WARNING - THIS ESSAY CONTAINS LANGUAGE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL READERS. CONTAINS NUDITY AND SEXUAL SITUATIONS.
I do. Seriously. I get laid. Despite my enormous size I have actually had, and somehow continue to have relations with women.
I'm not bragging. This is in no way a bragging thing that I am doing here, but I have had my share of sex. Most of it was while in relationships. I'm not usually a casual sex guy. I'm rarely a one night stand stud (not by choice. I've tried).
I know what you're thinking. "How does this sloth get laid?" "I mean, look at him. He's gigantic!" All true, but once upon a time I wasn't the lethargic animal laying in his crumb- covered bed writing this now. In my teens and early twenties I was somewhat thin, trim and rather dashing if I say so myself. I had girls around that wanted to hang out and some of them I even managed to bed by using Jedi mind tricks and wine coolers. Mainly wine coolers. I'm not lying; I have pictures to prove it. Not of the hooking up, but of me as a younger, thinner Mark Phinney. I even had a girlfriend at the time that I made mediocre love to for a number of years. Poor girl. She seemed to enjoy it, but then again we were young and she hadn't had many other lovers yet, or proper sex with a real man at that point.
Around age 24, I moved to LA to pursue an acting/writing career and met a cute little firecracker that had just graduated USC. I wound up dating her after some stalking and next thing I knew I was in a relationship and in love. Around this time I was getting bigger due to being broke in Hollywood and living of dollar menus at fast food joints. I wasn't as big I am now. I was chubby. Still cute. I wasn't tipping the scales at the carnival yet.
Sex with USC Stephanie was more of the same Mark Phinney brand of mediocre. I still didn't really know what I was doing. I was young and had only been with a few girls, but I wasn't out hooking up every night like some dudes I knew. They were on the streets plying their trade. On the job training, therefore getting that experience I wasn't.
What I did develop with Stephanie was my oral skills. Earmuffs.
She always wanted me to go down on her and I enjoyed it, and still do (ladies?). I even got to be pretty damn good at it. This became the highlight of our sessions. I was still kind of agile back then. I could perform different sorts of sexual positions and didn't run out of breath as quickly as now. I can go a few times still. It's never my libido. It's my lungs.
Even back then, Stephanie was concerned about my weight. She brought it up several times and I read it in her journal. She had lost her father to an early heart attack and was fearful for me to go down the same road. She took me to her father's grave site. It was an overcast, windy day in Santa Monica. The chill from the beach was only matched by the one I felt as I stood with this person that I loved so much as she wept in my arms. I had yet to feel loss like she had. I do now. To this day it's one of the truest moments I ever shared with another human being.
It's not just about sex though.
This essay is called Fat Guy Gets Girl (or FGGG for the nerd abbreviators), not Fat Guy Fucks Girl.
I've been in my fair share of relationships. I'm a relationship guy. Not only have I managed to have sex with the girls, but managed to get a few to stick around afterward. It's circular. Sex sometimes means relationship and vice versa.
The breakup with Stephanie was tough. It was around Christmas and I was working at The Gap in the mall. She left me for a Latin stud named Javier that she worked with at Paramount Studios. I ate my through that heartbreak and gained even more weight. Trust me, being a fatty in LA is tough and looking for love as one is even tougher. Then one day I fell ass backwards into some loving in the form of my voluptuous Nubian princess upstairs neighbor Rashanda.
Rashanda was big. Massasa was black. Rashanda was big and black and smart, cute and sexy. Rashanda. What a name. Her name reminded me of something queen-like. As if she was the leader of a bountiful tribe of man-eaters.
Like I said, she lived upstairs from me and my roommates. We used to throw big parties and she was always there. One night we were both pretty wasted and I somehow ended up in her apartment at 2AM looking in her freezer for more vodka. She said she had some. I know now that was just to lure her prey up to her cave to go in for the kill. The next thing I knew she had thrown me against her sink and was sliding her tongue down my throat. After she inhaled my soul she pulled back, looked me in the eye and said, "I'm ready for some mad crazy fucking." She said those exact words. No lie. Who was I to disagree?
So that is what we did. Mad crazy fucking. All night long at that. It was one of the most insane, electric, sexual nights of my life. She kept me in that apartment all night long performing acts I didn't know I was capable of. She was a hurricane. A force to be reckoned with. She was Mother Nature meets the Kama Sutra. My brain was bedazzled. She had me speaking in tongues. Her appetite for sex was as big as her one for food. When I wheezed, she cracked the whip. She wouldn't let me let up. I knew I was in for a ride when she looked me in the eye and "Get that black pussy." Fuck.
This went on for the better part of two years. Pretty much every night, too. It was right upstairs. I'm a guy. How could that not be a perfect scenario? I mean, what the fuck, right? I admit that I had it good. It was a built-in booty call. Most dudes dream of such easy access.
Every night was a different adventure. See, Rashanda wasn't ashamed of her size or personality. She was actually much healthier than I was, in every way. She exercised and ate well and was mentally balanced. She was just a big girl. I was the one who was a mess, yet I played it like she was the crazy neighbor chick that wanted me. We played different sexual games like fake rape, slave girl and voodoo princess. Her apartment was a darkly-lit, incense-smelling cave of colorful candles and funky velvet art on the walls. Her bathroom was that type that has 25 different types of soaps from lavender to raspberry. It was all medicine woman sexy from the beads hanging from her bedroom entrance to the bossa nova playing on the stereo when we made love.
It was a good deal... until it wasn't.
I didn't realize it, but Rashanda was starting to like me for more than just sex. She was looking for something deeper, and so did I, just not with her. Rashanda wanted me to be her boyfriend. This was evident when she bought me a pager (1999) for me to keep on me for when she wanted to knock boots. Look, she was a lovely girl. I would have been lucky to have her. Like I said, she was a cool chick, but I'm a fucked-up person. I didn't want to date a big girl. It's funny, though - look at me! Who the fuck am I? Do I think I am some svelte WB teen star?!
I kept having getting these images of the two fatties dating, doing dating things together like squeezing in a rowboat as I serenade her with my ukulele "By the light of the silvery moon." Squeezing into a roller coaster at Disneyland. Having an overstocked picnic at the park. NO! I wasn't having it. I would not be in a heavy relationship so people could look at us and say "Oh, good for them."
Of course this all ended badly.
The sex came to an end and Rashanda ended up hating me. I felt bad. I'm not that asshole that does shit like that. Rashanda eventually moved away. I saw her a few years later on an episode of Entourage.
Last I heard, she lost the weight. I still haven't. Looks like she got the last laugh.
Throughout my twenties and the decade I put on more and more weight, but still somehow managed to score chicks. I maintained having women in my life (not always a good thing). I dated here and there, but mostly and most surprisingly, had sex. It came in all different shapes, sizes, looks and ages. I slept with cougars, virgins and even indigent women. I didn't turn anyone down, really. Some I liked, even loved. Some were just fun, cool sex. There were cool girls. Crazy girls. For around five years straight I got laid and ate my way through it all.
I've had every strange, sexy, loving and fucked up situation you can imagine. From the heights of joy and sexual conquests to the deeply horrifying lows of breakups and tragic betrayals. Some are worthy of mention. Most are not.
The times I actually fell for a girl were the worst. It was always a harsh realization that she didn't want to be with the fatty either. Here I was kicking big girls out of my life, when the thin girls were doing the same exact thing to me that I did to Rashanda. They didn't mind dating fat, but wanted to marry thin. Karma's a bitch. Sex with me was okay, but they didn't want to be seen with the hefty dude either. It was private and no one had to know. No one had to see me with her. Not her friends or co-workers. It could be kept private. Of course the fat guy doesn't complain when he's getting sex from a hot girl.
Whenever I'd be laying in bed after sex with a hot girl I would look at myself and catch sight of how big I am. If I was disgusted, I can't imagine what they were thinking. "Man, this guy is huge." Some would even tell me, in a roundabout way. They would offer diet tips or exercise ideas. Subtle.
Some girls obviously liked the girth. My bigger body on theirs, though as time went on, and I got bigger, I became a lazier lover. Everything I learnt in Rashanda's hedonistic sex den started to fade. Sure I did my work in the pregame, but then I'd let them get on top and take us to the fourth quarter. It's called being a flat-backer.
The bigger girls don't really mind, and I've slept with some big girls. The bigger girls appreciate me and the work I put in as a bigger man. I do try. It's just as I get older and fatter, it makes it more difficult to perform. I still manage to bring the woman to heights of ecstasy, but it's a haul, I tell ya.
This essay is called Fat Guy Gets Girl (or FGGG for the nerd abbreviators), not Fat Guy Fucks Girl.
I've been in my fair share of relationships. I'm a relationship guy. Not only have I managed to have sex with the girls, but managed to get a few to stick around afterward. It's circular. Sex sometimes means relationship and vice versa.
The breakup with Stephanie was tough. It was around Christmas and I was working at The Gap in the mall. She left me for a Latin stud named Javier that she worked with at Paramount Studios. I ate my through that heartbreak and gained even more weight. Trust me, being a fatty in LA is tough and looking for love as one is even tougher. Then one day I fell ass backwards into some loving in the form of my voluptuous Nubian princess upstairs neighbor Rashanda.
Rashanda was big. Massasa was black. Rashanda was big and black and smart, cute and sexy. Rashanda. What a name. Her name reminded me of something queen-like. As if she was the leader of a bountiful tribe of man-eaters.
Like I said, she lived upstairs from me and my roommates. We used to throw big parties and she was always there. One night we were both pretty wasted and I somehow ended up in her apartment at 2AM looking in her freezer for more vodka. She said she had some. I know now that was just to lure her prey up to her cave to go in for the kill. The next thing I knew she had thrown me against her sink and was sliding her tongue down my throat. After she inhaled my soul she pulled back, looked me in the eye and said, "I'm ready for some mad crazy fucking." She said those exact words. No lie. Who was I to disagree?
So that is what we did. Mad crazy fucking. All night long at that. It was one of the most insane, electric, sexual nights of my life. She kept me in that apartment all night long performing acts I didn't know I was capable of. She was a hurricane. A force to be reckoned with. She was Mother Nature meets the Kama Sutra. My brain was bedazzled. She had me speaking in tongues. Her appetite for sex was as big as her one for food. When I wheezed, she cracked the whip. She wouldn't let me let up. I knew I was in for a ride when she looked me in the eye and "Get that black pussy." Fuck.
This went on for the better part of two years. Pretty much every night, too. It was right upstairs. I'm a guy. How could that not be a perfect scenario? I mean, what the fuck, right? I admit that I had it good. It was a built-in booty call. Most dudes dream of such easy access.
Every night was a different adventure. See, Rashanda wasn't ashamed of her size or personality. She was actually much healthier than I was, in every way. She exercised and ate well and was mentally balanced. She was just a big girl. I was the one who was a mess, yet I played it like she was the crazy neighbor chick that wanted me. We played different sexual games like fake rape, slave girl and voodoo princess. Her apartment was a darkly-lit, incense-smelling cave of colorful candles and funky velvet art on the walls. Her bathroom was that type that has 25 different types of soaps from lavender to raspberry. It was all medicine woman sexy from the beads hanging from her bedroom entrance to the bossa nova playing on the stereo when we made love.
It was a good deal... until it wasn't.
I didn't realize it, but Rashanda was starting to like me for more than just sex. She was looking for something deeper, and so did I, just not with her. Rashanda wanted me to be her boyfriend. This was evident when she bought me a pager (1999) for me to keep on me for when she wanted to knock boots. Look, she was a lovely girl. I would have been lucky to have her. Like I said, she was a cool chick, but I'm a fucked-up person. I didn't want to date a big girl. It's funny, though - look at me! Who the fuck am I? Do I think I am some svelte WB teen star?!
I kept having getting these images of the two fatties dating, doing dating things together like squeezing in a rowboat as I serenade her with my ukulele "By the light of the silvery moon." Squeezing into a roller coaster at Disneyland. Having an overstocked picnic at the park. NO! I wasn't having it. I would not be in a heavy relationship so people could look at us and say "Oh, good for them."
Of course this all ended badly.
The sex came to an end and Rashanda ended up hating me. I felt bad. I'm not that asshole that does shit like that. Rashanda eventually moved away. I saw her a few years later on an episode of Entourage.
Last I heard, she lost the weight. I still haven't. Looks like she got the last laugh.
Throughout my twenties and the decade I put on more and more weight, but still somehow managed to score chicks. I maintained having women in my life (not always a good thing). I dated here and there, but mostly and most surprisingly, had sex. It came in all different shapes, sizes, looks and ages. I slept with cougars, virgins and even indigent women. I didn't turn anyone down, really. Some I liked, even loved. Some were just fun, cool sex. There were cool girls. Crazy girls. For around five years straight I got laid and ate my way through it all.
I've had every strange, sexy, loving and fucked up situation you can imagine. From the heights of joy and sexual conquests to the deeply horrifying lows of breakups and tragic betrayals. Some are worthy of mention. Most are not.
The times I actually fell for a girl were the worst. It was always a harsh realization that she didn't want to be with the fatty either. Here I was kicking big girls out of my life, when the thin girls were doing the same exact thing to me that I did to Rashanda. They didn't mind dating fat, but wanted to marry thin. Karma's a bitch. Sex with me was okay, but they didn't want to be seen with the hefty dude either. It was private and no one had to know. No one had to see me with her. Not her friends or co-workers. It could be kept private. Of course the fat guy doesn't complain when he's getting sex from a hot girl.
Whenever I'd be laying in bed after sex with a hot girl I would look at myself and catch sight of how big I am. If I was disgusted, I can't imagine what they were thinking. "Man, this guy is huge." Some would even tell me, in a roundabout way. They would offer diet tips or exercise ideas. Subtle.
Some girls obviously liked the girth. My bigger body on theirs, though as time went on, and I got bigger, I became a lazier lover. Everything I learnt in Rashanda's hedonistic sex den started to fade. Sure I did my work in the pregame, but then I'd let them get on top and take us to the fourth quarter. It's called being a flat-backer.
The bigger girls don't really mind, and I've slept with some big girls. The bigger girls appreciate me and the work I put in as a bigger man. I do try. It's just as I get older and fatter, it makes it more difficult to perform. I still manage to bring the woman to heights of ecstasy, but it's a haul, I tell ya.
It's only going to get harder too. To have sex or even get girls to have sex with me. I have to lose the weight, or even what I been getting away with is going to disappear. Let's face it, this is about more than sex with big or small chicks.
In the end, until I lose this weight and heal, I will never be with the person I want to be with, be it big, small or whatever. In return no one will ever truly want to be with me either, and this isn't crying in my beer. This is true for one reason. The reason I have been writing about this. The subject I been dealing with. The Weight. In the end, the weight means so much more than just the weight itself. It's self-respect and self-love and until I achieve those things, no relationship will work for me in a truly healthy way. No true love will be found or complete. Sure, I can get laid, but until I fix myself, I won't be truly happy with sex (well, yea, I'll be happy with sex) or love or, most importantly, myself.
In the end, until I lose this weight and heal, I will never be with the person I want to be with, be it big, small or whatever. In return no one will ever truly want to be with me either, and this isn't crying in my beer. This is true for one reason. The reason I have been writing about this. The subject I been dealing with. The Weight. In the end, the weight means so much more than just the weight itself. It's self-respect and self-love and until I achieve those things, no relationship will work for me in a truly healthy way. No true love will be found or complete. Sure, I can get laid, but until I fix myself, I won't be truly happy with sex (well, yea, I'll be happy with sex) or love or, most importantly, myself.
FULL DISCLOSURE - I HOPE THIS ONE GETS ME LAID.
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