Make no doubt about it I’m into men. The smell and stubble, the hard parts, the muscles wrapped around one another like braids. But tonight, even the fat women look hot. I’ve seen the bulge that happens to your torso when your jeans are too tight, and no doubt, the woman in front of me is working the bulge. But you know what? It’s hot; she wears it with appeal. I’ve been her, in that mirror, worried, pulling on my shirt, looking for a different pair of jeans to mend the situation. But as an observer, all I see is a beautiful woman, mostly, I suspect, because she’s confident and comfortable. That, or she doesn’t realize she’s a walking muffin top. Look, it’s no newsflash that confidence is sexier than hosiery and garters. But it’s easier to live it when you can spot a flaw in someone, the kind you would hate to have yourself, and realize it’s really not that bad.
It may not be all it takes, but it’s half the battle. We get so hung up on ideals and Scores, but at the end of the day, I’d choose the bulge girl with confidence over the waif who’s looking at my shoes. I wish sometimes I could see in myself exactly what I see in the woman with the muffin top.
The other night, I asked The Suitor the question no man likes to answer: “Do I look fat?” Instead of rolling his eyes, he replied, “You really want me to answer that?” I nodded a yes. “Fine, but then I really need to get a look.” He then pulled off my jeans and lifted my top for a cheap thrill. I let him knowing exactly what he was up to. “Hmmm,” he said with his finger on his chin, “Fat? Huh?” I held my breath, terrified he might say, "yeah, you could stand to lose a good 15." Instead, he replied, “Stephanie, you are so hot. God, don’t you realize, I don’t see you as fat or skinny? You are the love of my life. I see you as absolutely beautiful. You have to remember I don’t see you like you see you. Do you really want me to look at you as just fat or skinny?”
“No,” I said in a small voice. Cause I already know I can stand to lose a good 15.
“Good, because you’d be doing us both a disservice. Just let me love you.” Dammit, the boy didn’t answer the question. “And no–I know how your sick mind works– you are not fat.” I knew this before he said so. I asked because I’ve doubted myself, because I haven’t shit in three days. Because I feel like I ate Jenny Craig. But naked in bed, I realized, people really don’t look at me the way I look at me. Thank God. No wonder those jeans made with all that elastic and “stretch” are called True Religion.
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