Weighty Matters

I’m very concerned about obesity. Not mine, I currently weigh about 63 kilos (with my kit on, now I think about it, wonder what it is without anything on?) which given the amount of junk and beer I knock back all things considered isn’t really too much more than I did when I was young and fit and healthy and things. And skinny.

Since I sprained my wrist, I haven’t been out much. It wasn’t so much that I reckoned I’d get pretty bored with the obvious cracks about how I’d done it, just that being my right wrist, handling my crutch with it for walking wasn’t making it much better. Decidedly worse, in fact. Though GF got me a very natty sort of ‘sports’ neoprene bandage for it, a kind of Speedo wrist support, royal blue with a black velcro band and a white stripe I was quite pleased with. Smart, I thought. And I wear blue a lot, so it matches. Quite fancied sort of showing it off.

But I have been feeling withdrawal symptoms a bit. (Not only from going clubbing either, but I’ve already hinted about the other withdrawal symptoms that’ve been getting to me the last week or so.) Writing about something else reminded me of the last night I went out, and why I have this thing about not wanting to go to bed with anybody more than a couple of kilos heavier than me.

There’s the aesthetics of it, too. A girl once told me about one of those nights. You know, the boys you really fancy are either taken or they’ve got off with someone else, you’re a bit pissed in consequence, and suddenly this totally unsuitable guy catches your eye and next thing you know he’s all over you in the back of the cab and smuggling you past the guy at the reception desk in the hotel pretending he’s just invited you over for coffee and a chat about theatre at three in the morning?

And you can see the receptionist grinning out of the corner of your eye, knowing perfectly well what’s going on?

You don’t? Aren’t you lucky?

Anyway, the thing I remember was the girl telling me how he bloke sat on the edge of the bed working his dick hard trying to get it up, until when it did, it just disappeared under the folds of his beer gut propping his belly up like a tent. Ugh. I kind of went green. And then, a bit later, well, that’s more or less what happened to me. Except he kind of rolled me over, but by the time he’d lumbered into position on top of me, his erection had gone and his dick was the size of my little finger.

I didn’t know that at the time, I saw it later. At the time, I was struggling to breathe with all his weight on top of me while he fumbled desperately, thinking, bugger, at least girls end up face up so they can bloody breathe . . .then he just kind of collapsed on me and nearly stove in one of my ribs with his elbow.

I managed to turn my head sideways enough to start breathing again, but it took me ages to kind of lever him off. That’s when I noticed he had a pretty small cock. And a very hairy stomach, and chest. And man boobs. And I wondered what the fuck I was doing there, except, of course, neither being fucked nor fucking, and on top of that getting the sort of headache you know is going to take a lot of orange juice and aspirin to cure in a few hours.

And then I fell asleep as well. Woke up with the inevitable pounding headache and him on the edge of the bed . . . just like she’d described . . . As luck would have it, I saw the clock and could grab my jeans and stuff and do a runner: “Sorry, look, oh shit, I’m late, I can’t miss classes again, gotta go . . .

He actually did crack a rib. Didn’t realise it until that night, when suddenly every breath I took hurt and I damn nearly doubled up with the pain at the bar. Fell off my bike, I told the doctor. Well, I wasn’t going to tell her what I’ve told you, was I?

I made a vow then, that in future I’d never ever go to bed with anybody who weighed more than a couple of kilos more than me. It is getting trickier to keep though. I’ve noticed there do seem to be a lot of hefty guys about, and they do tend to come on to me. But I’ve stuck to it so far.

But actually, that’s one reason I reckoned I’d steer clear of one of my regular haunts for a bit. Last couple of times I’ve been there, it’s been pretty obvious a guy’s been eyeing me. And he’s huge. I mean, I swear I could fit into one leg of his jeans. And I’m a nice boy, I’m no good at turning people down, I just can’t do what some do, just turn their back on you or look past you or even mutter ‘Fuck off’. And I know all too well I’m liable to get myself into a really stupid situation after a few too many. And what with a sprained wrist, I really can’t cope with any broken ribs as well.

So I’ve been nursing the wrist at home. Anyway, it’s bad enough sometimes just having a crutch, you get some real weirdos coming on to you, apart from the ones who kind of go all sentimental and do all the ‘ah what a shame’ stuff that gets on my nerves sometimes as well. Don’t want to get pestered by neoprene fetishists on top . . .Er, definitely not on top if they’re more than a couple of kilos heavier than me, like I said.