Monkey Business

I’m not not self aware. I know that actions have consequences. I know that meeting strange men from the internet could be dangerous. I know that sleeping with someone before you’ve even had a drink together is not advisable. I know that blogging about all this stuff could impact both my career and my romantic life. Just in case you think I don’t think about these things. I do. All the time.

That said, here we go:

I was lying in bed last night, when I got a message on Growlr. The man who sent the message had a hot photo and even though I was falling asleep, I perked up.

Man: Wow lovely chubby bear [it’s not a greeting that Emily Post would approve of, but it’s positive]
Connor: Aw, thank you handsome man!
Man: Lovely man. Where are you? I’m in a hotel in Lancaster Gate. [only 2 stops away on the Tube]
Connor: I’m in bed falling asleep now. 😴 No fun tonight I’m afraid. [I’m so restrained! Saying no to men like it’s nothing.]
Man: Aw
Connor: Next time! [He’s cute. He deserves a crack at me.]
Man: When u here til?
Connor: I’m moving to London for good. Or at least that’s the plan. I’m staying in a hostel until I save up the money to find a flat.
Man: Wow great would love to meet u. I have a fetish for suit and tie do u own [Oh. Ok. We’re going there. But there are worse fetishes. And New London Connor is a Connor who says yes.]
Connor: Would be nice to meet. Sorry. I outgrew my last suit. I don’t think I even have a tie with me in London [Look at me being so straightforward and honest.]
Man: Ok x What waist are u?
Connor: About 58. Do you have a supply of suits? [Is he a tailor? A gentleman’s draper?]
Man: Beautiful. I’d love to get you big trousers. [Is he serious? He wants to buy me trousers?]
Connor: sounds good [New London Connor says yes.]
Man: Wow. With braces. And they can pull up high over your belly and ass. Do you get sweaty? Love manly scents [Jesus. We still don’t know each other’s names.]

I stayed chatting to him on Growlr and then What’s App for about an hour last night. He’s decided he’s going to buy me a suit. He wants me to get all sweaty and wear the suit. And he’ll get naked and sniff me.

There’s nowt as queer as folk.

I guess I’m getting a suit out of it.

And I have another hotel rendezvous this week. On Tuesday, a man is driving down from somewhere near Birmingham to see me. He’s booked a hotel for us. He’s mad about me. He’s been messaging me since before I left Ireland and he seems very excited about meeting me.

And I’m excited too. Though of course I’m full of doubts as well.

I’m leaning into the whole experience for now. I’m leaning into liking my fat. These men like me for my stretch marks. They like me for the apron of fat that hangs down over my crotch. They get turned on when I talk about how difficult it is to tie my shoe laces. They hug me from behind to see what it’s like to be as fat as me. They jiggle me and wobble me. They love the fat pad that my willy is half-buried in. They say things like “your thigh is as big as my waist” excitedly. I’m leaning into it. I’m enjoying my body. I’m trying to see it through their eyes. I’m allowing them to feed me and I’m enthusiastically partaking in conversations about my fat with them.

It’s bringing me joy. But it’s bringing me sadness too.

When the Argentinian man from last week came to meet me in a cafe, I was drinking a Diet Coke. I hid the bottle before he came so he would think I’d been drinking a real Coke. If you find fat sexually appealing, then Diet Coke is a threat.

I may be leaning into my weight and my fat, but does that mean I no longer want to lose weight? No. I guess it’s good I’m loving my body more than I was. And I really do appreciate my own fat and other fat bodies more than I did. But I don’t want to keep it. The voice in my head that says I’m lazy and ugly and unacceptable hasn’t gone anywhere. And I want to be able to tie my shoelaces and to shower and use the toilet with ease and I don’t want to worry about breaking chairs or beds and I don’t want to drop dead at the age of 45. Of course I want to lose weight. But I’m glad I’m leaning in. I’m glad I’m exploring this.

And seeing what I can get out of it.

I must say, it’s a change to have men bend over backwards to see me, buying suits and paying for hotels. It’s led me to be a bit cheeky. As in this conversation from earlier in the week with a Danish man.

Danish man: I’m crazy with you, you are so cute and wish to meet you. Do you ever come to Copenhagen? Hugs F_______ E_______ [I didn’t answer. And I got another message.]
Danish man: and I love to see you do it, but most of all I want to meet you irl
Danish man: are you on Skype?
Connor: I’m stuck in London. Living in a hostel, sharing a bedroom so I can’t Skype. Sorry. If you want to buy me a ticket to Copenhagen some weekend, I’d be happy to come over.

He didn’t answer. I know I was pushing it, but I do wonder where all this will go. Will a man eventually fly me somewhere to have his wicked way with me?

I’m having something of a financial crisis at the moment. I have to admit, I’ve vaguely considered charging for access to my body. I mean, some of these guys seem to really really want me. The hotel man from next Tuesday has implied that he’s quite well off. I’m sure I could coax money out of him in return for favours.

I’m not really considering it. Not really. But just imagine, kids. If 28-stone Connor can make it as a prostitute, then you have no excuses. You really can be whatever you dream of being.

I’ve also idly thought of starting a plus-size men’s stripping troupe, called The Wobbly Bits. Hen parties would love us!

What has London done to me?

Part of it is the fact that I’ve totally run out of money. My school pays on the 25th of the month after you work, so I won’t get my first pay until the end of December. I have minus €292 in my bank account. I’ve asked for an advance at work and no one has ever done this before so they don’t know what to do and it’s taking them ages to answer.

Today I had to walk home from work because I didn’t have enough money to pay for the Tube. It was a long walk, enlivened by the fact that Oxford Street has its Christmas lights up, so I did feel a bit of magic along the way, even if I had to walk in my work shoes, which were killing me. Google Maps says the walk should take an hour and twenty minutes but it took me two hours. By the time I got to the hostel, I was late for dinner so I’ve had to go to bed hungry. And the hostel doesn’t do dinner at the weekends. There may be trouble ahead!
Coming soon: Project Connor – Life on the Streets

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