Baby Got Fat!

I started things back up with The One Who Sets Me on Fire a couple of months ago. He’s been trying to see me since our last tryst in January but I always made excuses not to see him. And then my vagina got lonely.

Fire is one of the best lovers I’ve ever had. I swear he got his Ph.d at the Pussy Whisperer Institute. He has the stamina of a teenager and he’s awakened something inside of me that I didn’t know existed. I’m even writing poetry again. I’m way too shy to share it here though. I’m sensitive about my shit! I never knew that I would enjoy lovemaking. I’m so used to getting pounded like a dirty whore during detached yet highly orgasmic sex.
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He has shown me the beauty of taking my time and the power of touch. When he partakes in my body, it feels like an “experiencia religosa” (in my Enrique Iglesias voice). It’s like taking the scenic route. I’m no longer spiraling through ecstasy but falling into the grooves of it. A man has never look so deeply into my eyes during lovemaking. There are times I want to look away but something about our oneness redirects me.

Of course this sounds oh so lovely but there is one little issue. I think he may have a fat fetish. I have dealt with enough fetishes to know when I see one. When we make love, things occur. Initially, he would tell me how sexy I am and then it progressed to:

“I like a thick juicy woman!”
“All of this thickness turns me on!”
“I love your big ass titties. Slap and smother me with them.”
“Whose thick body this is?”
“Can’t you tell by the way I make love to that juicy body that you’re so fucking sexy?!”

I could go on and on but you get the picture. The mere talk of my fat seems to rev his engine more. It’s as if he becomes another person literally. That green eyed hippie turns into a soul brotha #9 when he’s inside of me. The loving is so good I tune him out most of the time. He definitely likes more cushion for the pushing. That’s fine. But our last time together, he did something weird. When I was riding him, he grabbed my belly, flapped it up and down profusely and talked dirty to me!!!

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There are two things that you just don’t do with fat girls. First, you don’t mess with our food. Secondly, you don’t gather up our belly, love handles, etc like you’re about to throw it over your shoulder! Seriously?! It was bad enough that I hated being on top because I sweat like a  Shaquille O’Neal pig. I felt like the fattest chick alive. I wanted to twitch my nose and bewitch my ass out of that situation!  Heck, I even briefly considered reactivating my gym membership! After several seconds, the loud flapping stopped. I was so relieved!

I must bring out the weird in people. Next time I wouldn’t be surprised if he fed me or rubbed lotion all over my skin before he stuck his hose in again.

Will I Ever Go On a Good Date?!

A few weeks ago, I met a guy in between classes on campus. Let’s call him The One I Met in the Elevator. He politely greeted me and wanted to know if I was a professor. (He’s actually the third person who has mistaken me for a professor. Hmm. Maybe I need a makeover.) He was handsome, dressed professionally and spoke with a smooth and sexy accent. I’m a sucker for indigenous accents! He told me that I was beautiful. Yeah, it was a little cheesy but it made me blush. We exchanged numbers when the elevator arrived to my floor. I squealed like a schoolgirl in my head. I was on cloud 9 for the rest of the day!

A week later, we went on our first date. The universe gave me signs to cancel the date beforehand. Everything was going wrong. Every outfit I tried on made me look like a fat cow. Granted, I am full figured but I looked extra fluffy y’all! My car wouldn’t start. My neighbor tried to boost my car with no luck. I was an hour and a half late! I should have called the date off but I didn’t. He seemed like a nice guy from our conversations on the phone. I also felt bad for making him wait so long. He offered to pick me up and I obliged.

In the restaurant parking lot, he got way too friendly with his hands. The nice sweet guy I met in the elevator was turning into a major pervert! He wouldn’t stop complimenting my breasts. “African men love big women. You got it. You got it all.” I felt uncomfortable but I didn’t want to cause a ruckus. What if he left me on the side of the road? What if he became violent? What if he put me in a dried out well and told me, “It rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.”

He kept grabbing at my breasts. I pushed him away as politely as I could. After several minutes of this, we headed inside the restaurant.

After we ordered our entrees, the awkwardness ensued. To break the ice, he asked about my last relationship and why it failed. It seemed like a strange question for a first date but I played along to break the silence. When I posed the question to him, he went on a tangent about his ex-girlfriend. His demeanor changed. I saw the anger in his eyes. He said that he gave her everything and she cheated on him. He also said that he wasn’t looking for anything serious—just fun. I’ve heard this song and dance before. Fun=sex. Lucky me! These types always flock to me. Strike 1.

I decided (in my head) that this would be the last time we would meet. He did another strange thing. He tried to go through in my purse! Who does that?! Strike 2! Religion became the next topic of conversation. He told me that he was heavily involved in the church and wanted to know about my religious beliefs. After my response, the date went downhill.

As I braced myself for the backlash I said, “I don’t believe in religion.”

“So you hate Jesus?” he said in a judgmental tone.

“No…I don’t hate Jesus. I’m spiritual…just not religious.”

He gave a 30-40 minute sermon mocking and insulting my lack of beliefs. He also told me that by the end of the date, I would convert to Christianity! By this time, I had enough! I started to feel sick to my stomach. Strike 3! I excused myself to the restroom to calm down and to figure out an exit strategy. Damn! There wasn’t a window like the movies. But then again, none of this voluptuousness would fit anyway. Ha! And I did not bring enough money for cab fare!

I decided to put on my big girl panties! Ok…they were more like medium girl panties. I told him that I wanted to leave because I wasn’t feeling well. He took care of the check and tried to fondle me again inside his vehicle. This time around, I was very stern with him. He found my behavior comical.

“So you’re mad at me now,” he said as he tried to contain his laughter.

“It’s been a long day. I just want to go home.”

“But I can’t drive home like this. You got me so horny. You’re not horny?”

“No. I’m tired. Just want to go home.”

“I’m tired too. Maybe we can get a hotel room?”

“No thanks. Take me home please.”

When we arrived to my apartment, he wanted to know if he could stay for an hour. I declined. Then he suggested 30 minutes. Again, I declined. Then he said the dumbest shit ever.

“I have to hug and kiss you inside your living room. Please. Just 10 minutes. It would make my night.”

I slammed his truck door and went upstairs.

I haven’t heard nor seen him since.

By the way, my car started up the next morning. Perhaps the universe was trying to tell me something.