“You ready?” He stood in my apartment, his gym bag over his shoulder. I was dressed in my work clothes still.
“Yeah, gimme a sec.”
He followed me back to my room and flopped down on the bed. Faisal jumped up to purr and meow and twist himself about The Neighbor. I peeled off my barely opaque white v-neck and my breasts bounced.
“Mmmm,” I heard from the bed. I flexed my abdomen and tried to push my insecurities away, focus on this man’s approval. I bent over to roll my skirt down over my hips and sucked in my stomach hoping the swell didn’t pooch out too much.
“That’s right baby, show me those tits.” He watched me beyond the end of the bed as if I were on stage; I clenched every core muscle I owned and stood up straight and smiled as I reached behind me to unhook my bra, trying to look nonchalant and confident. His eyes followed my every move as I tried to morph my body into that of a lithe dancer’s: arch my back, pull my shoulders back, face the audience, be lean and beautiful.
I gathered my workout clothes and scrunched up again to thread my legs into my leggings and cringed at how much I must seem the Michelin Man from the side. I imagined shaking it off, these thoughts invasive and cruel. Where was this coming from??
TN had stretched out on the bed and begun to absent-mindedly stroke his bulge. I tucked my breasts into the little shelf of a sports bra and said, “You know, I was about to jerk off when you knocked a minute ago.” I walked around to the side of the bed. ” There’s still time before class starts.”
The ugly voice inside my head was shouting at me, relentless. I felt awkward in my skin, undeserving, foolish for all of it. Orgasms can be my reprieve from such thoughts. TN didn’t spark them when he dropped by, he’d only walked into a snarling ant pit of self-loathing.
“Well, then let’s get going on that,” he replied as he watched me reach for my Hitachi.
I rested my knee on the mattress and planted my foot on the floor, my left arm straight and strong as I pressed the vibrating head to my crotch. Instantly I was on the magic carpet ride up, up, and up. TN had a front row seat to my cleavage cradled in white, an expanse of belly which I allowed to be whatever it was going to be — though I hoped it looked flat and muscular — and the swell of my hips encased in transparent Lululemon-like yoga pants.
He moaned a little and kept rubbing. I kept my eyes latched onto his hand, then I felt his free hand sweetly trace my breasts. “Is this ok?” he asked.
But it lasted only seconds.
Instead he pulled his shorts down and flopped out his erection, big and juicy before me. His hand began to whir and the sound of fap fap fap deliciously filled my ears. My ride was spiraling its way to the clouds, my lashes fluttered, I could see him staring at me as if I were a unicorn passing outside his window.
The orgasm shook me and just before it stole my breath I managed to whisper, “I’m gonna cum!” knowing it turned him on more than anything.
He quickly and neatly replaced his cock beneath his layers of clothes and pulled me into his arms. I hung on to his middle and laughed, waited a minute then pulled my shit together for the gym.
We worked out side by side, muscles bulged, faces red. I stared at myself in the mirror hating every goddamned music-pumping second of it. The orgasm relief had been fleeting — as I knew it would be — I was again beating myself down.
Other women in the class were athletic specimens, all narrow hips and beautifully wide shoulders, firm buttocks and roundly muscled arms. I was…. not.
I caught TN’s icy blue gaze on my cleavage in the mirror more than once, an appreciative gleam in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to protect me from myself. Yes, I thought, I have nice tits, but what about the rest of me?? I resigned myself to the Pig-Pen-cloud of low self-esteem and smiled wanly to the other class members as we put our weights away. I really just wanted to go home and lie down. Maybe die a little, hide under a rock, whatever.
When I get like this, seized by self-doubt and hate, I undoubtedly make a decision that will support this belief. That night, it was making Mac n’ Cheese out of a box for dinner — something I rarely eat, but will always make me feel at once comforted and like a complete failure. I ate 2/3 of the box in bed while watching The Taste, took a shower, and texted TN for our nightly cuddle. I wanted to skip it altogether, but he’d asked me to text him and so I did.
I lay there anxiously, tired, a pain pill shivering through my veins. I heard him snap his fingers through my darkened apartment and appear in my doorway. He removed the kitten, shut the door, turned out the overhead lights and flipped on the closet light for ambiance.
“What’s going on?” I asked, nervous, irritable, feeling like utter and complete shit.
“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, that’s what.” He came around the side of the bed and dropped his shorts. I reached out for his erection and it bobbed hot, thick, and clean in my palm. I chuckled half-heartedly and rolled away from him, my whiteness stark against the aubergine bedding.
“What are you doing?” he wondered aloud.
“Making you work for it,” I answered. He growled and pounced on me, wedged my knees apart and slid deep inside my body with one easy stroke. His clean strawberry dusted body thrust into my own vanilla scented one and we made a warm body dessert out of two naked people.
I clung to his hindquarters with my legs and wrapped my arms around his broad, fuzzy back; he grunted and kissed my neck and collar-bone. When he sat up to hitch my ankles on his shoulders I refused. My irritation and discomfort with my body had grown — my belly felt rounder — and suddenly, the fucking routine that went missionary-to-folded-in-half-to-orgasms seemed tired and only stoked my irritation.
I slipped my left leg between his knees and turned on my side. He held my right leg with his hand and nailed me to the headboard. I cringed when thoughts of Troy crowded my sad, addled brain — this had been a favorite position of ours. I quickly rotated again to my belly and I heard the soft smacking of our bodies on my bottom and Troy thankfully exited stage left.
From his new vantage point TN brought his free, lead hand down on my flank. Three excrutiating times. I cried out and went rigid, the sting down to my bone, and then I was granted a reprieve when he got a charlie horse and was forced to stop. We laughed at his misfortune and pulled apart.
I lay next to him and rubbed his massive hamstring chatting easily. I was waging a stupid little war with myself and decided to let him in on the secret; I felt shy and worried about opening up to him about my self-loathing and odd flash of low self-esteem.
“I feel really bad, TN. Like out of control. I don’t like the way I look all of a sudden. I hate feeling like this. I feel so stupid and dumb.”
He crooned to me and pulled me into his arms and tried to rationalize my irrational behavior. “Maybe you think you’re fatter than you are because your tits are so big,” he suggested not unhelpfully.
“Maybe…” I murmured.
“Hy, you’re very sexy and I think you’re extremely beautiful: your tits, your ass, especially your face.” I flushed at the compliments and with shame for needing to hear the words.
I thanked him and took a deep breath to embolden me to open up more. “So, there’s something else.” I heard him hold his breath a little. “When I’m in this kind of mood — feeling down on myself — what I really want is for you to throw me around. But,” and his low timbre joined mine perfectly, “I/you don’t know how to let you/me know that’s what I/you want.”
“Right,” I nodded into his chest.
“Well,” he said sitting up quickly. “Telling me to work for it is kind of perfect.”
He grabbed my wrists and I said quietly, “Work for it,” and held his gaze.
He repositioned himself between my legs and I tried to wriggle away, but he had me pinned. I was tired, yet thrilled at this little game before he had to leave and before I passed the fuck out under that rock I’d been pining after earlier.
He slammed into me, stroked me from the inside and nuzzled my neck, gripped my wrists like he was hanging over a cliff and I came once then twice with big, round blooms of pleasure. It was fast and fierce. Perfect.
He pulled out abruptly and I lay there bathed in light from the closet, my thighs rested on the tops of his as he sat on his heels. He ran his hands up from my hip bones to my ribcage and across the soft, mostly-flat plane of my belly. He groaned approval and apologized that he had to go. I nodded assent and assured him I was ready for him to leave.
He came around the side of the bed and wrapped his hand around my throat, tilted my head back as if to give me mouth-to-mouth and gently suckled my lips, his tongue soft and pliant while his hand gently squeezed — a kiss so unlike his usual hard, punishing, immobilizing goodbyes. I melted away into those lips of his surrounded by a little sea of scruff.
And just like that, for that magical moment, the cloud lifted and I felt a bright, shiny love on me, my idiocy be damned. “G’night, Hy,” he said as he left. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”
“Good night!” I called out after him and then whispered smiling, I love you, as I have begun to do nightly.
The terrible feelings about my body and my looks were there when I awoke the next day and I am still waiting for them to subside. I have committed to health, not looks, and I refuse to fall victim to the old bully of self-loathing. I love my body and what it can do; I love my tits, my hips, my little pot belly. I don’t know where this sucker punch has come from and I don’t know how long it will stay, but I’m going to do my goddamned damnedest to get rid of it. Fuck it to hell.
I’m hoping lots of cuddles and fucking are just what the PhD ordered.