Photo by Jade Destiny on Unsplash
October 18, 2020
I remember in college, my best friend and I would crash frat parties at the U of W. We’d often disappear into rooms with boys. I didn’t want to have sex. I wanted to wait to have sex. But I liked sex. A lot. Blow jobs seemed a suitable compromise. And I was very good at them.
I remember one party in particular, I disappeared into room with a lovely young frat boy named Dave. I still remember his name. I even remember his last name. E***. Well, I’ll have to edit that out later. I gave him a blow job. That is all. Just a blow job. Then I didn’t see him again.
My father died my senior year of college. The memories I had pushed away came up, it was finally safe. I was able to finally recognize and then articulate a label for what he had done to me: sexual abuse. And it laid me out flat. I graduated college. And went to work. And gained a lot of weight.
A few years later, in my mid-20s, I saw Dave at a party. He saw me and came and stood beside me and stayed standing beside me. Looking back, I see the attraction was genuine. I see myself as he saw me. I might have grown, but I was still that fun young woman that gave good head. I was still funny and bright and easy to be around. I still had a hold on him, he was still captivated.
I assumed with the weight gain I had nothing to offer. Nothing. I rebuffed anyone’s advances, I never attributed accurate motives. I assumed if a man showed interest, it was more than likely my imagination. When a man was dogged enough to make it clear he wanted me, I tried my best to talk him out of it. And more often than not it worked. I only thought if I could make sure nothing happened, I’d never be disappointed and I’d never be hurt. But when you make a man go away, he still goes away, and you’re still disappointed and it still hurts. Because, of course, I didn’t want these men to go away. I just didn’t think I had anything to offer. I was empty inside. I had nothing for me. I certainly had nothing for anyone else.
Anyway. Dave stuck by me throughout the night, tried to hold my hand, tried to kiss me. Took my hand and tried to get me to come away with him. I resisted. I remember pulling my arm back, just totally confused why he was so insistent. There were so many beautiful women at the party. His insistence wasn’t flattering, it shamed me.
“I’m really fat. Do you not see?”
“I don’t care about that! I had fun! You were fun! Best head I’ve ever had! Please come with me!”
I pleaded with him to see my ugliness. He refused. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact I was desirable. Finally, I simply left. Then I was sad. I am still sad thinking about it, more than half a lifetime later. It would have been fun. It would have made me feel good. I doubt anything would have come of it. But it would have been nice.
Maybe he only wanted me for sex. Maybe. Or maybe he was charmed by the whole of me. I am charming. I know I charm. I know I captivate imaginations. I know I might look like a regular fat girl. But I know once people spend time in conversation with me, they grow to like me, they see me in ways they hadn’t anticipated. I know I have this power. And I don’t even think of it as power. I think of it as a serendipitous personality quirk. And because of it, I’ve met and developed tremendous friendships with some really incredible people; lifelong friendships.
I feel incredibly blessed to be this woman I am. Incredibly lucky to have this ability to attract good good people into my circle. My life is rich with friendships. And I relish those occasional serendipitous, rejuvenating, and life affirming casual encounters. Life is good. Truly.