Overload (Vitamin D) [A First Person Perspective of a Portrait Subject]
I am the obese man. I am 47 years old. Every day, I live through the same shit; the only difference is the date on the calendar in my tiny cubicle; my tiny cubicle only fits my desk and chair; I lift the embarrassment that is called my stomach in my hands and shove myself in my tiny cubicle. In my youth, my schoolmates would call me names: “Hey, Fatso!” “Hey, Blimp!” “Hey, Whale!” “Hey, Lard Ass!” I’d slowly walk home with my head hung low as the other children pelted me with the desserts left over from their lunch boxes. When I’d get home, my divorcee mother would lock herself in her room, sobbing. I’d eat away our tears. Nothing has changed since then, besides the name calling. The names are now stares. The only thing I want to do when I get home is stand in the shower — naked, exposed. HOW MUCH OF ME DO YOU REALLY SEE?
Forgive me, Janet,
but it happened during a conversation
about whether you had your breasts
enlarged or your stomach flattened
or your ass tightened (or all three
or any two of the three).
That’s when I realized
how closely revising a poem
could resemble (or “seam/seem like”) plastic surgery, and how those of us who have them
(poems or plastic surgeries)
try to keep things to ourselves. And so
not only is this poem for you, but it is you,
because, after all, don’t you get sick of being critiqued?
A poem (yes, a poem, not a poet)
once taught me how good it feels
not to have any eyes with you. Scratch “with you.”
I meant “on you.”
I’m sure you can relate,
as you spend your not-so-free time
hoping your personal life
isn’t ferreted out of the album notes,
interpreted from the lilt of your voice,
or treated as if you’re nothing more
than an image in a 60 year long music video. Like Tina. By the way,
I was the dude in that nasty car eatin’ that nasty food
jammin’ to your nasty groove.
And I dig your hair frizzy.
Likewise, I dig my poems raw,
which is just my exaggerated way
of saying I dig poems with rough edges. And people too.
Did I mention I didn’t offer an opinion
about your ass, stomach, or cup size?
But if you ask me,
I think you should edit that mole.
Exactly why did you put it in there anyway? Scratch that.
I meant “on there.”
I’m actually serious (do you realize that?)
when I say I’d do anything for the satisfaction
of writing a poem that could move like you. Dance like you.
Sing(e) like a moth to a flame.
That’s
the
way
poems go, I guess.
Give them your thoughts, get back a penny.
The American singer doesn’t seem bothered at all by the malicious comments he hears almost every day about her weight. Kelly said she’s proud of her curves and that the part she admire the most is her ass. “I know I have a generous bust, but I can take pride in my ass too. I’m my ass’s biggest fan! If more and more girls do silicone implant to have larger breasts, a few can take pride with an ass like mine” said the artist.
“I like that I can fill a pair of jeans” added Kelly.
I’d just given Gavin a blow job with a finger insertion into his asshole that I know he didn’t expect. Now, here I was straddling him, my cunt juices dripping all over his legs and I had his cock in my mouth again.
I’m so lucky.
“Fuck Delaynee, you’re so sexy,” he said as he tried to grasp my tits.
I sucked his soft cock into my mouth. I loved the way it felt on my tongue. It got me really excited and I knew Gavin could smell the scent of my pussy in the air.
“Mmmmm.”
I licked his balls one at a time and massaged his thighs as his prick started to stiffen.
“Damn girl.”
I loved the fact that he called me girl when I was 13 years older than him.
I sat up, still in the straddle position and played with my tits, giving his cock a little break.
I squeezed my right breast and cupped it into my hand. I sucked my nipple into my mouth and then released it.
Gavin tried again to reach between my legs and touch my dripping pussy, but I managed to wiggle out of his reach. I knew I was weak and if he touched my clit, I’d cum and squirt my juices everywhere. I also knew I was being a little selfish wanting to suck on his juicy prick again.
“You think you’re going to suck me again without letting me lick your kitty Delaynee?”
And it was over, in one fast move Gavin had lifted me off him and pinned me on the bed and was now straddling me.
I was pissed.
“No, don’t . . .” I protested.
But it was too late. Gavin was already nose deep beneath my legs and it felt amazing. I hadn’t had a man in my pussy in years.
He was taking long licks with his tongue pressed flat from my asshole to the hood of my clit.
“Oh shit,” I said.
“Oh shit is so right baby,” Gavin said. “Your pussy is so wet.”
I knew it was wet, I knew my body made extra cunt juices and I knew what was about to happen.”
I tried to push his face away, fighting him off, and squirming under my touch.
He slid up to my face and started kissing me in gentle kisses.
I turned my face from him and he kissed me down my neck.
“I’ve read your books,” Gavin said. “No one is that strong all the time.”
He slipped his fingers between my slit and started finger fucking me.
“Even the Goddess is vulnerable,” Gavin said kissing my lips more passionately now.
He pulled back for a moment and looked into my eyes.
“Let me love you babe,” Gavin said. “Cum to me.”
His words relaxed me and I let my legs drop open. I no longer felt like I had to please him first a couple of times to guarantee that he would take the time to make me cum.
I always was an overachiever, and there was no room for over-thinking the way he was stroking my clitty.
“I trust you.”
I have never felt so vulnerable, yet I was ready for him to take me as he pleased.
I wanted him.
Gavin kissed his way down my body, stopping for a moment to nibble on my hip. I had both of my hands on the back of his head. I was ready.
Gavin nestled in between my legs again, placing his tongue on my shaven cunt lips.
“Aaaa,” I gasped letting small breaths escape from my parted lips.
Gavin slowly massaged my clit with his fingers, watching my reaction as I arched my back and swiveled my slender hips under his touch.
He focused on my clit with his thumb, and then slid his index and middle fingers inside my pussy, massaging it.
My whole pussy was aching, contracting, wanting to cum. The build-up was intense.
“Ga… gav…”
My turn to be speechless.
He smiled. He liked pleasing me and I couldn’t wait to fuck him.
“Don’t stop,” I begged as I lunged at his tongue that was now flicking and sucking my clit as he was finger fucking me with two fingers.
I grabbed the back of his head as I started to orgasm.
My cunt juices gushed out and Gavin lapped at them as I came. His face was covered in my pussy cream.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Delaynee that was amazing. You’re amazing.”
Reality check.
I turned my face away from him, the reality of my letting loose sinking in. I was mixed with pleasure and shame. I didn’t understand it.
Gavin knew something was wrong and he climbed up beside me and held me.
“Don’t do that Delaynee,” he said as though he knew what I was thinking. “I’m here with you, don’t leave me.”
“I don’t know why, the rush of my orgasm, makes me feel like this.”
“It’s beautiful,” Gavin said. “You’re amazing. You have a gift. You’re special.”
I wanted to feel special, but I wasn’t used to it and Gavin knew it.
He pulled the sheet across our nude bodies and wrapped his arms around me and just held me.
So every once in a while I enjoy a nice cigar. I haven’t in a while but tonight after my bands show I had some time to kill and we smoked some in the parking lot.
It was hot, unfulfilling, and it took forever. I no longer get the “cigar sickness” associated with cigars (not a total newb anymore). But I’m done with em.
There. I said it. Blah.
On a side note, I’m writing this from Twin Peaks with my band. And we managed to get the least attractive waitress. This is a common trend in my life. Stay tuned for more on that topic.
