Love Can Be Heavy
I wasn’t keen on passive submission: if that was society’s declaration of war, then I’d wield my sword and fight for myself. Men didn’t deserve me either, and I wanted them to know.
I have always been fat. The social stigma on fat women can get heavy. Fat is opprobrious, they say, fat is disgusting, fat is a sex killer. To me, fat is a choice, just like skinny is a choice to many other women. I am not ashamed of my choice, I carry it with pride.
Filled with self-confidence, I tried to live my life according to my own expectations and no one else’s. This body belongs to me, I told everybody. Some people acknowledged my determination and love for myself. They accepted me and became my friends.
Love didn’t follow suit, though. No matter how much I wanted it, social labels kept love away from my body, ignoring what was inside, persuading me to build up a strong protective shield made of anger, humiliation and rebellion. Men aren’t for big girls, they said. But I wasn’t keen on passive submission: if that was society’s declaration of war, then I’d wield my sword and fight for myself. Men didn’t deserve me either, and I wanted them to know.
No man was allowed to step too close, and I kept my male friends distant, quite literally. I made a point to talk them with no less than a meter gap between us. Until one day, one man who shared common interests broke through my barricade. He was kind and supportive, and I trusted him with all my heart.
This first relationship made me feel like an ethereal being in Heaven. I gave up my soul for the one whom I thought to be my True Love. But I was wrong. He was there to use me, take advantage of the sacrifices I did out of love for him. He didn’t love me; he was ashamed of me, he never called me back. I was ready to give up on love forever.
Then Timothy came into my life, like an angel coming to assist someone in need. He was a friend, I thought. A close, affectionate good friend. We met at university, passionate about the same subjects, both driven by a will to learn that made our classmates purple with envy. I never thought there would be anything more between us than friendship and our mutual passion for Computer Science.
Then one day, he asked me to kiss him. We had just finished studying on the grass of our campus park. I looked back at him, bewildered.
“No, we are friends. I could never…”
“It’s from you that I want my first kiss.”
Our tongues tangled together and I held on to that wisp of salvation. Yes, he rescued me from a loveless life.
Something changed, right there. My heart bursted, knocking heavy and hard inside my thorax. Feelings surfaced that I did not realize I could have, buried under three years of suffering.
And I kissed him.
He returned the kiss, and then there were more and more. I felt tears of liberation coming up to my eyes, a tear for each painful moment of my past. Our tongues tangled together and I held on to that wisp of salvation. Yes, he rescued me from a loveless life.
And then we talked. I told him all about the adversities my past, and about my nearly nonexistent love life. I told him how hurt I felt when men looked at me with disgust on their faces, how abnormal and unworthy my ex made me feel, especially when I had given him everything… attention, love, money, care.
I cried, and Timothy grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up against his body. A warm body that made me feel safe, for the first time in my life.
“I love your fat body,” he told me, ”it makes you look adorable.”
“Don’t you think I’m ugly?” I asked.
“No, I think you are an irresistible, soft and sexy princess of mine.”
And he held me tight against his body, his delicate mouth tracing the curves of the base my neck, his nose breathing in the scent of my skin as if it was the most beautifully fragrant flower on Earth.
His hands ran down my hips, then over down my chubby tights and I moaned, overcome by pleasure and the warmth of his hands. My world had never felt warmer, soft like silk, filled with honest acceptance. He was mine, and I his.
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