Love At Every Size Page 2

  What’s discouraging is seeing the similarity in the faces, and the anger in quite a few of them too. I can understand, we’re just a few miles from Mount Reston, and a lot of the members of the group have been affected by the scandal, either through knowing some of the girls involved, or just knowing the area. It’s a lot harder to just shrug something off when you see the places and people involved.

  “Lots of pissed off bitches out there,” my friend Cassandra, who helped me start the group, says sotto voce as we sip our drinks before the meeting starts. Just water, although I could certainly do with something a little stronger, maybe a double mocha frappe. But I’d start blabbering like an idiot if I dosed up on the caff.

  “You’re surprised?” I ask ironically, not wasting the breath to admonish her for her foul language. It’d be a waste of breath. “It’s not like it was just a little misunderstanding.”

  “I think they’re more pissed about the fact that the main fucker... Klinger?”

  “Yeah, Klinger.”

  “Apparently the university’s doing nothing to him. What type of bullshit is that?” Cassandra asks. In her day job, she’s an accountant, and it’s through that we got this meeting space, she handles the accounts for the church we’re using tonight. While she’s a good friend, her day job means that most of the time she deals with numbers more than people, and because of that she isn’t always all that sociable. “Buncha BP fuckery is all it is.”

  BP is a Cassandra-ism that’s spread through the group, and stands for ‘Beautiful People,’ or the people that tend to fat shame and harass us the most. I don’t really like it, it sort of feels like counter-grouping, but at the same time I’ve used it myself a lot too. “I’ll tell the group about that in a minute. Come on, it’s six thirty, time to start.”

  We start the meeting with our normal greetings, and then some self-affirmation mantras, followed by ‘praise time,’ which I wish I could find a new name for since we’re in a church, but whatever. Going around, you’re supposed to compliment each person you see on something about them, and it can’t be a backhanded compliment either.

  Finally, at around seven, it’s time to get to the part I’m not looking forward to. “All right everyone, I guess it’s time to deal with the big issue that I know has generated a lot of stress and triggered a lot of people recently,” I say, looking around. “First, while I know it’s difficult, I had a bunch of requests from the group to watch the video again. I agreed, but instead of just sitting here and getting rightfully pissed off though, I’d like to suggest that as we watch, try to think of ways that we could deflect, defend, or try to deescalate what happened. Cassandra, if you’d get the video?”

  It’s hard, watching the incident for what has to be the fiftieth time since the video broke, watching the taunting, the way the football players surrounded the girls, even the tears flowing down their faces as the players not only fat shamed them but sexually harassed them as well. Finally the video stops, and I look out on the group, seeing more anger. Understandable. “All right everyone, so ... who'd like to go first?”

  “They should be thrown out of school!” one of the group says. “Why aren’t they?”

  I sigh, this isn’t the productive direction that I was hoping to take the discussion. “Everyone, we can’t change the past. First, throwing the leader of that group, Reggie Klinger, out of school isn’t going to do any good. He’s a senior who’s declared for the draft, so the worst we can do is affect his draft status. I even checked, he’s already technically graduated, he was taking some post-grad courses just to keep his student status for this last season. He’s done with school, so let’s move past that. Besides, remember that our goal isn’t to continue the cycle of hate that a lot of people have tried to trap us in. We’re here to make a positive difference.”

  “And how do we do that?” someone asks, and I smile. That’s a better way to take things.

  “First everyone, recognize that you have these feelings. Looking around, I’d say that we’ve done a good job on that, we know we’re pissed, we know how we feel about it. I know I’ve put myself in those girls’ places more than once, and it turns my stomach. But also, as we leave here we’re going to make sure that we’re strong but also respectful about what being BoPo is to the world.”

  “Why should we be respectful when we’re the ones being disrespected?” an angry voice asks. “Why should we beg for recognition of our rights?”

  “I didn’t say beg,” I counter. “We can demand to be recognized as worthwhile and full members of society without being whiny about it. Doing that just creates more enemies and makes us look bad. On that note, I reached out to Mount Reston this past week, and they’ve agreed to establish a series of lectures and group meetings with all of the athletes on campus. I’m going to be working with one of their coaches in order to make sure that we can reach out and show these students that their words do have as much an impact as their physical actions in their sports. I don’t have the name of the coach yet, but I’m sure we’ll be able to make some progress.”

  “Probably just another jock meathead member of the patriarchy,” Cassandra mutters under her breath, and I try not to roll my eyes. Come on Cassie, a little positivity here, please? Besides, I know you and I disagree on our approach to the public.

  “In any case, we have a forum with them, and I’m meeting the coach later this week to get to know each other. Now, let’s move on to something more uplifting, as Justine’s asked for some time to show some of the designs that she’s been working on for the curvy girl’s night out.”

  * * *

  “Well, that went pretty well,” Cassandra says as we head out of the church. She’s trying to be polite, which I can appreciate. Either that, or she’s just tired and not willing to fight. “Although, you really don’t know which member of the coaching staff you’re going to be working with?”

  I shake my head, putting my bag in my car and opening the door. “Nope. I intentionally didn’t check my e-mail after three o’clock because I didn’t want to know. The group was a little harsh tonight, Cassie. I don’t want them picking apart who it is until I at least have some real progress to talk with them about.”

  Cassandra sighs, her reddish-brown hair bouncing side to side as she shakes her head. Uh-oh, she is ready for a fight. “You know I love ya babe, but you’re still so close to being a BP yourself that sometimes you forget what it’s like being one of us born fat girls.”

  “Come on Cassandra, that’s not fair,” I reply, trying to keep myself positive. “I’m just myself.”

  “Yeah, and you could still go to a regular bar and not have too much of a problem picking up a guy,” Cassandra says. “You’re not five five, two forty five, and having to stare the BPs in the face every day. You used to be one of them, remember?”

  “Of course I do!” I reply defensively. It’s the one thing about Cassandra that drives me nuts sometimes, she’s so caught up in her own anger still that sometimes she doesn’t seem to understand the pain of others. “Cassie, I’m just saying that I want the group to try and be as positive as it can. I didn’t think naming the coach would help, because I can’t think of anyone on the staff that would satisfy everyone. Okay?”

  Cassandra grumbles, but nods. “Okay, okay, okay. You’re the fucking professional counselor anyway. Just, keep me up to date on what happens?”

  I do, giving her a hug before getting in my car and driving back to my apartment. It’s not much, I’ve only had my counseling license for four years now and I’m just starting to get myself established in the various communities that I specialize in, but it’s home. Closing the door, I finally give into my own curiosity and open my e-mail, seeing I’ve got a message from Mount Reston.

  Hmmm... I’m going to be working with the men’s assistant basketball coach? Well, not quite a head coaching level, but basketball is one of the ‘money sports,’ so they’re giving the program more legitimacy than I thought they would. The talks I had with the Athle
tic Director were polite but chilly, I think he’s just doing this because the Chancellor is forcing him to. I was worried I was going to be stuck with the women’s assistant water polo coach or something.

  I pull up the university website, searching for who the men’s assistant coach is, and I’m directed to a profile page... Louden Graham. While the counselor side of me is reading about his background, a former Mount Reston player who nearly made the cut to the pros, the side of me that hasn’t had a date in two months is saying he’s cute. Actually, I’m a little worried, he’s almost too cute, in a way that crosses the line from cute to hot. When Cassandra takes a look at this man, I can already hear the rant she’s going to go off on about how he’s just another BP.

  Still, he’s very good looking. Dark hair that’s cut somewhat conservatively but looks like it’s got a little bit of wave to it, green eyes, and a jawline that’s strong enough to chop wood... Louden Graham is totally the sort of man who’s never had a problem getting dates for sure. It’s only a head and shoulders profile shot, but I know with that face, he’s for sure got an active social life. Not that he’d look at a woman like me.

  I sigh, shaking my head at my negative self talk. It’s the sort of stuff that I know I need to not let myself engage in if I’m going to continue on my own healthy mindset path, so I get up off my couch and go into my bedroom, taking off my clothes and putting them in the hamper neatly before turning to the full length mirror that I’ve had for years, and only recently have had the strength to take out of storage. It’s not a tool I encourage a lot of my clients to use, but it works for me, and I stand in front of the mirror in just my underwear, looking at myself, and forcing me to engage in a little self-care.

  “You’re beautiful,” I say to my mirror figure, feeling silly but that’s how I always feel at the start. “A face like an angel, with naturally pouty lips, and dark eyes that I can lose myself in. And look at those full, voluptuous breasts. Most men would drool to get their hands on a woman with boobs like those!”

  As I compliment myself I unhook my bra, letting my breasts free. They are big, that’s one thing that grew in nice proportion when I stopped the constant dieting, and while I know I’m not supposed to care if I still look ‘cute’ or not, the fact is I like that my breasts are big and curvy.

  “Mmm ... yeah, you can practically hypnotize a man with these sweater puppies!” I tease, running my hands over my nipples and feeling a sweetly electric tingle. Okay, so this part of my self care is why I don’t have clients do this in our sessions.

  I let go of my breasts to run my hands over my stomach, forcing myself to feel the softness of the fat that’s there, and complimenting myself over it. “Mmm, your skin is buttery smooth, and face it, if this wasn’t here, you wouldn’t have up top or in the back to play with. You’re a woman and a half Denise, you know that?”

  My hands travel lower, down to a different kind of softness, my trimmed pussy thrilling at my own explorative touch. After months of not having anyone except myself I’m an expert at solo exploration, and as my fingers rub over my lips softly, I sigh happily, backing up to my bed and getting on top, my knees spreading as I get in my favorite position, my ass in the air as my fingers work their magic.

  I take a half second to think about getting out my dildo or a vibrator or something, but my fingers are doing a very good job on their own, and when I slip a finger inside, I’m wet and warm, the heat building slowly inside me while I slide another finger inside and start pumping them in and out of my pussy, sighing in pleasure.

  “Yesss ... mmm, baby, give it to me,” I fantasize, imagining a man back there, his thick cock sliding deep into me as he groans over how sexy I am. My mind goes off on it’s own and I imagine him, tall, handsome, black hair and green eyes ... sure, I’m fantasizing about Louden Graham, but who gives a fuck? I need some action, and as my fingers move faster, I bring the heel of my hand up to grind against my hypersensitive clit, always my weakness when it comes to sex.

  The feeling of my clit being rubbed sends me into overdrive and I groan, my hips taking on a life of their own as I fuck my fingers and hand, grinding down and hearing my headboard start to bounce off the wall lightly. I’m a big girl, a legitimate hundred and eighty pounds, and when I get going you just strap in and feel the ride. Thankfully my bedroom backs up to my neighbor’s pantry.

  My orgasm crashes over me hard, my clit sending a warning tingle before I come, moaning deeply as I feel pleasure wash over me. I smile, relaxing into my bed before taking my fingers out slowly, letting them slurp their way out before I turn over, laying back on my bed. Sure, I need to take a shower before I go to bed, and yeah, I can already feel the post-masturbation blues getting ready to creep their way in, I so need to get back in the dating game again, but for now, I can relax.

  “You’re one sexy fuck, Denise Tavolio,” I giggle to myself. “Just gotta find the man who can handle you.”

  Chapter 3

  Louden- First Meeting

  The landmine is probably one of my least favorite pieces of exercise equipment, but Mount Reston’s built their entire strength training program off of it and free weights. Actually, looking around the weight room, there isn’t any type of machines around at all, just a bunch of bars, plates, enough colored rubber bands to make the world’s most awesome slingshot, and the landmine pivots.

  Since I’m really not feeling up to partnering with anyone, the landmine it is. After last night’s loss to Valley Tech, the second in a row after getting our asses handed to us by State, the only way we’re going to any post season tournaments is if we win the conference tournament, and there’s a fat chance of that happening.

  It pisses me off, and as I put the plates on the bar to start with the floor presses, I think about all the things that went wrong against Valley Tech.

  It’s not like we didn’t know what they were going to bring to the table. We’ve played them twice before this season, they’re in our conference. We knew that they had a team a lot like ours, undersized but with decent shooting ability. There wasn’t going to be the beatdown in the paint that State did to us, or when we took on some of the elite teams on what Billy woefully calls our ‘money making road trips.’

  We should be better than having to make money for the school by taking these well paying ass kickings from top twenty five teams year after year, but we’re not there yet.

  So I take it out in here, trying to get myself into a good head space. Starting with the floor presses, I warm up my chest and shoulders before going heavy. Now that I’m no longer an active player I can do a little bit more ‘beach lifting’ as Coach Loggins, the head strength coach, likes to call it, but I don’t do too much. I’ve got the genetics that lets me train for performance and still have pretty good looks too.

  “Hey Coach Graham, looking good!” one of the track throwers, who are in for a lift themselves, calls over. “Gonna suit up for the tourney?”

  “Very funny!” I call back, feeling better. Sure, it’s been six years since I graduated, but I enjoy being with the players, and I enjoy keeping myself in tip top playing shape.

  It’s just fun for me.

  After the floor presses I go to standing presses, and I’m just getting into it when my phone beeps, and I realize that I’ve been going at it pretty hard. Picking up my phone, I slap my forehead, grunting in frustration that I forgot about the meeting with this BoPo girl. What’s her name again? Shit, I forget, but I’m covered in sweat and there’s only ten minutes until I’m supposed to meet her upstairs in my office.

  Rushing, I run up the stairs, for once ignoring the hard and fast rule in the weight room to ‘put your shit away!’ Still, I get to my office just in time to wipe down with a mostly dry towel before pulling on the only thing I see behind my desk right now, a team T-shirt and a pair of warm up pants over top of my shorts.

  I’m just getting my shoes back on my feet when there’s a knock at my door, and it opens before I can say anything. “Coach Graham, I�
�m....”

  I look up, my face flushed and damp, and the woman who comes in is... well, she’s beautiful. Long flowing hair frames dark eyes, creamy pale skin and a bow shaped mouth that perches perfectly under a nose that, while not button cute, has personality and strength. Right now though her face is surprised, then quickly shuts down into clouds and her eyebrows knit together that tells me she’s not happy.

  “Hi, I’m Louden Graham. Sorry about the clothes, I just got back from downstairs, I was trying to sandwich a workout in between tape review and our meeting and I just got into it.”

  “Hmph,” she says, making the rest of her way into my office and closing the door. As she crosses over to the table that I use for meetings with the players, I run my fingers through my hair quickly and get a look at the rest of the woman, who I regretfully still can’t remember her name. She’s wearing a business suit, and the curves she’s got inside that suit are generous to say the least.

  She’s a big girl, easily five ten or more, she’s got heels on, and while she’s heavier than average, she’s more voluptuous and curvy than really... well, fat. “I would have thought after the e-mail that I got from the Athletics Department that you’d have done a better job of time management. To be so chronically unprepared isn’t an audacious beginning to our partnership.”

  Oh God, big words. Nothing gets me frustrated faster than someone who likes throwing around big words when small words work just as well, and I take a few breaths before answering. “Like I said, I lost track of time. Haven’t you had that happen to you, Miss...?”

  She looks over her shoulder at me and I’m struck again at how uniquely pretty this woman is. Also, her back is turned to me, and she’s got a fantastic ass. I’m trying to be professional, but she’s got ass for days, and it’s a perfectly heart shaped one too. I bet she makes a pair of jeans look like a million bucks even if they’re from Walmart.