We were in the state of satiation after a really great session of sex where even moving seems an effort. Our naked bodies touching, our sweat-slick limbs tangled, we lay cooling slowly from the heat of our passion.
"Shall I tell you," my lover said then, "about the first time I had sex? Would you like me to?"
"Yes," I said. "I would. Very much."
My lover, I should explain, is fat. Not extremely so, not morbidly obese, but undeniably fat. She is also the most passionate woman I have ever slept with. She exudes sexuality from every pore of her being. "I can live without food, and I've accumulated fat to make sure of that," she had said once, ruefully looking at the gentle bulge of her abdomen, "but I can't live without sex."
She said it again now. "I told you I can't live without sex, and that's true." Her hand slid down my thigh and casually fondled my penis, still moist with her fluids. "And of course to have all the sex I need I have to be rather forward about my sexuality." I could vouch for that, it was she who had seduced me the first time. I had been reluctant at first, and she had drawn me on, persuading me to share her bed just one time – and once I'd discovered what she was like in the sack, she hadn't needed to persuade me any more. "But I wasn't always like that.
"Back when I was in junior college I was really unsure of myself," she said. "I was the fattest girl in class, and I was the only virgin – or at least I was the only one who would admit to being a virgin. But of course if I'd said I wasn't a virgin, the rest of the girls would have laughed at me. No one would have believed me. Who would ever give a fat girl sex?
"I was at an all girl college. Nowadays it's co-ed, but at the time all the boys we wanted were studying elsewhere. So there wasn't any way of getting to know boys too easily. We none of us had much of a social life, or at least I didn't." Her fingers lightly tickled my scrotum, and my penis stirred slightly. "So the girls could do an awful lot of lying about their sexual experiences, and there was no way of knowing the truth. All I could do was listen enviously while – especially on Mondays – the girls told each other whom they had fucked on the weekend and what it had been like. Yes, I believed them then, when they said they had sex, all the sex they could handle. All I had was masturbation.
"And oh, yes, I masturbated a lot. I must have masturbated at least twice every day, sometimes four or five times. You've seen me masturbate, and you know how intense my orgasms are." I knew; she would arch her back right off the bed and grind her vulva frantically against the edge of her hand, moaning and shuddering as she came. "Imagine me doing that every day, but not because I wanted the pleasure. Only for the relief of it, and out of envy. Don't forget the envy.
"I was so envious of them! I would lie in bed and imagine them, naked on their backs like me, their legs spread apart like mine were, but instead of only their own hands between their legs, like mine, there would be a male body over each of them, a hard penis sliding in and out of their wet vaginas. I would imagine it and I would cry as I hit orgasm. The tears wouldn't be of pleasure, either, even though the orgasms were intense.
"Some days I decided I would never, ever, be able to lose my virginity, that I was doomed to a life of envying every normal woman. Those days were really bad. Some other days I would wake up determined that if I met a nice man that day I would, at all costs, fuck him. But that never happened either.
"I should mention that my parents' house was rather large, with an upper storey that they let out. Around this time new tenants arrived, a young couple in their mid-twenties, recently married. They seemed pretty much besotted with each other. I didn't think much of the woman, she seemed to me utterly ordinary, but that was my envy talking. The man was gorgeous.
"He was young and of medium height, not slim but not too muscular, and he moved like a big cat. Do you know that motion? He didn't walk, he seemed to glide. I couldn't keep my eyes off him.
"Sometimes when I was returning from college and another day of listening to descriptions of sexual conquests, thinking of how I had never even been kissed, I would meet him on the stairs. He would nod and smile at me and I – I would merely gape. Afterwards I'd curse myself for how stupid he must have thought me. I must have seemed to be a half-wit.
"Nights when I masturbated I would no longer dream of faceless unknown men. When I closed my eyes and ran the edge of my hand up and down my cleft, the face hanging above me, the naked body lying on mine, would be his. I was so bitterly jealous of his wife I didn't even look at her or ever answer if she said hello to me. So one of them thought me daft, and the other thought me rude.
"Around this time my father was sent abroad by his company for three months. The week after he left, my sister got a letter saying she'd been accepted to the medical college she had applied to, down in the south. She had to join classes in a fortnight's time. My mother decided to go with her to get her settled in. She would be away for a week. For a week I would be alone.
"I didn't mind being alone. I was, actually speaking, alone most of the time anyway, because no one at all understood what I wanted or thought or dreamed. I just wished them well for the journey and thought I'd carry on as usual.
"But that night there was an almighty commotion from upstairs, all the sounds of a violent quarrel, raised voices and things thrown around and all. I thought of going up to see what – if anything – I might be able to do about it. But I was scared, to tell you the truth. I was so diffident in those days about everything, even when I was in the right.
