The Fat Girl's Guide to Life

I think: If you don't know a man well enough to trust him when he says he's been AIDS tested, why are you sleeping with him? If you think some guy is going to mock your body when he's going down on you, why are you sleeping with him? Not worth it, ever. I know how much we long for affection; I know it's difficult to find the right partner; I know we deserve wonderful, uncompromised sex—which is next to impossible to find. Something's got to change—and I say we start with our attitudes.

I think: If you don't know a man well enough to trust him when he says he's been AIDS tested, why are you sleeping with him? If you think some guy is going to mock your body when he's going down on you, why are you sleeping with him? Not worth it, ever. I know how much we long for affection; I know it's difficult to find the right partner; I know we deserve wonderful, uncompromised sex—which is next to impossible to find. Something's got to change—and I say we start with our attitudes.

I think: If you don't know a man well enough to trust him when he says he's been AIDS tested, why are you sleeping with him?

think: If you don't know a man well enough to trust him when he says he's been AIDS tested, why are you sleeping with him? If you think some guy is going to mock your body when he's going down on you, why are you sleeping with him? Not worth it, ever. I know how much we long for affection; I know it's difficult to find the right partner; I know we deserve wonderful, uncompromised sex—which is next to impossible to find. Something's got to change—and I say we start with our attitudes.

I began to think about my body a different way. Maybe I wasn't just a disposable, disenfranchised penis holder. My body was special. I should treat it with more honor. I shouldn't just let any old dick dock there. So I stopped—not having sex, but trying to prove a point to anyone but myself.

So I began to think about my body a different way. Maybe I wasn't just a disposable, disenfranchised penis holder. My body was special. I should treat it with more honor. I shouldn't just let any old dick dock there. So I stopped—not having sex, but trying to prove a point to anyone but myself.

By the time I got out of school, I decided to ignore my qualms and force myself out there more frequently (note to self: "force" is not a great concept when thinking about sex). I'd bring condoms on first dates; I'd do my best at the end of an evening to score a one-night stand. I wanted to stack up those "I Never" tales, too. While this was supposed to be cool—I assumed it was what all my peers were doing—I secretly felt ashamed of myself. I never talked about it with my friends. It was all just too embarrassing.
Plus, I was fat. I'd live in fear that the guy lurking down below would suddenly lift up his head and scream, "Ewwwl You're fat and disgusting! What the hell did I just touch? Is that even a body part that other people have?" Worse, maybe he would keep his disgust to himself, and then share it with all his buddies the next day. I could picture the conversation: "And then I reached down, and it was like feeling a bowl of . . . I don't know, dough or something. I nearly puked!" And so on, and so on.
Now, I've been through some awkward moments. Everyone has weird concerns about their bodies. However, to allay your fears, I have yet to hear of anyone running a Fat Girl out of bed with the words, "Ew, get out of here, you disgusting fat fat fattywad." If you step past your own insecurity and see this scenario as at all likely to happen, here is my advice: DO NOT GET IN BED WITH THIS MAN. If you can't trust him to treat you with respect, then why on earth would you sleep with him? If you can picture him running to his buddies the next day to say how gross it was, then why are you putting his penis in your mouth?
In those years, I rarely came close to experiencing the kind of pleasure that I thought was my inherent right. Maybe I was doing something wrong. Maybe I was with the wrong kind of men. Maybe I was having sex instead of making love. I hoped if I was in a committed relationship, it would be different. It's not like the average hookup fulfilled my sexual needs—a quick order from Good Vibrations and two AA batteries could take better care of that in no time. It wasn't like it was bringing me closer emotionally to anyone. If anything, it was distancing. The element of trust shut down right when the lights went out. I was trying to be a Fat Slut, but I was really, really bad at it. I'm just lucky that I came out of it safe and alive.

The Fat Slut isn't all that different from the Skinny Slut. Both push themselves into sexual situations for compromised reasons, usually to compensate for poor self-esteem or body image. Seventeen-year-old Hannah Leach explored these reasons in a video-taped diary on a recent edition of ABC's Primetimeabout teen obesity:
Looking back at the tape, Leach—who is now a much happier 21-year-old, and 75 pounds lighter—was overwhelmed at the memories it brought back. She said she made the tape at a time when she felt "insignificant" and "not important"—and was using sex as a way to make her feel better about herself. She said her display on the tape was more about "self-hatred" and loneliness than sexuality—something that was reflected in a more recent edition of her video diary. "I want so badly to be loved by somebody," she said into the camera. "I just go through these things to make somebody love me, and I end up feeling like a f—ing whore after­wards." [Pediatrician Michael Rich of Children's Hospital, Boston] says weight problems often make teenage girls vulnerable to sexual exploitation. "They are perceived as being older and more mature than they truly are. That they are easy. That they are more willing to trade sex for affection than somebody who everybody wants because she looks like the front cover of a magazine," he said. Leach said she had no problem finding boyfriends: "I had something that pretty much every guy wanted. Whether I was 300 pounds or not, it didn't make a difference . . . Somebody wanted me. Somebody finally wanted me."
Do you recognize that pathetic feeling? I sure do. Back in high school and college, when it seemed like everyone else was sleeping around, I felt nervous and insecure. For me it wasn't concern about body-image issues as much as a general sense of fear of the unknown. To make matters worse, when I actually got up enough courage to have sex, I didn't feel the bells and whistles everybody talked about. My first few forays were hardly the blooming effervescence described in Judy Blume books and portrayed in Julia Roberts movies. Even my friends who were the high-school and college equivalents of Happy Hookers didn't seem all that thrilled with the sex they were getting. Sure, they'd have fun stories to tell during "I Never," but there was always a catch: She'd have to do it in a room with some other guy "sleeping" in the bed across from them. Or her date would get all huffy when she asked him to use a condom. Or he'd get his rocks off while she was left humiliation-heavy and orgasm free. Didn't really seem like a fair trade to me.

After all, we are bigger than they are.