Being in the “fat closet,” so to speak, is mostly due to peer pressure. I can say that while I admired a good number of the larger girls around me during my formative years and were friends with all of them, I didn’t actually date them or openly express to either them or my friends that I thought that they were “hot.” I’d date a girl who was maybe a little plumper than average on occasion, but still well within the “socially accepted” norm of the teen. And there is a big difference between dating a girl that’s maybe ten pounds overweight than a girl that’s 100 pounds overweight. Why you ask? Well, rationalizing the situation now from memory, the only reason I can come up with is peer pressure. Simply put, my large social circle of friends at school were very vocal about who they found attractive and who they did not. Explaining anything to your fellow teens is not always a straightforward matter at the best of times, especially when maturity isn’t all that high in the first place and certainly not easy when it comes to matters of sexual preference. We’ve all been there, either as part of the herd or on the outside of it and without doubt, teens can be jackals. So I dated within the accepted norm, fitted in with all my friends and saved myself from the jackals’ teeth. All the while, I would be peeking out of the closet so to speak and lusting after the girl with the big thighs while dating the girl who undeniably had a lot of great qualities but didn’t light any of my sexual fires, physically-speaking.
Strange times indeed, which will continue for as long as you’re prepared to stay in the closet or grow a pair of balls and step out of it.
I started to introduce the idea to the same group of guys when I was about 18. It was a slightly stressful experience because I was very aware of their own established preferences, which they had always been vocal about and that they had appeared to have been happily dating within those preferences for as long as I can remember. Also, that I’d been playing along with those ideals and basically been lying to myself, to them and to whomever I was dating at the time. At some point, thankfully, your rational brain overwhelms your consciousness with thoughts of opening the closet door and taking the necessary steps to your own real-world happiness and that you shouldn’t care so much about other peoples’ opinions. Like the proverbial band-aid, your brain informs that it’s high time you pull it off quickly and that maybe you should have done it a long time ago.
Skipping past the many early amateurish attempts, like when you’re out partying with your mates and deciding that booze will be the acceptable excuse to ward off their banter should they catch you straying from their norm with the big girl at the bar, the first real test to opening the closet door actually involved a porno tape.
We were vegging out at my apartment after the bar, still drinking and one of the guys says “you got any porno?” In my stupor I say “sure,” and knowing full well that the only porn I had was BBW porn, I decide “now’s your chance, put the tape on.”
So there we are, 12 or so guys, all apparently content to date within society’s socially accepted norms, sat in front of my TV waiting for the porn to come on. I’m starting to second guess my decision of course, but the video tape starts playing, rolls past some credits and then Layla Lashell’s big ass comes on the screen and she’s getting pounded by some guy – the film was “Let Me Tell Ya ‘Bout Fat Chicks.” And strangely that evening, Layla looked bigger on the TV than ever before.
About 30 seconds in, one of my friends says, “This is a bit specialty isn’t it?” and I can only reply with “Is it? It’s what I had, you wanted porn and I kinda like it anyway.”
Then a weird thing happened — no one really stop watching. A couple maybe, but the majority were happy to continue watching Layla’s fuck session and then Candy Kane’s too. So maybe the guys really didn’t care what porn I put on, or maybe they might not be so staunchly enamored with those long held ideals after all.
The tape continued till the end – I think I’d passed out by then and I certainly doubt that they were all watching it but, when I woke up the next morning and everyone had left for work, I thought about the previous evening a little. One thing was for sure: a reasonable percent didn’t leave and watched the whole tape. I didn’t get hung drawn, quartered and burned by the rest and clearly we were all a little more open to a greater variety of porn interests (and therefore interests which actually turned us on) than porno featuring toned, 100-pound girls. The closet door was now much wider, even if the booze had lubricated the situation somewhat.
Oh… and the eject button on my VCR failed to return the tape; one of my friends had apparently decided to steal it
After that, I was a lot less bothered about my friends’ opinions. Sure, one or two might be a little sarcastic regarding, for example, the size of the ass of the girl I was chatting up, but on the other hand, none of them had much to say if I replied asking if they wanted to come round and watch another fat porno again or inquired as to where my Layla Lashell tape had disappeared to.
I think the moral is to be honest and to go for what truly makes you happy and to do so as quickly as possible. Being closeted is never going to light your fire and you’ll always know that who you really want is not part of your open life. Pull the band-aid off, it only stings for a second.
Incidentally, I never did get that tape back.
Dating is hard. Dating is hard for women and dating is hard for men – period. There are protocols, mind games, double standards, different personalities, kissing a lot of frogs, etc. When you’re a BBW, though, you have to deal with another variable: closeted chubby chasers.
Almost any large lady is all too familiar with this chameleon-like creature. You know the one: compliments you and makes you feel great when you’re alone together, is always up for hanging out at your place, takes you to interesting new restaurants a few towns away, hasn’t introduced you to his family or friends (but only because they are so busy, right?), makes sure he gets sex BEFORE going to the movie theater and then realizes he’s really pretty tired after all. These are all classic signs of a closeted fat admirer (FA).
Allow me to offer a little personal background. I am a happily married big, beautiful woman. My husband is a conventionally attractive, out-and-proud guy who likes fat girls. I have no current axe to grind here and am not just “some angry broad” *insert eye roll here*. My previous experience with closet cases, however, is something that I will never forget or forgive. Read boards online and you will see numerous accounts from closeted FAs who defend hiding their preference for big girls because it’s “just so hard!” At the risk of sounding insensitive, they can go fuck themselves.
If a guy thinks that the razzing they take from their friends or the disapproving looks from their family bears even the slightest similarity to what a fat person faces each day, then they’re an insensitive moron and undeserving of the affection they seek from a BBW. It’s one thing to be told that the person you are with isn’t attractive enough for you, it’s quite another to be told by society in general that YOU aren’t good enough for anybody else. Fat people – and women in particular – are told directly and indirectly each day that their body is not deserving of the space it takes up.
Now let me be clear – I’m not talking about two consenting adults who have a mutual friends-with-benefits arrangement. I’m not talking about guys who date thin women, but jerk off to fat women online – they get a pass in my book. They aren’t hurting anybody but themselves by denying their own preferences. I’m talking about the guy who enters into a relationship with a BBW based on lies and false promises. I’m talking about the guy who makes a girl feel less than worthy of their love simply because she doesn’t conform to society’s idea of attractiveness. I’m talking about the guy who teaches a girl that she’s good enough to fuck but not good enough to hold hands with in public.
If you aren’t strong enough to be her ally, then you aren’t strong enough to be her lover.