Have I told this story before?

I still remember being a sophomore in college, sitting on the couch at a house party, just a few days I think after my line had crossed. As I sat in the middle of all those folks, with whom I felt equal parts accepted and awkward, I tried to play it cool even though I didn’t know what to do or had anyone to talk to. 

Then, randomly, this fine boy maybe a year older than me sat next to me, sidled up to me, and grabbed my belly fat hanging over my jeans. I instinctively swatted his hand away and gave him a look.

“No, you don’t understand,” he said. “I like it.”

He gripped my flesh again. 

And I swatted his hand away again, stood up, and went to some other part of the party. 

And that was it.

I don’t know if I have ever seen him again since. I couldn’t even begin to guess what he looks like now, what his life is like now, where he is or who he is with. I don’t even remember his name.

But I sometimes I think about that boy, now a gross ass man.

I wonder, did he ever find the thick girl of his dreams? Did she accept his affections, his adulation of her curves, the fullness of her body? 

Are they still together? Married? Children? Happy?

Or did scorn after scorn turn him into just another mean, ain’t sit man? 

I hope not.

In another life, in a another timeline, with more confidence and love of my curves… 

What if I had accepted his advances? Let him touch my fullness, grasp and rub on my belly. Let him love on me. All of me. Every roll and stretch mark, every imperfection he found beautiful.

In another life, if I could have loved myself as much as this man wanted to, could I have been his and he mine? Who would I be if I fucked that man that night? Cause yes, he was fine. So fucking fine. And I indeed wanted to fuck that man, badly. But I didn’t know how to say that. Didn’t know how to flirt, make or accept an advance. Didn’t realize I was pretty, I was beautiful. Didn’t know I was wanted, yearned after. I didn’t know how to let him in, didn’t know how to release my fear and anxiety, and fall into the beauty of his brown eyes, or sink into to the circle of his muscled arms.

In another life, I would’ve given it up to that man. In another life, I would’ve lost my virginity that night and probably be wrecked for all men after. Because how can you truly love anyone else when the first person you fuck wants every part of you fully, joyously? His fingertips imprinting love into every inch of my body. 

In another wondrous life, he is mine, and I am his, and we are stupid giddy happy.

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