After a couple of minutes, she picked herself up and rubbed her lower back while she looked around the room. It was meticulously tidy and whoever’s bedroom it was obviously had a thing for antiques. On top of an old wooden tallboy with porcelain handles were a collection of framed photos. The woman walked over for a closer look, her eyes skimming over all the happy faces staring back at her. The biggest photo in an ornate wooden frame was of a beautiful young woman and an old lady. The younger woman was hugging the older one very tightly and kissing her cheek.
Probably the grandmother, the woman thought, given the similarities in their features. After one more quick look around, the woman left the room and headed downstairs to the front door. Waiting for her on the other side was an obese young man. He smiled eagerly and passed her a backpack.
“Everything’s in there Andy,” he said.
“Excellent, thanks Harry, you’re great, I couldn’t do this without you.”
He blushed and shuffled his big feet. “Sokay, no problem.”
“And you’re clear about what happens next aren’t you Harry?”
“Yep. I go and sit in the car outside and watch the house for a few hours and if I see anything strange, or if anyone comes to the house, I send you a message. Then, when you page me, I come into the house and bring the methylated spirits.” His hand went to the bleeper attached to his belt.
“Perfect!” She gave him her biggest smile and touched his arm.
“Ok, off you go now, I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“’Kay, see you later Andy an’ good luck!”
The young man turned round and manoeuvred his bulk up the path and out onto the street. Looking up and down the sleepy suburban road, he turned back to the woman and raised his thumb to indicate that there was no one in sight.
She nodded, gave him a wave, and shut the front door to go back inside. There was a lot to do before she was ready.
Chapter 44: First base
The cab turned the corner into our street and I’d never been so happy to get home in my life. I couldn’t wait to get inside and slam the door on the world; hide from everyone and everything for just a few hours.
It had been a hell of a day. I’d been called a evil psycho cat killer by the man I was ready to lay down my ovaries for; I’d been grilled by the police on suspicion of stalking, killing and generally being a tragic obsessive no-life; and the fat bits on my body had been prodded and poked like the prize turkey in a Christmas raffle.
Thanking the driver, I got out of the cab and half ran up the path to my front door then dropped the key as I fumbled to get it in the lock.
The effort required to bend over and pick it up almost broke me. I was exhausted. Completely and utterly spent.
‘I’ve got nothing left to give, damn you!’ I yelled at the sky, realising as I did so that yelling at the sky was a pretty sure sign that some time out was overdue.
But finally I was in. And ahead of me was a whole evening of fluffy pyjamas, sheepskin slippers, hot chocolates, chain-smoking, Milo eaten from the tin with a spoon, and marathon dvd box set sessions.
If the urge took hold, I thought, I might even put on my Bananarama CD and do the boobie-jiggle dance in front of the mirror in the living room. Whatever. The evening was mine, dammit. Mine! Hours and hours of beautiful ‘Me’ time stretched out ahead. It was enough to make a grown woman cry. Instead, I started singing, ‘I’m your Venus, I’m your fire, your dee-zi-ah...’ and headed towards the kitchen.
Top of the agenda was getting changed into the pyjamas and slippers. But first, out of habit, I put the kettle on. I always headed straight for the kettle when I got home even though half the time I never made a drink when it had boiled. There was just something comforting about it.
With the kettle on, I picked up the phone to call the pizza delivery place on the corner and order a large seafood pizza, garlic bread, a strawberry sundae and a chocolate cheesecake ‘for my little niece Holly’. At least that’s what I told the man on the other end of the phone. God knows why. As if he gave a shit how much dessert I ate. And why did I care whether some pizza delivery guy thought I was a pig? Ah yes, the subterfuge us fooddicts practise to hide our dirty food secrets.
Once my pyjamas were on, the serious slobbing about would begin. The kind of lounging about that met professional standards because, if there was one thing I could do well when I really applied myself, it was sloth.
So, dragging my soon-to-be lipo-ed and lasered body upstairs, shoes in hand and bag over one shoulder, I went to my bedroom. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d woken up there, it was hard to believe it was just this morning. Sighing, I threw my shoes in the closet and not the laundry basket. Goodness, I thought, when I realised what I’d done, is this a sign of new found maturity?
My bag got dumped on the edge of the bed. Where it stayed for about 30 seconds before falling off and landing upside down on the floor, throwing up the contents like a bulimic at Easter.
‘Bugger.’ I mumbled and for a second I considered picking up my wallet and mobile phone at least.
‘Nah, later,’ it wasn’t like they’d be going anywhere.
Stripping off down to my knickers and undies, I pulled on the pyjamas, then added thick socks, slippers and a huge jumper that was left at our house by one of Anita’s more affluent, meaningless shags. A football player if memory served.
With my slobbing ensemble complete, the world was looking better already. For a few hours I was going to let myself forget that tomorrow I had a date with a sharp knife and a fat-sucking machine and give myself over to simple pleasures like telly and junk food. Not to mention the odd simple vice for good measure.
Chapter 45: Foreplay
The woman sat quietly on the soft blue doona of the bed in the room at the top of the house. Smiling to herself, she rocked gently back and forth and listened to the noises downstairs. She listened as pizza was ordered and she listened as the other woman sung and swore to herself. Not long now, she thought.
Chapter 46: Reaching Climax
Ok. The pizza was coming and the pyjamas were on. Next stop, back to the kitchen to reboil the kettle, make a cup of Milo and open a bottle of something cheeky. Drinking wine and Milo at the same time was a habit that Anita and I had developed in recent months, much to the horror of anyone who witnessed the vintner’s atrocity.
Finally, I was ready to head to the lounge. With my Milo, wine, and packet of chocolate mint slices, I turned on the telly and settled myself into the plump sofa, the remote control at my side. I lit up the first of many Alpine ciggies. If this evening were any more perfect, I’d be orgasming. Speaking of which, Big Black Ben might have to come out of his box later tonight as well.
About three quarters of an hour, a third of a bottle of wine and half an episode of Just Shoot Me later, there were three sharp knocks on the door.
“Coming!” I shouted.
A few minutes later I was the proud owner of a large seafood pizza and a host of other fat drenched offerings passed off as food.
Over the next few hours I ate junk, watched rubbish (funny rubbish, admittedly) and washed it all down with a full-bodied red. By 9pm I was falling asleep on the sofa surrounded by greasy pizza boxes, an ashtray stuffed with butts, and one and a half empty wine bottles. I couldn’t move.
‘Come on Darla, get yourself to bed,’ I said out loud trying to rouse myself enough to make the journey upstairs. Slowly getting to my feet, I left the mess exactly where it was with half-hearted thoughts of cleaning up in the morning, and dragged my bloated, weary body up the stairs. A couple of minutes later I was in bed and asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Chapter 47: Show Time!
The woman sat in the dark, listening as the house went quiet. After waiting another half an hour, she stood up, picked up her bag, which was sitting on the floor at her feet, and left the room. Slowly and quietly, she walked around the house checking that no lights were on and that all the curtains were drawn.
Then, from a downstairs window, she sat still for another 20 minutes, watching the street outside through the side of the curtain. No-one and nothing stirred. But she knew he was out there close by, waiting in the car.
Taking a knife from her bag, she walked through to the kitchen and over to the phone. She picked up the cord that ran from the back of the phone to the wall and, making a loop, she put the blade of the knife in the centre and pulled through the white plastic cord with one strong tug.
The knife was thrown back into the bag. It fell to the bottom and made a dull clicking sound as it jiggled against the mobile phone that she’d picked up from off the floor of the other woman’s bedroom.
Then quietly, quietly, she climbed the stairs with her bag over one shoulder, never taking her eyes off the door at the top. Once outside the door, she stopped, held her breath and pressed her ear to the wood listening for sounds of stirring on the other side. Nothing.
She carefully wrapped her hand around the door knob and slowly turned it until she heard a click, then pushing the door open a fraction before standing still again and listening. Still nothing.
She pushed the door open a bit further, just enough for her to push her body through sideways. Then she listened again before doing just that. A minute later she was in the room. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark long ago and she looked over to the bed. The other woman was sound asleep. Her shallow breathing was just audible and the sheet moved slightly with the rise and fall of her chest. She was lying on her side facing away from the intruder.
Perfect, thought the woman, and carefully placed her bag on the floor before crouching down to pull out several objects. There were a couple of knives, a bottle of methylated spirits, some teatowels, rope, a roll of gaffer tape, handcuffs, and a cigarette lighter.
First the women cut a length of the tape and stuck it lightly to the front of her leg. Then she opened the methylated spirits and soaked one of the teatowels. Finally, tucking a corner of the cloth into the top of her trousers, she picked up a pair of handcuffs.
With her eyes fixed on the sleeping figure, she stealthily covered the ground to the bed and stood over the other woman for a few minutes. Lowering her face just inches from the other woman’s head, she inhaled her scent. The other woman smelt clean and peaceful, her hair lay in long messy strands across her face. Picking up a strand, she rubbed it lightly between her fingers. It felt soft and silky. She let it fall gently back down across the other woman’s face and for a second her eyelids fluttered.
Inhaling her smell deeply once more, the woman straightened up. Looking down on the vulnerable woman, she felt powerful and strong. She would show them. She was too clever for them. They wouldn’t get the better of her. She would make him pay for his foolish rejection.
It was time.
Then, as swiftly and violently as a striking snake, the intruder pulled back the doona, grabbed the other woman’s arms, yanked them behind her back and secured the handcuffs around her wrists, all in one swift move.
The other woman awoke instantly, she was wearing just a pyjama top and panties. Terrified and disorientated, she started screaming as she jerked her body around wildly in an effort to see her attacker.
Immediately, the woman clamped the tea towel soaked in meths over her face. The screaming stopped just long enough for her to then pull the towel away and slap gaffer tape over the woman’s mouth. She knew it would’ve been easier simply to crack her over the head as she slept but the woman wanted her victim to be fully conscious throughout the ordeal. She wanted to see the fear pumping through every cell of the other woman’s body. Just like those big dumb animals, wide eyed and whining with terror as they were herded into the abattoir, the smell of death teasing their big, wet nostrils. And just as they knew for certain that they were about to die, this woman would also know.
The intruder held her victim down on the bed. The other woman’s eyes were popping from out of their sockets, she was trembling and whimpering from beneath the tape covering her mouth. Already, sweat was starting to drip from the other woman’s pores. The hair that had been soft and silky just minutes ago was now wet and stuck to her cheek, matted with sweat and tears.
The intruder watched with detached interest as the other woman’s shock and confusion gave way to tears and panic. The thrill from seeing her prey so completely helpless and under her control gave the woman a sexual thrill. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her pussy was wet.
Kneeling on the bed behind the other woman, a hand still clamped over her mouth, she forced her head around and leant forward so that they were face to face about an inch apart. The woman smiled at her victim and with her other hand reached down to fondle the other woman’s breast. Feeling the fingers kneading her breast, the other woman struggled harder again, trying to jerk her body away. The woman just squeezed the breast hard and pressed her mouth to her ear.
‘Shhhhh. Be still or I’ll slit your fucking throat open.’
That did it. The other woman stopped struggling immediately and held herself rigid, helpless to do anything other than wait to see what was going to happen next. She blinked away her tears and whimpered quietly.
Pushing her captive face down back onto the bed, the woman picked up the tape again and, with one knee in the other woman’s back, started winding tape around her ankles.
Then, standing up, she took a knife and cut the end of the tape before taking a step back to admire her work. The other woman lay there helpless, gagged and bound, face down on the bed.
“Well now Darla. At last we meet,” she said out loud to the other woman, finally breaking the silence. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you better for ages and now here we are just the two of us. But I think I’d like you to be able to see me. I’m going to turn you over and sit you up, ok? It’d be in your interests not to fight me.”
With that she rolled the other woman over on to her back. Then she climbed up on the bed, stood behind Darla and pushed her torso up into a sitting position before slipping her arms under the other woman’s armpits. Grunting from the effort, she hauled Darla backwards until her back was resting against the wrought iron bed head.
Next, she took the rope and tied her to the bars of the bed head. Again, she jumped down to admire her work, breathing slightly harder from the effort.
Perfect.
“A little light would be good wouldn’t it Darla? Then we can see each other properly.”
Moving over to the lamp sitting on a bedside table, she picked up one of the shirts that Darla had thrown on the floor a few days earlier, threw it over the lampshade before turning the switch to on.
“That’s better isn’t it?”
Walking around back to the side of the bed that Darla was sat on, the woman sat on the edge in front of her.
“The dimmed light is a rather romantic effect don’t you think? I picked that little tip up from Lush! magazine actually, some story about how to turn your bedroom into a vixen’s seduction zone. Very informative little article it was too. Was that one of the little tricks you used on my Gordon?”
She saw the other woman’s eyes flash with confusion and sneered.
“That’s right Darla, MY Gordon. You really should have left him alone you know. He was meant for me.”
She put her hand on Darla’s knee and started rubbing it suggestively.
“And, I have to admit Darla, woman to woman, that it made me a little mad to see that he was running all over town with you. Unfortunately I have a bit of a temper.”
She shook her head and tutted while holding Darla’s gaze. Without speaking she slowly moved her hand up Darla’s bare thigh. The two women stared at each other in silence, breathing slowly. When her hand reached the top of Darla’s leg she lightly ran her fingers over the front of her panties, then removed her hand.
“You know, my counsellors used to say that I had ‘aggression issues,’” the woman said. “Apparently they were something to do with the stuff my Grandfather used to make me do
when I was little. It’s not true though, those counsellor types are so stupid, so easy to manipulate. I never told any of them that those dirty things were my idea.” She chuckled. “It was the easiest way to earn extra pocket money.”
She paused for a moment to study her fingernails.
“You see Darla,” she said as she examined her nails, “the problem as I see it, is that Gordon would’ve been mine if you’d stayed away, he’d have come round to my way to thinking eventually. But you got in the way and now I’m going to have to get you out of the way.”
Putting her hands down, she tilted her head to the side, looked straight at Darla and sighed.
“It’s a shame really but it’s your own fault. You know the old saying about hell having no fury like a woman scorned? Well times that by a million Honey and you come somewhere close to how I’m feeling. You’ve both forced my hand on this.”
She let out a small laugh. “Ah well!” She chirped.
A tear rolled down Darla’s face and over the tape covering her mouth before dropping onto her chest.
“It’s no use crying now!” She laughed, lifting her hand to gently caress Darla’s trembling cheek. “Tears won’t help you now, my pretty little thing,” she said, stroking Darla’s hair.
“You really are quite lovely. I can see why Gordon was taken in by you. I’m glad you’re pretty, I’d have really hated to have been cheated on with some fat, ugly dog.”
The intruder leant forward until her face was right up to Darla’s. So close that she could feel the warm air leaving Darla’s nostrils on her cheek. She inched closer and slowly kissed the side of Darla’s head. Darla let out a muffled scream and pulled away.
The Year I Went Pear-shaped: A fat woman's tale of love and insanity Page 18