A while back, I recorded an introduction for a chat line in Philadelphia. I described myself and listed my favorite activities — reading, programming, watching Star Trek, and the like. I said I wanted to meet tall thin women, and it didn’t take long for the hate messages to come. You’d think I’d threatened the pope! They called me shallow, superficial, and lame, and these are the nicest words. Even some thin women complained.
But what they didn’t get is that I can’t help what I like, and I like thin. Real thin. I learned this the hard way over two decades of dating the heavy. So I never want to try that again. I’m no bigot, but do wish to avoid any more disappointing experiences like those I’ve had already, dating “big and beautiful” ladies.
I’ve tried to see beauty where I wouldn’t find it. Often I dated the frumpy, the stocky, the plump, and the obese, only to find no excitement when they finally reached my bed. In all cases, I suspected at the instant we met that this would be the outcome. But I didn’t trust my opinion as a young adult and didn’t want anyone to say that I hadn’t given the relationship a fair chance. So against my better judgment, I waded into these murky waters. Then I struggled to get back out, because I felt guilty over hurting the women. I’d take months to work up the courage to say good-bye, feeling lousy about them and myself all the while. A couple times, I had to seek professional help to break away. What a waste of time, and money!
Though I found the Rubenesque unattractive, I had compassion for them nonetheless. Seeing them cry as I jilted them really tugged at my heart strings. But ultimately, it came down to either their happiness or mine, and though I struggled with this often, eventually therapy helped me to chose mine and make a break.
I’ve always been more attracted to the petite. Even as a boy of five or six, my eyes followed the lanky lady teachers around the classroom as my ears savored their every word. I wanted to hear what they had to say, and I got better grades as a result. I listened more to those with the ostrich legs, but slept more in buxom teachers’ classes. Or I’d peer out the windows, bored to tears. I didn’t choose to feel as I did. I just did.
There’s nothing immoral about a desire particularly when it’s the product of evolution and, not chosen. So please! Don’t punish me for my wants. They are after all, my nature.