The answer to the question you welterweight normies have always wanted to ask about the coital lives of us chubsters. We’re comfy AF, and we come with snacks.
There’s a party going on. It’s a random bunch of strangers, and you don’t really know anyone, but everyone has one common friend who ties the whole room together. The party goes on, until it hits a wall; a wall made of stale conversation perpetuated in an attempt to resuscitate the recently deceased party.
It is usually at this point – when the night is too far gone and alcohol is an easy excuse fall back upon – that it happens. Someone I’ve been roasting the entire night, or someone whose jokes were staler than the open beers on the windowsill, makes an attempt at comic salvation and invariably, the first salvo fired is, “Hey bro, listen man, tell us, how do fat people fuck?”
Now, whether your brain is actually addled by alcohol or you’re as sober as Ramdev during Lent, the fact remains that there is a crazy amount of interest in the coital lives of chubby people. “How do fat people fuck” is right up there with questions like “Who let the dogs out” and “Who the fuck is Alice”.
When I was a 23-year-old, 130-kilo tub of angst, this question would catch me like a sucker-punch to the gut. Back then, I’d had one sexual encounter and it had bordered on the tragic. From what I can remember, we were on sheets that smelled of Odonil repeating a chorus of “Ow’s” and “I don’t think this works” with a crescendo of “You know what, let me get on top”. “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin didn’t come on and there wasn’t any colour-coordinated lingerie. Just pastel-coloured Rupa and her zebra-striped friend Richa.
So when the sex questions came, I didn’t have any good answers to offer. All I had was fake laughter and a couple of lame add-to-my-humiliation jokes that went, “You know what they call it when two fat people try to have sex, right? Missionary Impossible! Ha. Ha. Ha.”
I’ll have you know, dear thin person reading this out of voyeuristic curiosity, what we lack in stamina, we more than make up for in enthusiasm and sheer force of will.
The room would explode and we’d move to ribbing the guy who’d passed out in the corner with his hand inside his pants and I’d be the only one with the shuddering idea of how close to reality that joke really. When you weigh upwards of 100 kilos and have a 50-inch gut, missionary is actually impossible… unless your partner likes to role-play being stuck in a building collapse with you playing the debris.
But missionary aside, I think fat people have got a needlessly bad rep in the sex department. There is the myth of stamina perpetuated by thin people so they can take our share of the sex, because we sometimes take their share of the food.
I’ll have you know, dear thin person reading this out of voyeuristic curiosity, what we lack in stamina, we more than make up for in enthusiasm and sheer force of will. Sure there have been times when my heaving heart has wanted nothing more than to tap out midway through a roll in the hay. But then I always remember, this is sex, it’s about as frequent for me as a litre of ice-cold lemonade for a Somali kid – quitting midway means staying thirsty for a long, long time. So I keep at it. I never give up.
That isn’t the only good thing about the coital lives of us chubsters. We’re also comfy as fuck. Cuddling with one of us is like all the Teletubbies giving you a group hug.
Another thing about fat people is we always come with snacks, if you know what I mean. I personally always pack a couple of bags of chips or chocolate along with clean underwear and a bar of soap whenever I’m headed out for a lascivious liaison, because I know that music is not the food of love. Food is the food of love. And when fat people fuck other fat people, it’s like being in a bouncy castle without the castle, fun all around.
So should fate dictate your lover overweight, here are a few things you welterweight normies can do to mitigate the situation. Firstly, do us a favour and leave the lights on. We’ve fucked in the dark for far too long. Don’t hate, illuminate and the sex’ll be great. Second, we may exude confidence outside the bedroom, but inside we’re more nervous than an ’80s Bollywood bride sitting on a bed of rose petals. It takes some patience to get the turtle out of its shell. And yes, some of us move slower than your average sprightly fuckboy for we’d rather have fun in the sack than a heart attack. Remember, we’re built for comfort not for speed.
So here’s the bottomline on this subject: Fat people may not be sex Gods with the stamina of marathoners, but since we don’t do this very often, we make sure it’s special. We’re like Avis: We know we’ll always be number two to the gym-bro-douchebag but that’s why we try harder.
So now when a smartmouth at a dead party swigs his expensive beer and asks me how fat people fuck, I now say, “Very fucking well. Do you want to give your girlfriend my number?”
I’m serious. Do you?
By Damian D’souza
Damian loves playing videogames. If all the bounties he collected slaying zombies were tangible, he wouldn’t need to write such bios. Seriously though, Damian used to be a cook who wrote, now he’s just a writer who cooks.