Men Love Curves: BBW Romance

by Ruby Madden

  Somehow, he’d managed to keep himself pulled together since the flight from San Francisco and back home to Portland. His Father’s death had been so sudden, so fast, so devastating. Frozen, he hadn’t shed a single tear since the last few days he spent with his Father in the cancer ward, not even at the memorial, too numb to let himself acknowledge that his Father was truly gone.

  But tonight, it caught up with him. His grief.

  There was only one thing he wanted to do and that was to get rip-roaring drunk at his favorite gentleman’s club, the G. Club. Being around those whom you’ve well paid over the years allowed for a sense of familiarity to keep him company in his loneliness. An ache that was turning into an agony these days…

  Despite Hannah’s presence in his life.

  The bartender obliged, taking a keen interest in one of his preferred regulars. “You doing ok, sir?” He asked, noticing Clay’s sad face.

  Clay sighed. “No. My Father passed recently. It came sooner than I had anticipated…”

  The bartender reached across the bar-top to squeeze his shoulder and looked at him with the pitying compassion of a kind, wise soul. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. These are on the house tonight. My condolences.”

  Clay nodded, the gesture of kindness caused him to choke up and look away in shame. The noble bartender knew well enough when to give a man some privacy and walked away to see to other members of the club.

  Clay decided to move from the bar to one of the old, mahogany wood booths that allowed for some privacy. If he was going to literally cry his woes, he’d do so in private. Realizing that he hadn’t eaten practically all day, he pulled open a dinner menu. Promptly, a server arrived to take his order. The tall, young man had a keen look about him. Clay noted his name – Greg.

  “Sir, may I take your order?” Greg asked politely, noticing the distraught state of his customer.

  “Yes. I have no idea what I want to eat tonight, but I’m starving. What do you recommend?” Clay asked.

  “Any dietary considerations, sir?” The server asked.

  “None, but I prefer red meats to fish.”

  “Excellent, than might I suggest this sir?” Greg pointed to a steak and truffle sauce dinner on the menu. He launched into a delicious sounding description of the full meal.

  “It’s finished with an excellent dessert, sir. Pecan pie, made by yours truly.” The server paused, waiting to see if his patron was interested in his suggestion.

  “Is that right? Where did you learn to make pecan pie?” Clay asked, curious.

  “Initially, from my grandmother, sir. More recently, I improved upon it. I’m soon to finish a program at Cordon Bleu.”

  “Wonderful, I think it will be the best part of the meal. I’ll do it. Medium-rare for the steak please. Put a side scoop of vanilla with that pie. Some brandy too.”

  “Thank you sir, it will be out quickly. Is there anything else I can get you?” The attentive server asked.

  Clay nodded no.

  Unless Greg happened to know…

  { GREG }

  A few hours later, Greg and the bartender leaned against the back wall, out of sight from their distraught patron. The only remaining club member left. They were nearing closing time for the day.

  Clay had spent his entire evening drinking himself into a drunk stupor. Since he’d been quiet about it and hadn’t caused much trouble, they’d decided to leave the poor man be and agreed to keep an eye on him. When the time came, they would hail him a taxi, get him into it and provide his address to the cabby, providing payment and a good tip to ensure he arrived safely home.

  “What’s his name?” Greg asked.

  “Clay McAllister. He’s a hot-shot sales exec in the sports apparel business. He brings his clients here often, drops a lot of money. His own and his employer’s. He’s a good guy. Not a douche like many of them are.”

  Greg nodded, listening. “You would know, you’ve worked here how long?”

  “Twenty years, son. Twenty years.”

  They paused, each knowing what they needed to do next. Get this drunk man home.

  “I’d better call him a taxi.” The bartender stepped away to make the call.

  Greg went to the drunken patron and sat down across from him. “Sir, we can’t allow you to drive home in this state, but we’re arranging for a taxi to pick you up soon.”

  Clay nodded, “Thanks…”

  Greg noticed the bartender waving him back and he got up to see what was going on.

  “The taxis are behind by an hour tonight. There’s a big convention and they’re running late. Fuck!” The bartender looked concerned. “I’d take him home myself, but I ride the bus these days… Shit!”

  “It’s ok, I can drive him home. Is that ok, does it go against the club rules?” Greg asked.

  “No, no… You’ll be fine. It’ll be between us. We’re doing him a service, a favor. Go get your things, I’ll finish up your closing work. Thanks, you’re a good guy to help out a stranger.” The old bartender patted him on the back.

  “No problem, it’s the right thing to do.” Greg stated as he put on his coat and pulled his car-keys out of his pocket. He headed back to Clay’s table.

  “Sir, your ride is ready. I’m taking you home tonight.” Greg helped him up and out of the booth, wrapping Clay’s arm around his shoulders for support.

  Clay complied, grateful for the kindness of a stranger as he stumbled his way out.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Clay lived a good half-hour away from the G. Club. Although Greg didn’t want to, he decided it would make it less awkward if he engaged in small chit-chat with the drunk stranger.

  “I hear you work in the sports industry?”

  Clay nodded. “Yup, I sure do.”

  Greg noted that Clay didn’t wear a wedding band. “You must get a lot of chicks doing that job, I bet.”

  “I do, but most of them aren’t what I want.” Clay managed to grunt out.

  Greg peered at Clay, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “I like bigger, curvy women. Most of the women I work around are all bone-thin and exercise and diet-obsessed. It gets old. None of them like to eat. Know what I mean?” Clay slipped over his drunken words as he explained.

  “Me too, actually. Thanks for saying so, kinda feels good to just get that out there in the open for a change.” Greg laughed.

  “Their hips, those tits, the way they feel, the way they bounce, how soft their skin is… Heaven. Pure fucking heaven. So damned sexy… every-last-inch-of-them. Goddesses.”

  “Their sexual appetite…” Greg’s voice faded, thinking of Grace.

  “Yes, god-damn-it! Fucking yes! They are so much more fun in bed. Not to mention, they’re so oral. No one can blow you like a big girl.”

  “God bless that!” Greg was laughing along. Surprised at this connection and preference for plus-sized women that he shared with Clay.

  Their male banter continued as they shared stories about the women they’d bedded over the years. What they enjoyed, what turned them on and why it did.

  “What happens though when you meet one you want to keep?” Clay asked Greg.

  “Put a ring on it, man. Marry her!”

  “Right?” Clay stated sarcastically. “I didn’t just get stupid drunk tonight because of my Father who passed… No. I’m fucked up over the most intriguing plus-size woman I’ve ever met. Serendipity brought us together one day and then again another day and took her away…”

  It got quiet for a moment.

  “What do you mean?” Greg asked, not sure if he should open this can of worms.

  Clay moaned a bit. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to bore you with my crap. I’m so bloody drunk…”

  Greg was genuinely curious. “It’s cool. Look I don’t want to rattle your cage cuz I can tell that you’re in a world of hurt but maybe it’ll do ya some good to talk about it? The whole ‘tell a stran
ger’ thing?”

  Clay considered it. “Fine. Here goes nothing. What do you do when the most alluring woman you’ve ever met has you so spell-bound, you forget to get her cell number? And what kind of moron runs into her a second time and is too stupid to get her number again in some sort of chivalrous gesture, leaving it to her to call him? I’ll tell you what kind of moron! Me, I’m that ass!”

  Clay shared how he’d spent the day with Grace and how it had ended. Then how he’d run into her again and how he’d decided to leave it up to her.

  “The thing of it was, we clicked. Like I’ve never clicked with another person in my life. I was stunned, completely stunned at how it ended.” He shook his head, defeated. “I can read women and I just knew she was going to call me. But she didn’t. She never called…”

  “Hmmmmm… Sounds as if there is more to her than you may know. Maybe she’s been hurt before? Ya just never know these days. Lots of women have been treated badly by some asshole.” Greg commiserated with him.

  “True d’at. I know…”

  “What’s she like?” Greg asked.

  “She’s sweet. Likes books and movies and she was totally cool. Not a princess type, but let me tell ya, she looked like a princess. A true beauty. Inside and out.” Clay shared.

  “What does she look like, don’t hold out on me. You’re with a fellow big girl appreciator.”

  Clay paused, hiccupped and continued on in his drunken ranting. “Like spun-gold heaven. Serious. A real-life Rapunzel. Curvy girl. Lots of blonde, long curls and the sweetest personality. It’s her sweetness I like best. Honest. That and her ass and hips…”

  Greg’s eyes widened, his attention riveted on the description of this woman. “Do you know her name?”

  Clay let out a long sigh. “Grace…” He stated ever so quietly. Reverently even.

  Greg sucked in an astonished breath, grateful that Clay was too drunk to notice. “Grace, did you say?”

  “Yup. Grace. Perfect name for her too.”

  Greg was too stunned to say another word. The good thing was that they were less than a block away from Clay’s place. They drove the rest of the way there in silence. Greg helped Clay out of the car and into his place.

  “Thanks man, I appreciate it. G’night.” Clay said while stuffing a fifty dollar bill into Greg’s front shirt pocket before he could decline the overly generous tip. He man-patted Greg’s chest and then handed Greg his business card.

  “If you ever need anything bro, call me. I owe you one…” Clay slurred.

  “Sure man, no worries. You be good to you. Take care.” Greg said, pitying the poor guy.

  Clay closed the door and Greg walked slowly back to his car, stunned at what had just happened. Peering down at Clay’s business card, he was tempted to rip it up right then and there. But something urged him to put it in his pant-pocket where perhaps it would get lost or he could forget about it.

  For now.

  { GREG }

  Greg stared at his laptop. The email he’d pulled together was finished. All he needed to do was send it.

  And then everything would change.

  He took a swig of the whiskey he’d been drinking. The liquid courage was helping. Never had the send button on an email message looked so ominous.

  He thought back to when he was watching Grace in her bathtub, unaware of Greg’s presence. She hadn’t known that Greg was right outside her apartment building when he’d gotten her text cancelling on him. Concerned, he’d decided to check in on her, just in case.

  When she hadn’t answered her door, he’d gotten even more concerned and decided to let himself in with the key she’d given him. For emergencies, she’d said.

  In Greg’s mind, this was an emergency. In retrospect, he was wishing he hadn’t decided to go inside her apartment.

  He’d heard Grace crying before he saw her. When he finally did dare to peek into her bathroom, she was in the tub, listening to her iPod, the candles lit. Her head rested on a plush washcloth and she was crying softly.

  Frozen in place, he’d wanted to reach out to her. Comfort her somehow. He’d decided against it for two reasons. He’d scare the living hell out of her for sure and she’d told him she wasn’t up for hanging out.

  It was bad enough that he’d justified invading her privacy – even if it was for a good reason. Greg willed himself to leave and quietly exited her apartment.

  Greg knew this was the right thing to do. The honorable thing to do. Connecting the dots on behalf of fate, or destiny – whatever people called serendipitous occurrences like this that couldn’t be denied. Not to mention, the irony was not lost on him.

  Why him? Why did he have to forfeit Grace?

  He knew why. Having lived with the fullness of this realization recently had been hard to bear, like a weight bearing down and pressuring him. As if it were a fly buzzing around his head, non-stop that he couldn’t just shoo or will away, or smash.

  This realization had a life of its own and Greg had wrestled it. There was only one way it would expire and no longer haunt him. He had to connect them, Grace and Clay. Give Grace an out so she could have the chance to connect, meaningfully with Clay.

  Greg reread his email one more time.

  Clay,

  This is Greg, the guy who drove you home from the G. Club the other night. I don’t really know where to start or how to share this, so I’ll just come right out and say it. I’ve written and rewritten this email a few times now.

  As it turns out, I do know Grace. The woman you talked about? You may not remember as you’d had a lot to drink…

  Not only do I know Grace, she happens to be my lover. The thing of it is, whatever there is between you two, what you spoke about – I believe it’s mutual. This is very hard for me to do, but I think she has feelings for you. Things are making more sense now…

  So, I’m ending it. Breaking it off with her.

  Handle her with some TLC and extra care, she was taken advantage of in the worst possible way by some asshole named Philip, when she was seventeen. Out of respect, I’ll leave it to her to share. But I wanted you to have a head’s up.

  Regards,

  Greg

  p.s. her cell # is 503-434-####

  Greg hit send and took another swig of his whiskey. He texted a buddy to go bar-hopping. Greg needed distraction. Badly. Greg needed to get drunk.

  { CLAY }

  It was Saturday. In an effort to get caught up on work, after being on leave to care for his Father and the time he’d taken off to bereave his passing, Clay sat in his home office reading through his very full email box.

  Thoughts of his Father’s recent passing trickled through his mind, making it hard to focus at times. He’d push them aside and focus on another email needing to be read.

  Then thoughts of Grace would come to mind. He’d push those aside as well.

  It felt like a merry-go-round in his head. He kept finding himself back in the same spot, mentally.

  Hannah had spent the night and was in the kitchen making lunch for them. She came into his office and set down a tray on a small side table where they could eat.

  “Time for lunch. You need a break.” She said.

  Picking up a fork to eat the salad she’d made for herself, she set about to perusing through a fashion magazine that she’d brought with her. Taking a sip of her Diet Coke and then another bite of her salad. It was as if Clay wasn’t there, so minimal was her seeming interest in him.

  Clay sighed.

  “Tired? Working too hard?” Hannah quipped, not looking up.

  Clay had to stifle a groan. Hardly… It was just that she was doing exactly what Grace wouldn’t do. Eat a salad while reading a fashion magazine. Clay let out a small laugh.

  Hannah, confused, looked up. “What?” She asked.

  “Nothing, just something funny in this email I’m reading.” Clay feigned while standing up. “Thank you for making lunch. I need to
use the restroom, I’ll be right back.”

  “No problem. Can I use your laptop to check my email real quick?” Hannah asked.

  Clay strode from his office, wondering if she’d ever be the kind of woman he truly craved. One with a healthy appetite and genuine interest in him.

  “Be my guest, just minimize the email screen please.” Clay called out right before he closed the bathroom door.

  Hannah briefly gazed at Clay’s email inbox noting that a new message had just popped up titled ‘Grace’. Curious, she read it and gasped quietly. Before she knew what she was doing she forwarded the email to herself, deleted it and then deleted the forward. She emptied Clay’s email trash back and felt her heart thumping wildly.

  A few minutes later, Clay returned and set down at the table to eat the sandwich she’d made him. He didn’t notice that her demeanor had changed. Instead, he finally realized how hungry he was as his appetite had left him for much of the last couple of weeks. He ate hungrily and quickly.

  “Do you like?” Hannah asked softly.

  “Yes, it’s yummy. Thanks again.” Clay said.

  “Good. I can make them anytime you like. I like doing small things for you Clay.” She said.

  “You do?” Clay said, some of the doubt in his voice leaking through.

  Hannah scowled a bit but Clay missed it, too absorbed in eating his meal.

  “Yes, I do.” Hannah answered, observing him closer. “Do you like doing things for me?”

  Clay knew a trap when he heard one. “Of course.”

  “Then let’s get out and do something. I think you’ve put in a solid four hours worth of work, time for a break. Sound good?”

  Clay finished his sandwich and took a drink of water to wash it down. “I’d love to babe, but I’m seriously behind at work. I’m sorry, I just can’t today.”

  Hannah didn’t look as disappointed as he’d thought she might be with his polite decline.