The girl with the pudgy thighs, too-thick waist, flat butt and missing chest grew up. She was twenty-five when she realized her thighs were sleek and supple, her waist curved and she had rounded out quite nicely. It was about that time it occurred to her that men were looking at her with actual interest. Not that the sleek thighs were what did it. That’s the great thing about men. Even the girl with the pudgy thighs has a chance.
*
For men, however, life was a little less fair. The girl with the pudgy thighs dreamed of a solid chest and stomach pressed into her with rock hard thighs between hers and arms of steel about her. A guy had to be taller, stronger and hotter. Well, until he came to the realization that he made more money and was a lot less neurotic than most of the women he was eyeing - like the girl in the corner with the shoulder length hair, nice ass and perfect thighs.
**
So I’m minding my own business, God knows I’m not used to the attention. It’s been two years since I stopped avoiding looking at myself naked in the mirror. Besides, everyone’s always waiting for someone to make the first move. After all, a man doesn’t have to do everything anymore, right? Imagine my surprise at being asked to dance, then. Then a drink bought for me – a first. Unfortunately, the conversation never takes on any real depth and it hits me that this isn’t going anywhere past one night.
*
I don’t think I care. I’ve imbibed enough alcohol and watched enough PDA to make me as horny as the next single person. I glance over to see two girls, friends, dancing together. They keep looking at the group of guys hanging around the bar. Typical J. Crew types. All tall, perfect in their fairness or brooding darkness and, most importantly, interested.
*
So that’s how I came to leave the bar. Not alone. Ok, it was dangerous. I’m not stupid. People get raped, robbed and worse by being this dumb. In the taxi on the way to my place, I have second... third... fourth thoughts. All it takes is a whisper in my ear to wave the doubts away.
*
Fumbling for the key, the smell of smoke from the bar assails me. I can’t stand it. It clings to our hair and it’s just not attractive. Flicking on lights, I make small talk. ‘Would you like a drink of water? Are you hungry?’ Inside I cringe, it’s not like this is IHOP. It’s definitely not why we abandoned the crowded club at barely quarter past midnight.
*
Remembering, now – it’s easy to see how I got to that point. But this morning, it was much harder to pinpoint. This morning, I wasn’t the horny person in the club needing a release. This morning I was just myself – thankfully not in bed with a stranger since one of us had the common sense to leave before things got awkward.
*
‘Christ, what was I thinking?’ Immediately, I recant my words. I won’t add blasphemy to my transgressions. I’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. If I pretend I wasn’t a little crazy last night, nothing has to change.
**So, I climb out of bed and get dressed. It’s Sunday and I should be in church. A long time ago, my family was Catholic. Even though we’re no longer of that religion, some of its tenets stick with you. Such as guilt. Guilt over not going to church on Sunday, or having sex with a stranger or… Stop it. I scramble up some breakfast and force myself to think of something else. Laundry, I desperately need to do laundry. The problem with once being a fat girl is that clothing doesn’t hold any real appeal to you. Clothing never made you look slimmer or sexier or more appealing when you were fat, so you learned to disregard them. Therefore laundry becomes a forgotten about chore until you run out of clean underwear.
*
Oh sure, you have the basic ideals of fashion down and you always look presentable. You go for classic pieces that you can mix and match. Fat girl clothes were expensive so you learned to buy fewer pieces and make them go farther. Just because you can now shop anywhere doesn’t mean you’ve changed such ingrained habits. So, business clothing comes easy. Formal dressing is fun; it’s like playing dress-up in thin people’s clothing. In fact, these days, every day is playing dress up in a thin person’s body. It still hasn’t quite hit you that the shapely girl in the mirror is in fact you. Shapely – as in some other shape than round.
*
It’s really days like today, the days when you’re wearing grungy clothes that cause you a moment’s hesitation. When I was the fat girl, I wore loose (baggy?) knits that didn’t chafe or cling. I felt thinner in them. Even jeans were too confining after a while, especially since I always bought them a little tighter than perhaps I actually was. Denial – it’s everywhere. Now that I’m a size the majority calls normal, jeans aren’t quite as daunting and I even buy them in my correct size. In fact, the variety of clothing available to me now is frankly astounding.
*
However, I still find myself in loose (baggy!) knits. So when someone knocks on the door, I find myself very reluctant to let him or her in. After all, I’m in my fat girl clothes and they might not be able to see the thinner me in here.
*
Shouldn’t have answered the bloody door. It’s my neighbor, Katrina, who – I think it’s fair to say – is the most annoying human being on the face of the planet after one’s mother and younger siblings. I, of course, smile and make small talk. Note: At no time do I ever invite her in, but somehow, we end up at my breakfast (lunch and dinner!) table.
*
“So, what’s the scoop with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome?” Obviously she’s been spying on me again. I’m fairly certain that … well, hell, I can’t even remember his name… well, whomever he was left at some god awful time in the morning when even busybodies like Katrina should have been asleep. I swear, she has some sort of internal radar. “I couldn’t sleep about dawn and noticed someone skulking about your door. Imagine my surprise to see Mr. TDH slipping off to a cab.”
*
I wonder if I pretend I can’t hear her if I could avoid talking about this. I mean, I want to talk about it. I want to rehash it in delectable detail – well, when my memory fully returns and the fuzzy haze over my eyes lifts. But I don’t want to rehash it with Katrina. I’d prefer my best friend or sister, hell – I’d tell my mother before Kat. “Oh, that was my cousin. Got in late from the airport, but his luggage didn’t come with him so he was heading back to the airport to claim it. Then he’s off to the Marriott in the city for some conference this week. I didn’t want him sleeping at the airport after all.”
*
Katrina looks suspicious and disappointed, but she decides not to press the issue. (Thank God.) “Well, I’m going to the mall, care to tag along?” Tag along? Tag along! Do I look like a puppy? Sure, when I was the fat girl I would have jumped at the chance. You have to understand, for all her annoying habits – Katrina is a guy’s walking wet dream. She’s about 5’7”, long blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect body – though I’d swear the tits were fake – and a faintly vacuous look in her eyes. She’s smart enough to get a real job, but dumb enough to never worry about the glass ceiling, if you get my drift.
*
“No thanks, laundry day.” Besides, I still haven’t figured out the mystique at the mall. In high school it was there to be seen and admired as a beautiful person. Even girls with pudgy thighs could make this club if they had enough money, smarts or the right friends. I went a few times, but I stopped (not that I wasn’t invited, because I was!). I stopped because I hated shopping for clothing. Not only was I not interested in the latest fads, which were mostly horrible, but also I always felt awkward in the “show and tell” section of the trip. I could browse the lesser sizes with the crowd, but when it came time to put them on, I would have to slip away to the larger sizes if there were any and pray for an identical item. And the garments never looked the same on me as they did on Missy Valentine, the most popular girl in school (Katrina’s twin so far as I can see). The fact that Missy Valentine was also the easiest thing to nail in the school without a hammer did not waylay the fact that everyone, cheerleader and geek alike, wanted to be her best friend. And, sadly, that included me – one of the fat girls.
*
I should clarify here that when I say fat girl, it’s more of a state of mind than a physical definition. Oh, don’t get me wrong – there’s some part of you that is too big, too round or too ugly to fit in with the “pretty” people, but it’s never as bad as you think and it’s usually a stigma put on a person by rude adolescent males who spend far too much time secretly looking at porn. As if they could EVER get one of THOSE women.
*
Anyway, I’ve gotten rid of Katrina. I’m sure I’m a horrible bitch to her, but she keeps coming back for more. I figure it’s good practice for when I have teenage children – and for the Jehovah’s Witness. Well, a load in the washer and one in the dryer. Now what? I suppose I could do some general organizing and cleaning, but that’s really not my forte. I’m more of a… well… not slob, per se. But if cleanliness is next to godliness, I’ll never be immortal. A demigod. Demigoddess.
*
That’s it! That’s how I’m referring to myself from now on, Demigoddess. That’s what I am – almost perfect but … well, not.
*
I’ve just made up my mind to get in my car and go somewhere. Where, I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out after Katrina’s long gone. Drat. The phone. I consider not answering it. Then I consider checking the caller id, but it’s in the other room and there’s a phone right here. Oh, the hell with it – “Hello?”
*
Should NOT have answered phone. Remember who is more annoying than Katrina? Well, it’s number one on the list. “No, Mom, I didn’t go to church.” Great, and I had completely forgotten to be guilty! Begin to rapidly devise ways to get off phone. My mother and I always end up arguing if we talk to long. If we keep things light and social, then it’s all just great. For instance, conversation about the weather and the holidays is acceptable and we shouldn’t argue. (Though it HAS been known to happen.) “Ah, mom, can I call you back? The washer just buzzed. Uh huh, sure, I’ll do that. First thing Monday, yes… alright, love you too.”
*
That’s another thing. The people in my family, myself included unfortunately, don’t know how to say goodbye. We keep people trapped in a loop of affirmations and farewells with no actual exits. I, personally, am trying to break the habit. It’s sort of ingrained though… y’know?
*
So, I’m out the door. Where the hell is my car?
*
Shit. Well that’s just perfect. I forgot we took the bloody cab home. I check my wallet and of course I only have three dollars left. I’m just about to go inside and contemplate which friend I can beg a ride from. As a demigoddess, I lack the innate ability to fly or use my mind to transport myself other places. This is a real regret.
*
“Hello! Where are you headed?” Fuck, fuck and double fuck, did I mention regret before? Katrina. “Need a lift?” Well, actually I do, so I say yes and tell her where my car is parked. She doesn’t seem pleased to have to drive me into the city, but frankly – she offered. I wonder if I have finally pushed her too far.
*
“Well, thanks for the lift and all.” Have managed to avoid any serious conversation in the car by dredging up tidbits of small talk, now must quickly get keys and get in car before obligating oneself to attend an event with Katrina as a ‘thank you’ for the ride. “Should I give you gas money?” See, I’m not a horrible person. Three dollars would put more gas in her car than she expended giving me a lift.
*
“Absolutely not. I’m glad to help. Say, are you interested in seeing that new movie that’s out?” Well, hey – that wouldn’t be too bad. I could have some of my friends meet up with us. Plus, you can’t really converse in a movie. I should, however, clarify what movie. With my luck it’s an ongoing saga of the life of the Olsen twins and I would end up going mad and stab strangers in the eye.
*
“Sure, how about tomorrow night after work? I’ll even buy you popcorn.” There. Generous. Magnanimous if I do say so myself, and trust me, I do. Demigoddess attribute #412: Generosity in the face of annoyance.
*
“Well, I was thinking of the matinee today…”
*
“Oh, drat. I can’t. I’ve clothes in the laundry and my mother is calling me back.” This, while a grand excuse, is also probably the truth. My mother ALWAYS calls me back.
*
“Then after work it is! I’ll work on my crochet or something. My sister is having a baby and I’m making a blanket.” So there I am, standing with my mouth open in the middle of the street, keys dangling. Katrina’s leaning out her window and almost shouting from the opposite curb. I’m trying to imagine Katrina knowing which end of a crochet hook goes where when the guy from last night appears.
*
“Hey.” He is standing there staring at me from the other side of my car. I smile. His name, I would give anything to remember his name.
*
“Kat, I’ll talk to you later, ok?” She frowns a little but nods. She doesn’t drive away right away and I smile at her. “Got to see what’s going on here.” She shrugs then smiles vacantly and drives away.
*
“Um, did I leave my watch at your house?” God, he is handsome. At least when I’m drunk I have taste. However, I am not currently drunk but I AM STANDING HERE IN MY FAT CLOTHES. Crap! I didn’t think to change. Did I even shower?
*
“I don’t know, actually. What does it look like? If I find it, I could get it to you.” Immediately I want to kick myself. I can’t remember his first name, so I surely don’t remember something so insignificant as a phone number. “555-4427, right?” Holy Schneikes Batman, where did THAT come from? Demigoddess attribute #88: Uncanny memory of trivial details.
*
“Yeah, that’s it. I was thinking maybe I could follow you to your house and check really quick.” He flashes that melting smile at me again and, dammit to hell, I’m agreeing to this. “Thanks, Evie. I’m parked right over there.” He points to a green jaguar. (EXCELLENT taste while drunk if I may say so) and jogs over to it.
*
“Wait!” I call before he can duck into his car. “Give me your full name just in case.” I say this with a teasing grin, thinking I’m being clever. After all, he did remember my name, which tells me he wasn’t nearly as drunk as I.
*
“Again?” He laughs. Was he drunk at all last night? Suddenly, I’m struck by the very real possibility that he’s interested in more than a night. I also consider that I might have made a very serious mistake. “Adam Elliott Sinclair, the fifth.”
*
“Adam and Eve? That’s unbelievable.” He finishes the sentence with me and I realize I’m repeating myself. I blush and shake my head. Major mistake. “Alright, follow me.” The entire way home, I’m debating with myself on how to handle this. While this could end up being Mr. Right, I haven’t exactly started a potential relationship with him on the best note. Not to mention the fact that I told Katrina he was my cousin. Of course, I could always tell Katrina I was pretty hung over and haven’t the faintest what I said.
*
Adam parks and quickly comes over to help me from my car. (And a gentleman! With the exception of his sleeping with a drunken girl at the bar, he’s batting 1000.) Demigoddess attribute #71: Ability to pick amazing men while otherwise incapacitated. I smile and we go up the steps. I can practically hear Katrina peeping through the peephole on the door. As we enter the apartment, I do a mental check. I think I picked up the underwear from the floor, though – hell – he saw it at 4 am, things haven’t changed much since then. He ventures into the bedroom while I follow him more slowly. He points to a gold watch on my nightstand next to the condom wrappers.
*
We used protection. My knees grow weak with thanks. I count four wrappers and I blink. Four wrappers and I can’t remember it?! How fucking unfair is THAT? Adam is smiling at me again and I lean on the doorframe. I vaguely realize he’s wearing the same clothing as the night before. “Haven’t been home yet?”
*
He laughs. “Only for a moment, then I was trying to decide if I could remember how to get back to your house. Then I had to think of a good reason. Then I tried to talk myself out of it, because I thought you would freak. Don’t want you thinking I’m a stalker.” He smiles again.
*
“All that, eh? You must be hungry.” There I go trying to feed the man again. I vaguely remember doing the same thing the night before. My cheeks go red with mortification. Adam just shakes his head.
*
“I’m hungry. Not for food, though.” Just like that. I swear it’s what he said. A line right out of one of those smarmy romance smut novels at the bookstore. I know because I’m an avid reader of such titles. Then he took a step towards me and… well let’s just say I have no willpower. “You should know, Eve. I want to keep seeing you. This isn’t a one night stand to me.” Then he kissed me again.
*
After kisses like that, he could have told me anything. “Adam, let’s talk later.” I guess I’m to blame for us not making it to the bed. It gives banging door a whole new meaning, but I swear the imprint of the doorjamb will never leave my backside. Several hours later, as in it was getting dark; Adam remembered that he had to work the next day. This time we exchanged information properly and I promised him that we would go to dinner the next night.
*
“Fuck.” Katrina and the movie. Well, she would be over in a moment and I would simply have to explain. I started cleaning my room when, like clockwork, a knock on the door. “Hello, Katrina, please come in.” Note: This time a formal invitation, but she chose to stand in the doorway. Does this make ANY sense?
*
“Your cousin, eh?” She’s glaring at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry before. I mean, yes I lied, but honestly it isn’t as though I OWED her an explanation.
*
“Is that what I said? I’m sorry, I was really hung over. His name is Adam. I really didn’t mean to lie.” There, that’s as good as it gets. If she thinks I care enough to beg, well… she’s far more deluded than I knew. Demigoddess attribute #21: Ability to make anyone love and forgive you.
*
“Oh.” She ponders this then smiles brightly. “I’ve done that before too. So, are you guys dating?” Could she play into my hands any better? Grasp this opportunity to tell her that he asked me to dinner the following night, but that I might have to turn him down since we made plans. “Absolutely not! We can see a movie any time. Go to dinner. You can call me later and we can talk about all the details like old school friends.” She laughs. I do NOT commit to this. Don’t want Katrina getting the wrong idea.
*
“Well…” Saved by the bell. Phone rings and Katrina says she needs to go home anyway. Answer the phone out of sheer idiocy. “Oh, Hello mom.” I knew it was her, who else calls at the crack of dawn or when reasonable people are asleep? Why on earth did I answer? Demigoddess attribute #5: Impulsiveness, sometimes leading to foolish behavior. “Doing all day? Um, laundry.” Got laid six ways to Sunday, no pun intended. Not that I can say that to my mother. Hell, if Adam hadn’t run out of condoms (we used the remainder of the box, thank you!), we’d still be in bed more than likely. Actually, that’s not true. I was getting a little saddle sore and tired (if my thighs had a little more cushion I probably could have gone a bit more!), so was he. But we would have made a valiant effort, I’m sure. “Oh, nevermind about tomorrow? Dinner? I can’t. I have to work late.” I could have told her I had a date, but I’d much rather become Katrina’s bosom shopping buddy first. “Yes, tell Dad I love him too. Good night.”
*
Fancy that, a civil conversation. My eyes narrow, that can only mean she’s going to want something in the near future. Note to self: Check caller ID from now on. Also, add Adam’s number to cell phone.
*
I put the last load in the washer and tumble into bed. Sniff. What the hell is that sme…crap, I need a shower and clean sheets. This takes me half an hour, but I fall asleep almost instantly. My last thought, shamelessly, is that I hope I can remember last night eventually, as it must have been a great one!
**
To be continued...
