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A BBW and a vegetarian walk into a bar...

December 31, 2022


I have a boyfriend this New Year’s Eve. It’s been years, decades since I’ve said that. I’m trying to remember back. Ya. Decades.


I wouldn’t ordinarily call any man a boyfriend. I don’t like that term, it’s not safe. My last boyfriend, who was not really my boyfriend, I called him “my not really boyfriend”. Or I’d refer to him as “the fellow I’m dating…” But David is different. He’s my boyfriend. Goodness. You’d think in 2023, we’d have a better term for a relationship between a 59-year-old and a 61-year-old. “Partner” fits if I’m talking about a sexual partner. “Partner” doesn’t fit when I’m talking about someone in the broader relationship sense. That feels like married people that aren’t officially married, yet. We’re not there, yet. Geez. Me getting all caught up in semantics again…


We like each other about the same. In fact, he probably likes me a bit more. But that’s not true. I like him just as much, I’m just far more fearful. I’m afraid to really rest in it. He isn’t afraid. I’m not sure why. I’ve asked. He doesn’t know, for sure, but believes it’s because he’s able to live in the moment when he’s in a relationship. I was thinking it was because it’s so obvious what I’m about in relationships –once I decide to invest in someone, I don’t readily walk away. Maybe he knows I’m not going to walk away, not without giving it my damndest, anyway. Maybe he’s able to rest in that. That’s certainly what I’m resting in, trying to rest in, in him. We have that critical trait in common, a fierce commitment to friendship. Loyalty. Persistence. Tenacity. Perseverance. I like that about us.


He’s a vegetarian. Geez. The last fellow I dated, my last “not really boyfriend”, was also a vegetarian. How do I get involved with these vegetarian health-conscious types? That’s a mystery. No accounting for taste, I tell ya. Thank God for the massive variation in what men find attractive, or I’d never have a chance to couple up. But really, I think it comes down to who I am, the whole of me. I am not beautiful, not by any stretch of the societal ideal. I’m pleasant looking enough, inordinately ordinary, quite unremarkable in appearance. But so far, no one has run screaming from the building when I’ve walked into a room. So, there’s that. It’s my personality that attracts. The whole of me.


With Don, the last fellow I dated, what bonded us was that he believed he was HSV-2 positive. He didn’t have to deal with the disclosure hurdle, which is what keeps many people with herpes off the dating scene entirely. And I was much older, there simply wasn’t the possibility of a romantic long-term relationship. There were other benefits, but mostly, I was just easy to be with. Because I have my moments of drama and intensity, but for the most part, I’m easy to hang with.


Don was attracted to me physically because he’d had fulfilling relationships with women of size. There are some benefits to dating women of size. I think the main one is, because we’ve been fat shamed our entire lives, we feel incredibly valued when a man seeks us out specifically for our body type. When we are intimate with a man who is specifically attracted to BBWs, we tend to really put our all into pleasing him. When we feel safe, we let it all out, we’re open emotionally and physically, and that’s incredibly hot.


David, my boyfriend, does not have a physical “type”. He definitely has a personality type. He has fallen for me, the whole of me. I just happen to come with this body. He’s never been with a woman of size. I’ve not been able to really relax and be comfortable in the physical. It will come, but it will take time.


I’ve spent the last seven years dating men who are specifically and pretty much exclusively attracted to BBWs. Those men absolutely reveled in my flesh. And it was hot. And it was liberating. And I felt like the Queen I am. To be with someone that loves me, but who isn’t familiar with my body type, who hasn’t specifically sought me out for my body type, renders me incredibly self-conscious.


We went to a restaurant on Christmas Day, sat across from one another, and talked at length. That’s the thing that really bonds us. It’s the conversation.

He took some pics of me across the table. He’d show them to me, and I’d say, “No! Not that one! Erase that one! I am so not pretty!” I call myself “so not pretty” when I’m feeling not pretty. I never call myself ugly, although that’s what I’m thinking, but I know it’s not accurate. I’m pleasant looking enough, but very regular. That’s the truth of it.


“They’re beautiful… I love them,” he said, looking at the pics.


“I am not beautiful,” I replied.


“Then you don’t know what beauty means,” he said softly, looking up from his phone to hold my eyes in his.


He caught me by surprise on that one. I smiled, and a warmth filled me, and I rested in that. I have been resting in that for several days now. I want to ask him what he meant. How could he look at the same pictures of me I find so embarrassing and see them as beautiful?


I think it’s my spirit. My spirit shines through. I’m not always happy, in fact I fight the sad every day. But the truth of who I am, of what I believe, of what I stand for stands out. People see my heart. I’m open. I’m real. And I love to make people feel good about themselves. I love to show my love.


Maybe he does think I’m beautiful. Maybe he didn’t have a preference for large women before, but because of me, the whole of me, he’s attracted to my body type as well as everything else.


Fuck. Who knows. All of this is speculation, subjective as all hell. Will I ever know what’s in his head? Why he picked me? Probably not. And if I did, I might not be able to wrap my mind around it. Because I get why a man is attracted to me, but I don’t get why a man is attracted to me. Make sense?


I am one big omnivorous ball of hot mess, I tell ya.

Photo by Jade Destiny on Unsplash

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