One of them is this whole “no secrets” thing.
Basically it is a promise you both make to one another that you will not keep anything from the other.
But it also means you have to give an honest answer to any stupid thought that crosses their minds.
This can be fraught with peril.
Now for whatever reason, my very awesome (and very pregnant) wife, Annie, has taken a new found interest in my life.
No freaking idea why…
Just out of the blue she asked me about something from my past and since then it’s been one long fucking trip down memory lane.
Especially when it comes to my dating life prior to my meeting her.
Now I am not sure exactly how to take this but she is stunned by the fact that I had a dating life prior to meeting her.
Knock her over with a feather stunned.
It’s as if she was really going around telling herself that if not for her kind and gentle spirit and her open mind I might have ended up cold and alone; smoking crack under a bridge with the rest of the trolls and monsters.
Wife- “… So you actually managed to talk someone other than me into going out with you…”
Me- “Don’t sound so stunned. Remember, you settled for the piece of shit you are running down…”
W- “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Ever bag yourself a fat girl, Casanova?”
I crack a smile and chuckle quietly to myself.
M- “Of course. Everyone has…”
W- “Wait, wait… what was that chuckle for… What you hiding…”
W- “Alright… Nothing… So why did you have the fat girls? Couldn’t do better? Time run out?”
M- “Not quite… they were slump breakers.”
Her expression changed, going from an easy, flirty smile to one of thought and confusion.
She had never heard of a slump breaker prior to this moment.
W- “A slump whaa-?”
M- “A slump breaker. When a man finds himself in a particularly long dating slump-“
W- “Sex slump…”
M- “…When a man finds himself in a stink drought (better?) he has to go out there and get himself a slump breaker.”
W- “I assumed as much… What does that have to do with fat girl sex?”
M- “He goes out to a bar and brings home a fat girl in order to change his juju.”
W- “How does he pick the fat girl?”
M- “There are rules… You have to pick out the fattest nastiest girl in the whole bar and not only have sex with her, but she has to like it.”
My wife looked at me the way you would look at a man shitting in the middle of the sidewalk.
She seems sad to know me yet strangely fascinated by the madness of it all.
M- “Well the thought is if you haven’t had any play in a long stretch…”
W- “Long stretch?”
M- “Yea… starting at about three to four months I’d say. Anyways, the idea is the slump is brought about by some slight you have made to the Sex Gods and in order to appease them you have to go and give pleasure to the unfuckable (there is a clause in which one can trade physical deformities, diminished mental faculties, and missing limbs for obesity).”
W- “And you did this?”
M- “Yes. Again, this is pretty common.”
W- “And your friends let you do this in front of them?”
M- “In front of them? Oh no, this is shameful work only to be done by your onesies.”
W- “So you what… just go up and talk to the fat girls? Just like that?”
M- “Well yea. Don’t forget. It’s not just fat girls… its FAT girls… kind of broads even the skinny brothers think twice about.”
W- “What do you say? ‘Hi fattie. Wanna fuck?’”
M- “No, you cruel witch. Remember, they have to enjoy it. You have to sweet talk them just like anyone else. And it really isn’t all that hard. Get past those tough first five, ten minutes… while the post-traumatic stress responses triggered by any contact by strangers of the opposite sex are at their strongest… and your gold…”
W- “There’s no way this works…”
M- “Works every time. Remember, fat chicks don’t get a lot of action yet they love to fuck. Besides, sometimes people get too drunk, condoms break, things happen. Think all those guys walking around Wal-Mart with fat ugly chicks they certainly could do better than planned to be there? No. They got drunk, sweet talked some fat girl for a quick fuck and got caught being sloppy. Circle of life….
Same thing as when you pretty broads get drunk enough to let some guy you might not usually give a second look to chat you up for a minute and it actually work out in his favor. Happens all the time…”
W- “I see your point… so you had a slump breaker?”
W- “Oh, tell me…”
M- “I don’t really…”
W- “Not the gory details… me about how it happened…”
I thought about it… I wasn’t too comfortable telling my wife this.
But she did ask… so I began:
“I found myself in a particularly long drought and felt it necessary clear my karmic air if you will… I drove down to the Coppertop (a particularly nasty hole in the wall campus bar known for having the worst clientele). I go to the bar and order myself a beer. I survey the room, looking for not only fat but alone (as there really would be no worse way to spend an evening that fighting some redneck over a fat girl neither of you really wanna have sex with).
Then I saw her…. Off in a corner of the room watching a few of her friends play pool while she gnawed at a chicken wing.
I observed her for a while, doing so obviously while not sending off rape vibes, making sure that she was there in fact alone.
She eventually waddled over to the bar to order a beer next to me.
I say hello, she says hi.
We exchange pleasantries ; She complains about her feet hurting while I complain about it being too difficult to finding a decent sausage gravy around campus.
Needless to say we bonded fast.
Now something told me that this wasn’t tubby’s (as I really don’t recall her name and am actually kind of sure I never bothered asking for it) first rodeo as she moved fast to the topic of sex, more importantly her willingness to engage in it whenever I was ready.
I ordered another round.
Like a man facing his demise I went through the five stages of grief right before this poor woman’s eyes- denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
By the third or fourth beer I started coming around to the idea of taxin’ tubby…”
W- “You’re kidding…”
M- “Well, I was drunk. And remember… that was the whole point. And, let’s not bullshit here… if I could get this all done in time for me to get a decent night’s sleep is a bonus.
I tell the fat girl I have more beer and some pot back at my place. I believe I also made mention of some treats as well…
Shockingly enough (again, pretty sure she had changed many a man’s fortune with her sloppy mess of a vagina prior to me) she paid my tab and led me out the door to my car.
Now, I have never been with a prostitute professionally, but I imagine the feeling being the same with them as it was with this fat girl. It was stone cold business.
She was likable enough I guess… To be honest, the whole way back to my apartment I was trying to recall anything about her… what she looked like, what she sounded like… and was failing miserably at it. I really had paid very little attention to her at all.
We park our cars in my complex lot and make our way to my apartment (which I might add I had not cleaned in quite some time). Neither of us smile, let alone speak.
We enter my apartment. I offer her a beer or perhaps a bong load to calm the nerves. She declines, scared I guess that if I have time to think about this further I might back out (due to disgust). But needing to keep my composure, I take a ferocious bong rip and escort the lady to my room.”
M- “And what… that’s it… I’m not telling you anymore.”
W- “Oh you can’t end it there… I know this gets better… It has to…”
M- “Really? You really wanna hear about me trying to have sex with a fat girl?”
W- “More than anything. Besides, it sounds like you really didn’t enjoy it… Make you appreciate what you have at home…”
I take her back to my room (which at the time was a total pig sty that I hadn’t cleaned in months). The room smelled like old socks and wet, half smoked cigarette butts; Gnats swarmed around the tops of several 66 ounce Sonic slushee cups (filled to the brim, I might add, with the butts of cigarettes and roaches). The piles of laundry that surrounded my bed seemed to form a gentle slope from the mattress to the floor that had fatty been a midget she could have slid down it.
M- “Well, this is my room… There’s the bathroom”, I gestured to a closet sized room with no light and a strange mildew smell to my left.
M- “Make yourself comfortable…”
I go into the bathroom.
After a few minutes of talking myself into what I was going to have to do I exit the bathroom.
Now prior to this I really had not described this woman… And in truth it was because prior to this, all I noticed was that she was cartoonish fat.
She was 5’ 1”… Easy 250 pounds. Her skin was very pink. I remember that especially… her skin being pink like a newborn...well, other than the purple splotches where it looked like the skin was starting to lose some of its elasticity… Anyways… This girl really had rolled craps in the genetics department. She wore her weight all over and in these nasty bumpy mounds on her skin.
I gave out a deep exhale… like just before you throw up… and made my way to her.
She smiled. It was a sweet smile… like she really was happy to be there. I looked away.
She laid on my bed and motioned me towards her.
I remember her smelling like old sweat and blue cheese.”
She had been riveted… If only she paid this much attention to everything I ever said to her…
“You sure? It’s gonna get really not good in a minute…”
“Yes, now go on…”
“So the fat girl and I start… ya know… doing it… and it really isn’t working. Her body is really mushy and her vagina was buried under a few inches of thigh fat… It really wasn’t worth the effort being put forth…
After a few minutes, I start realizing that this isn’t going to happen and I start losing concentration. That’s when I made the mistake…
I looked down upon this woman; her fat, meaty forearms and pudgy hands tucked up by her head-neck-chin nexus. I started chuckling slightly to myself.
She asks what is so funny, assuming that the lack of interest in the sex she was offering had to be stemming from the riotous joke I had bouncing around in my head…
It’s nothing, I told her, but she insisted, now shaking those pale meaty forearms in flirty protest. She even pouted slightly, I guess to try and accentuate whatever cuteness she may have thought she possessed. (For the record, she possessed none.)
I held back for a second, knowing that what I was about to say to her was going to irrevocably change the nature of our relationship forever…
“Well,” I started; my face tightening from trying to contain a boisterous, uncontrollable belly laugh just dying to be unleashed upon the room.
“…When I looked down at you…. With your hands up by your face like that… I swear you are a ball of lettuce away from looking like a manatee.”
Upon saying those words, I broke out into furious laughter. (Now remember, all this is transpiring while I am lying in between her legs and the two of us are naked…)
She looked up at me. I could see the hurt and the pain in her eyes. I stood up, my penis making it very clear he would no longer be involved in my heartless actions.
The fat girl looked at me.
I told her to leave, a slight lilt still in my voice brought about from mirth.
She got up from my bed and started to walk out, putting on her clothes as she went.
She got to my door and turned the knob…
She looked at me…
“I thought you were different…”
“Nope. Just as shallow as the rest of the seeing world chubby…
Watch out from propellers out there…”
She responded with the heavy slam of my apartment door, knocking a few pictures off the wall and on to the piles of random trash and junk I had scattered about my apartment…”
My wife glared at me.
Her laughter had long changed now, chased away by the realization that her husband was just like every other drunken college asshole she had ever known.
“How could you have done that?”
“Well, she was really fat…,” I started
“And she really did look like a manatee just lying there; her pail round body just splattered on the sheets… Looked like God was making a human pancake.”
My wife just shakes her head and leaves the room.