Mikaela assessed her new body. Just shy of 300 pounds, and the contract said she had to get it under 200.

She could do it. She’d done it before.

Her last client had taken a few liberties with her body during the switch, and so she’d had to add a few clauses to her standard contract. She always had to spend the first few weeks after a switch getting her body back into it’s usual gorgeous shape. After the last switch, it had taken her a few months.

After this switch, she could afford to spend the next year producing her next set of weight-loss DVDs.

Swimming was always a good start. It tended to not strain the joints, which was important since an injury would only prolong the whole process. Then some yoga, although she’d have to modify the poses for the fat body’s lack of flexibility.

One month in, she was down twenty pounds. She was struggling with the strange taste buds, which genuinely despised a lot of the healthy foods she was trying to train the body to like. At least her brain still remembered the nutrition and weight-loss exercise regimens she needed to use to fill her contract.

Sundays were necessarily spent back in her own body. It was dangerous to attempt to prolong a switch too much longer; ten days was the longest stretch she’d done, and that was just to help a new bride drop those last few pounds to fit into her wedding dress.

“You’re making good progress with this one.” said Adrian, spotting her on the free weights. Her client was lounging in the pool, possibly asleep. At least the woman had made an effort to keep up Mikaela’s own maintenance exercise regime. She went through the motions every morning, coached by Adrian. Then she spent the rest of the day in Mikaela’s gorgeous body lounging poolside.

“My willpower is stronger than their bad habits.” She grunted as she pushed the weights. “It’s still me in here. This is what I do best.”

“Of course, it helps that your entire job is just to work the weight off for them. You don’t have to actually live their life.”

Mikaela shuddered at the thought. For her first few clients, she hadn’t yet established her reputation as a weight-loss guarantor. She’d had to go to their homes, helping them with their everyday responsibilities of kids and job etcetera. It was definitely easier to have her clients come to the mansion to live with her for the duration of the switch. Of course, only the uber-rich could afford to do that.

Only the uber-rich could afford her.

Sunday, six months in, she stood next to her client, each in their own bodies, looking in the mirror.

Most of her clients either preened or squinted critically. But not this one.

The woman stared, as if seeing a ghost, a self she had lost long ago.

And then she did something no client had ever done before.

“Do you think…” she paused, blinking back tears, but smiling. “Um… could we… alter the time a bit?”

Mikaela had a policy against clients using her body just for some event or outing, and she had turned down offers for longer switches. Some people didn’t want to actually change anything, they just wanted a little vacation from their abused body.

“Could I try doing the regimen myself, in my own body, with your help? Not every day, just… well, can we work something out?”

Mikaela was flabbergasted. She knew that almost all of her clients gained the weight right back. Hell, she had some regular clients who used her every couple of years, just to make up for a season of indulgence. Never in her career had she had a client actually ask to learn to do the work themselves.

They started easy. Saturdays she coached her client, each in their own bodies. Sunday was a day of rest, and five days a week Mikeala did the hard work. After a few weeks, they added in Wednesdays. Mikaela was at first bothered by the tears on her client’s face, but she soon realized they were tears of pride and joy, of finding that she really could do something she had long ago given up.

By the time they slid past the goal together, Mikaela was only doing the heavy lifting one day a week; coaching the other five and just talking on Sundays. Losing a third of her body weight, it was time for the next step. The surgeon would remove the flaps and skin that were leftover from heavier days, and her body would need to heal.

Mikaela never saw that client again. She only saw the thank-you card one year later, with the image of her smiling client, who was gaining the weight back in the best way possible. It was all concentrated in the most beautiful baby bump she’d ever seen.

This really is a random story. I’m just getting over strep, and haven’t been able to write much coherently in a couple of weeks. But this idea just struck me tonight, and I figured I would flex my writing muscles and enjoy this little scifi sidetrack as a writing exercise.

The shortlink for this post is http://wp.me/p1rMYd-cl

 

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