Diet

I don’t like fat.

It’s why I prefer walking over public transportation, why I have a gym membership I don’t use as often as I feel I should and why I have to digest guilt each time I eat ice cream.

So when I meet a Guy and find myself confronted with the decision whether or not to have sex with him, the amount of fat this Guy carries is a very determining factor in my decision making process.

Which doesn’t mean fat Guys don’t stand a chance. They simply need to put in a little extra effort.

Fatwise, Guy #170 was like Oprah on a bad day. Like Oprah, he didn’t make an effort to hide his lack of abs. Instead, he initiated a conversation about his body and freely acknowledged it wasn’t the best thing he had going for him. Like Oprah, he too talked about things he was doing to shape up, one of which included a diet that consisted of less than 1000 calories a day.

I don’t like fat, but that doesn’t make me heartless. Although I was well aware Guy #170 was playing on my empathy to find him attractive, I couldn’t deny his tactic was working. The more he spoke about his struggle to lose weight, the more I saw in him the Guy he could be if he stayed in Oprah-mode long enough.

Personally, I’m not very smooth when it comes to hitting on people. I more or less have my looks to offer. Beyond that, I lack the ability the steer a conversation in the direction of sex. I simply have no idea how to talk people into sexual contact. The art of seduction, reading people, playing into their weak spots, figuring out what makes them tick. I lack those skills. For me, hitting on a Guy is simply a matter of going in and hoping for the best, an on and off successful strategy I intend to keep using as long as I don’t have any fat forcing me to make a real effort.

Guy #170 however was smooth to the bone. He knew that if he wanted to have sex with me, he would have to work me. At some point in time he must have figured empathy was to be his weapon of choice. Instead of hiding his fat, he made it the center of his campaign.

In addition to infecting me with his highly contagious Oprah positivity, Guy #170 was also assertive. His intentions of wanting to have sex with me were clear well before he opened up about his diet, as he repeatedly touched me in places fat people usually don’t get to touch me.

Even though I remained hesitant throughout the sex, it was far from unpleasurable. Guy #170 knew what to do and was good at what he did, a combination that made up for most if not all of his fat.

“Thank you,” I said after we were done.

“You’re a dumbass,” Guy #170 laughed as he gently slapped my face. He implanted the idea that maybe I tend to be too much of a kiss ass toward people who give great blowjobs.

Seconds after I extended my gratitude Guy #170 walked off, though we would later meet up again and talk some more.
I still run into him occasionally and when I do it’s always nice to see each other again. Sex however will never again materialize between the two of us. Every time I see him I can’t help but feel I was tricked, even though I liked it enough to say thank you.

Among other things I am not an underwear model.

The main reason is that I like chips, recipes that involve lots of sour cream, pasta, pizza and more pasta. All of this is stuff that makes me happy.

Happy and chubby.

At least, it did for a while in my late twenties.
At the time I lived in Suriname, where I enjoyed the perks of being one of the only white Guys in town. Despite a history of slavery and racism generally associated with my pigmentation, people considered my color a delicacy. Enticing a Guy in Suriname was so easy I didn’t pay much attention to my body: In a game of rock, paper, scissors, color trumped shape.

Or so I thought.

Guy #93 could have been an underwear model. He clearly had a lot of gym hours above his belt. He was also clearly disappointed when my clothes came off.

Back when I was still a virgin I felt unattractive and undoable. Most of the 92 Guys I had been with since had elevated my ego to the point I considered myself hot-ish. I knew my abs were subpar, but I also assumed that color trumps abs.

While Guy #93 no doubt appreciated the way my skin lit up the darkness, the skin itself was wobbly, shaky and puffy. I held my breath for good measure, but there’s only so many places fat can go to hide. Besides, I needed that breath as well, for breathing and such.

My date with Guy #93 transpired quickly and without emotion. I could tell I was being pitysexed. Guy #93, beautiful as he was, resented me on some level. And then he started resenting himself.
I’ve had a lot of pity sex in my life. To my knowledge, this was the only time I was the one being pitied.

Although we had some online chats after our date, Guy #93 never showed any interest in meeting up with me again. Occasionally I would see him at our local gay bar, where he would pretend not to know me.

The day after our date I looked at myself in the mirror. I had become a first world problem: It’s impossible to gorge on vanity and chocolate at the same time. Also, doing push-ups sucks the life out of you, especially when you smoke and eat chocolate and like pasta.

For the sake of the story I could say it was in that moment I decided to shape up. In reality, it took me a few months to buy some running shoes, another month or so before I started to run and do some exercise, followed a few weeks later by little changes in my diet.
The reason change came slow was because I still looked pretty lean with my clothes on, chocolate had never tasted better and I guess one could argue my lack of confidence was a factor.

Also, surely I wasn’t the only one who held my breath to look prettier during sex. And push-ups suck the life out of you.

Alright, it was 90% lack of confidence and 10% laziness, which in itself was probably rooted in low self esteem as well. These days people take many pictures of mirrors, but looking into one often proves a bigger challenge.

It has never been my intention to become an underwear model, nor will I ever desire abs as I do food. Guy #93 did inspire me to strike a healthier or at least better looking balance.

These days I actually look kinda hot-ish when I hold my breath.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 hour
FORMAT: Pity sex
SEX SCORE (0 = German accents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5