.”
Bruce had always been sensitive about his weight. Even as a child he experienced the endless torments from his much skinnier peers. Children can be so cruel. So can adults, for that matter. Queer adults in particular; most of which, in Bruce’s eyes, were exceedingly body conscious; or at least conscious of the fact that that they wanted to stay clear of Bruce’s body.
Bruce plopped back down on his bed and chewed on another near-tasteless nutrition bar. That’s when God answered him. Well, maybe it was Oprah.
Oprah. God. What’s the diff? Bruce thought.
That day’s episode had nothing to do with obesity or being gay: two topics that Bruce was already well versed in. Actually, it was a rather frivolous episode on how to spruce up your summer wardrobe. Since Bruce almost always wore baggy sweats and triple-extra-large tee shirts, he was barely paying attention. That is until the plus-sized models started coming on stage. Oprah was explaining to the hefty listeners out there how to “conceal in order to appeal.” Many men actually prefer zaftig girls, Oprah informed. And she ought to know.
“Interesting,” Bruce said aloud. “Too bad men’s clothes aren’t designed that way.”
And that’s when the proverbial light clicked on above his head. Sure, it sort of flashed in and out a few times, owing to the hunger and all, but it was there just the same. Bruce wasn’t prone to epiphanies. Actually, the only thing Bruce was prone to was, well, being prone. But this one sent his mind reeling and his chubby legs scampering.
“Stanley, it’s Bruce. You gotta come over here quick,” he practically shouted into the phone.
“Not again, Bruce. It’s not a heart attack. You’re just anxious from the lack of food. Take a Dexatrim and go for a walk.”
“It’s not that, Stanley. Just please come over.”
Stanley lived down the hall, so it wasn’t like it would take him long to get there. He was simply getting tired of Bruce’s shenanigans. Things were less stressful when Bruce wasn’t dieting. And a lot more peaceful. In reality, Stanley much preferred a flabby, happy Bruce to this new incarnation. Still, the two were good friends and Stanley had always been there for Bruce and vice-verse. Within minutes he was knocking on his door.
“Sit. I need a favor,” Bruce said, as he paced back and forth.
“Well, nice to see you too, Bruce. I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Is everything okay with you?” Stanley sat and grinned up at Bruce.
“Sorry. Those diet pills make me edgier than a new set of Ginsu knives.”
“Uh huh. Well then, let’s cut to the chase. What exactly can I do to help?”
Bruce stopped pacing long enough to think of a response. He had the idea already firmly planted in his head, but he hadn’t thought of a way to express it yet. It was, after all, a bit out there. But then again, so was Stanley, which was why Bruce called him in the first place. That and the fact that he was just about Bruce’s only friend. At least the only one who might not think that Bruce was crazy, which, given the circumstances, he might actually have been. Hunger does strange things to an otherwise sane person.
“Maybe it’s just the diet, but lately I’ve been having these strange thoughts,” Bruce began.
“Maybe? Lately? How strange?” Bruce leered and leaned in closer.
“Okay then: definitely, just today, and very.”
“Do tell!”
“Oh, you know, it’s that whole ‘big gay fish in little gay pond’ thing.” Bruce nervously drank from his third Slim Fast that morning. He knew it was supposed to be one for breakfast and one for lunch, but when he was nervous, he ate. Or in this case, drank.
“Bruce, if I told you once I told you a thousand times, there are plenty of men out there who prefer guys your size. Why not just find one and stop with all this nonsense?”
“I’ve tried and there aren’t plenty. Besides, I want someone who’s interested in me for me and not for my…er…girth.”
“Girth, huh? Just how girthy are we talking?”
“You know what I mean. Anyway, I’m tired of all this.” He plucked furiously at his usual baggy attire.
“You want to go shopping for clothes?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“What’s so strange about that? Gay men have been shopping for clothes since time began. We
are known for our fashion sense, you know. Let’s just go down to the Big & Tall store and pick you out a nice new outfit to take your mind off of things.”
“No, that’s not what I had in mind.”
“Well what then?” Stanley was starting to get annoyed at Bruce’s hedging.
“Um, let’s just go and I’ll show you when we get there.”
“Fine, fine. I’m not getting anything accomplished today anyway. I could use an adventure. Will this involve anything alcoholic?”
“Maybe later. If things go okay.”
“Fine. Let’s just go.”
To which they did.
A half an hour later, they found themselves walking through downtown. Stanley pointed out each men’s clothing store that they passed, but Bruce just kept nodding his head no. That is until…
“Why are we going into Lane Bryant, Bruce? Is it your mother’s birthday?”
“No. Mine. It’s time to be reborn.”
“I say we opt for an abortion. Or a large steak dinner,” Stanley offered, and tried to turn his friend back the way they came.
“No, no. I’ve thought this out, sort of, and it’s time for a change. Besides, there are no men’s clothes that’ll make me look the way I want to look. And Oprah showed me how to do it. Here. Not at the Big & Tall store. Here.”
“Here? At Lane Bryant?”
“Yes. Here. And then we can go for a drink.”
“Dressed in clothes from here?”
“Probably. Yes. I think so. We might have to play that one by ear.”
“How about we play it from there,” Stanley suggested, pointing across the street to The Gap.
“They don’t make my size there. Fuckers. Anyway, I made up my mind. Let’s just give it a shot and see how it goes. And if it turns out well, I can finally go off my diet.”
“A bright side, I suppose. But we might have to make it several drinks then.”
“Fine,” Bruce agreed, with a smile and a friendly shove. Things were starting to look up all ready. Even the gurgling in his stomach was subsiding. Or at least was down to a dull roar.
The two started roaming through the aisles and aisles of plus-sized women’s clothes until Stanley looked at Bruce with a puzzled look. “Um, Bruce, even if we find something, how on earth are you going to try it on?”
That caught Bruce off guard. He hadn’t thought of that.
Just then, a saleswoman came over and asked if she could help them with anything.
“Oh, um, you see,” Bruce stammered, but then had an idea. “I was looking for some new clothes for my mother. She’s just getting over some surgery and I thought this would brighten her spirits.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. What size is she?”
Bruce stood there in silence as the question buzzed around his diet-rattled brain. Stanley came to the rescue. “Actually, his mom’s just about the same size as Bruce here. Isn’t that right, Bruce?”
“Why yes. Yes, she his, actually. My whole family is quite, er, big boned.”
“I see,” the saleswoman said, as she looked Bruce up and down, apparently sizing him up, so to speak. “Okay then, let’s see what we can find.”
The trio gleefully traversed the store, picking out different slacks and dresses and smart, frilly frocks, until Bruce was fairly weighed down with new clothes. And then, as luck would have it, or so it seemed, the saleswoman, whose name was Charlene, came to their aide yet again.
“Well, I hope these items fit your mother. It would be a shame if you or she had to come back and return anything, what with her recuperating and everything.” With a glint in her eye, she added, “Of course, with you and her being the same size and all, you could try it on in her place.”
Bruce stared at Charlene in amazement. Maybe God was answering his prayers after all. Or this woman had a direct line in to Oprah. Either way, he was thrilled, and a tad bit terrified, at the offer.”
“Sure, if you won’t get in trouble or anything, I suppose that would work. I mean, I would hate for mom to have to return anything. But how can I go into the lady’s dressing room?”
“Yes, you have a point there,” Charlene said, and tapped her chin while she thought of a solution. “How about the janitor’s room? They don’t come in until after we close, so you’ll have complete privacy.”
“Perfect!” shouted both Bruce and Stanley, who was starting to enjoy himself. He always did love to clothes shop, though this would mark the first time he was actually shopping for women’s clothes. And for a plus-sized wo-man at that.
Charlene escorted the men into the janitor’s room and waited patiently for them outside.
Now came the task of dressing Bruce. Neither of the two men had any idea what they were doing. Especially with the undergarments Charlene had picked out. The girdle appeared the most troubling. And painful. They looked at the pile of clothes and grimaced.
“Hey, how hard can this be?” Stanley said, seeing his friend’s apprehension. “As the saying goes, you put one foot in front of the other and soon you’ll be dressed like…um…Dragzilla.”
“Not helping, Stanley,” Bruce moaned, and started to get out his own clothes. Stanley had seen Bruce in all states of undress before; still, this particular scene was quite embarrassing. Getting undressed as a man was one thing; getting redressed as a woman was a whole other kettle of fish, to use the phrase loosely.
Stanley apologized and started to hand Bruce one garment at a time. First the triple-X panties and bra, which they stuffed with Bruce’s socks; then the pantyhose, which they had to double up on, to hide the leg hairs; next came the girdle, which took some pulling, prodding, and sucking to get into; and then the stylish, cream-colored skirt and white silk blouse. And voila, they were through.
“How’s it feel?” Stanley asked.
“Fine. A bit warm, but fine. How’s it look?”
“Oh. Um, fine. Just fine. It’s just…”
“What?”
“It’s missing something. Wait,” Stanley said, and opened the door, only to find Charlene one step ahead of him. She handed him an enormous pair of beige pumps and a pretty looking hat and sunglasses. Bruce’s first accessories. His heart leapt at the sight of them.
“Oh, thanks, Charlene,” Stanley said, and took them out of her hands.
“No problem. Anything else you need, just ask,” she offered, peeking in to see what the new Bruce looked like. She smiled and nodded at him. Bruce blushed, but managed a smile and a nod in return.
Stanley closed the door and handed Bruce the items. “I think she’s on to us,” he said.
“Gee, ya think?”
Stanley slipped on the shoes, which fit like the proverbial glove, and then tried on the hat and glasses. There was no mirror, not too unexpectedly, as it was a janitor’s closet, so Bruce had to rely on Stanley’s eyes.
“Well?” he asked, with a faint tremor of hope in his voice.
Stanley stood there and stared. He knew how much this meant to Bruce, so he watched what he said. “In all honesty, I’d say you looked, well, nice. Real nice. Classy even. Like a…lady.”
Not exactly what Bruce was expecting. He wasn’t sure if that’s even what he wanted to hear. He was glad he looked nice. It had been a while since anyone had said that to him. A long while, actually. And he felt nice too. Soft and silky like. Even thin, thanks to the girdle. It was the “lady” part that threw him.
“Lady, huh?” Bruce asked.
“What? Isn’t that what we were going for?” Stanley was confused. So was Bruce, for that matter.
“I…I don’t rightly know. I mean, I just wanted to look and feel nice again, without having to diet and all. I wanted to stare in the mirror and like what I see.”
“So what are you waiting for? Let’s go have a look?”
“Really?”
“Sure, why not?”
Why not, indeed? What could it hurt to just look? Bruce thought. And so they sheepishly emerged from the janitor’s room.
“Wow, you look great,” Charlene oozed, making Bruce wonder if she worked on commission.
“Thanks. Do you think I can see what it looks like in a mirror?”
“Of course, right this way,”
The mirror was just around the corner. Bruce inched his way in front of it and slowly lifted his head, afraid to take it all in at once. It was shocking, at first, to see himself dressed that way. But after a few moments, he actually liked what he saw. He did look, if not quite pretty, than at least, as Stanley had said, nice. And classy. And slim. Well, slimmer, anyway. Still, something wasn’t quite right.
“What’s the matter, Bruce?” Stanley asked, sensing that his friend was troubling over something.
“Um, Charlene, could you give us a minute?” Bruce asked.
“Sure, no problem. I’ll just be over at the register if you need me.”
“Spill it, Bruce,” Stanley said, once they were alone again.
“Sorry. It’s just, well, it’s just not me. It’s nice and everything, but I don’t see myself when I look in this mirror.”
“True, but wasn’t that the point?”
“Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t give this enough thought. All I wanted was to wake up every morning feeling happy about myself, for a change.”
“Is that all? Geez, Bruce, are you kidding? Do you think anybody wakes up every morning feeling happy about themselves? I sure don’t. Those gym queens you worry about surely don’t. I’m sure if you asked Charlene over there if she did she’d tell you that she didn’t either. You take what you’re given and live with it as best you can. Besides, dumbass, I like you just the way you are. Who gives a rat’s ass what anybody else thinks?”
Epiphany number two quickly replaced number one. Thankfully.
“I suppose your right, Stanley. Besides, did you see these price tags? Do they charge by the yard or something?”
“That’s the spirit, Bruce. Now, let’s get you changed and out of here.”
“Okay, Stanley. Let’s.”
Which is just what they did. And then Bruce brought the pile of clothes back to Charlene and thanked her for her time, but he decided that he’d buy his mother something she could really use.
“So you don’t want any of these,” she asked, surprised at his change of heart.
“Well, I suppose she could use that,” he said, and handed Charlene his credit card.
Then he went outside, where Stanley was happily waiting for him.
“What’s in the bag?” he asked.
“Something for a rainy day.”
“You kept the girdle, huh?”
“Well, you didn’t think I actually went along with all that shit you were spouting, did you? Please, Mary. Give me a little credit.”
“Fine, let’s use some of that credit at a bar. I need a drink.”
“Amen to that. And Stanley?”
“Yes, Bruce?”
“Thanks.”
“No problemo, my friend. Just one more thing.”
“Anything. Just name it.”
“Next time you’re watching Oprah and feeling down about yourself, turn on Jerry Springer instead. I’m sure your problems will pale in comparison to whomever is on that show.”
“Deal, Stanley. Maybe I’ll even turn the TV off and go for a walk”
“Now you’re talking.”
“And how about that steak dinner you mentioned? I’m starved.”
“Good idea, Bruce. Good idea.”
Copyright © 2004 Rob Rosen
|
