Love At Every Size

by Jordan, Jesse

  “Just... since getting out of the hospital, I haven’t had a boyfriend at all. A lot of the guys around work, I can see the way they look at me, and when I get home I look at the scar in my chest where they had to crack me open and resuscitate me, and I just, a lot of the self doubt comes back. I start thinking that I’m ugly again.”

  I nod, setting my pen and pad down, reaching over and taking her hand. “Any man who would think that you’re ugly isn’t worthy of having a girl as special as you interested in him. Remember, relationships aren’t built around your weight. Or at least, healthy relationships aren’t.”

  I don’t add what I want to add, which is that since coming to me and adding some weight, Lisa’s prettier than she was when she first walked through my door.

  Her hair’s healthier, with less broken ends, her skin isn’t flaky but supple and strong, even her nails look like real nails and not chipped nervous wrecks. It’ll take a while for all of her body’s systems to recover, even at ninety seven pounds she’s skinny as a rail and could use a serious infusion of female curves, but she’s young and strong. She’ll make a recovery with time, if she can find a healthy relationship with food and with herself.

  Lisa shrugs. “Tell that to Todd Robards.”

  “Who’s Todd?” I ask, seeing where this is going. “Actually, it doesn’t really matter Lisa. Let me guess, a guy at work you’re interested in, but he’s not giving you the time of day?”

  “Uh, kind of,” Lisa says, and I realize I’m getting worked up myself, but I feel unable to stop myself. “I mean, he’s not mean or anything, he just doesn’t seem interested in me.”

  “Then forget him, sweetie. The fact is, no man should be allowed to dictate who you are or how you feel about yourself. So if he’s not interested in you, then move on. There’s three and a half billion men on the planet, the opinion of one idiot isn’t worth getting so worked up about.”

  Lisa looks a little taken aback, and I take a deep breath, calming myself. “You okay, Doc Denise?”

  I’m not a doctor, but Lisa insists on calling me that, which in some way helps me get back under control, maybe because doctors aren’t supposed to act out of control unless their last name is House.

  “Yeah, I think so. Sorry, sometimes the counselor needs a little counseling myself. And I’ll apologize for calling Todd an idiot, there could be a dozen reasons he’s not interested right now. But let’s move on. Tell me about how your exercise has been this week.”

  After Lisa leaves, I sit back in my chair before even attempting to do the notes for her session. I’ve prided myself on being neutral and not preachy to my patients. While I tend to focus on body image and eating disorder recoveries, that isn’t all or even the majority of my current counseling load, and it was just bad luck that Lisa came in when I’ve still got Louden running around my head.

  Over the past week since I talked with him, I’ll admit I’ve been a little more interested in Mount Reston basketball than I was before. They did pretty well, scoring an upset in the second round before losing to the eventual conference champs in the semi-finals, but it still must have been a hard loss for the team.

  So why is Louden Graham still taking up real estate in my head? Part of it was the e-mail he sent me over the weekend, which asked that we meet at my office in order to, quote, ‘put the ball in my court.’ Part of it was how prompt and actually polite he was in the message. But there’s another side of me that knows that in my nightly fantasies, he’s been doing a lot more than wearing a t-shirt, in fact normally he’s wearing a lot less. And of course, part of it is that our meeting is tomorrow, and I still feel unprepared.

  “Okay,” I finally say, sitting forward and pulling my computer towards me. “Good communication is about having something in common. So, let’s find out about Louden Graham.”

  I’m pretty lucky, Louden Graham isn’t exactly a common name for people, and in adding basketball to my search, I get a lot of results quickly. First up, of course, are the sports news stories about him, along with highlight clips. Watching some of them, I have to admit that he’s an impressive athlete, and I catch myself more than once licking my lips as he slashes through the defense to score a layup or pops out for a midrange jumper.

  In fact, in reading some of the writeups on him, the main problems that stopped him from making a run in the pros were his position and his height. While six foot four isn’t bad for a guard, Louden played a sort of hybrid small forward in Mount Reston’s ‘1-2-2’ formation, and that’s shorter than what the NBA likes.

  Still, he almost made the move to one of the guard positions until he was passed over, and instead of going to one of the European or Asian leagues he decided to go into coaching. The articles don’t say why, and even some of the sports writers were perplexed, saying that Louden just needed one or two years in the European leagues to bring his outside jumper up to as good as his midrange work to score a contract.

  Curious, I do some more searching, and what I find shocks me as much as his appearance at our last meeting. Of course a lot of athletes have taken photo spreads nowadays, marketing themselves and making ‘their brand’ is almost as vital as playing skills. But when I click the link to see Louden wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, his shoes around his neck and his body rippling with muscle and what’s probably photo-sweat, I feel a tremble from my fantasies again.

  BP? Hell, Louden Graham is King of the Beautiful People. I click another link, and my mouth goes dry as Louden’s displayed in all his glory, nothing at all hidden from the camera lens except for his cock, which is carefully tucked away behind a half raised leg as he reclines on his side, a basketball behind his head and his smile blasting out onto my computer screen at megawatt brightness.

  I swallow, trying to get the image of him out of my head, but before I know it I’ve right clicked and saved the pictures to my computer’s download folder, God knows why. I check the dates, they were taken right after he finished his college days, and in fact in reading the captions for the magazine, they list him as ‘the hottest basketball player coming out of college.’

  Considering the magazine it was, they’re not talking about his playing skills either.

  I quickly close my browser, more torn than ever. Inside, the two voices are telling me that I am attracted to him, regardless of his past or his attitude. On the other hand, the other side of me is saying he’s just another BP who can never understand who I am and what I’m going through. How am I supposed to communicate and reach him, and through him reach the hundreds of athletes at Mount Reston?

  Chapter 5

  Louden- First Meeting, Part Deux

  Taking the elevator up to Denise’s office, I’ll admit that I’m a little surprised. I thought, based off of what I read about her, that she’d be working in either a hospital or in some grubby clinic that took up space in a strip mall. Instead, the office building is neat, professional, and I’m glad that I decided to wear my courtside slacks and tie combo instead of a polo shirt.

  I look down between my feet as I think of how I want to start things out with Denise. I realize that, just like when I’ve gone on recruiting trips, the most important thing to do is make a connection with her. She has to understand where I’m coming from, and where I want to go with all of this.

  The elevator door dings and opens up on the third floor, so I step out, looking for office 3B. She’s down at the end of the hallway, and outside is a discreet little plaque. Denise Taviolo, Counseling.

  If it wasn’t for the small cartoon picture of a person smiling with an obviously relieved smile on its face, you wouldn’t know exactly what type of work Denise does. I check my watch, and I’m on time. Perfect.

  Knocking lightly, I go in, seeing that in fact it’s just an outer office so far. On the other hand, there’s a dark oak door with her name on it in brass letters, so maybe she’s in there. I go over and knock again. “Hello, Denise? It’s Louden Graham.”

  “It’s open,” Denise says, and I open th
e door, impressed with how nice the office looks. I thought it might be dark, but instead she’s got a light, airy feeling to the decorations, with the walls not white but not quite bluish either. It’s peaceful though, and I look around, nodding.

  Denise is sitting behind her desk, dressed not in a suit this time but very nicely in a comfortable looking blouse that still makes her look voluptuous and, even though I know after last time I shouldn’t be thinking this way, sexy.

  “Nice place,” I comment, closing the door. “So, I dressed up. What do you think of the tie?”

  “Not as much as these,” Denise says, sliding across three photos. Before they’re even halfway across the desk I see what they are, my nude shot that I did for the ‘Body Issue’ for the women’s magazine, and then the modeling shots I did for the sporting goods store that I took after I was passed over for the NBA and wanted to have some financial security because I wanted to ask Lana to move in with me. “Want to tell me about them?”

  “Yeah, those are me,” I reply, trying to figure out what this is about. There was no way I’d tell her the truth, that I’d figured it would get me a little notoriety and security to take a D-League contract. It was soon after that that I got Lana pregnant, and that was the end of my pro ball dreams, I wasn’t going to have a baby on D-League money. “They paid me about, well, the women’s mag one I got ten thousand for, the modeling shots with the shorts on I got a little less. What’s your point?”

  “My point is, how am I supposed to think that you’re really going to help me on reaching out to the athletes on the harmful effects of fat shaming when you’re running around looking like an underwear model and trying to put out this image that is the exact opposite?” Denise asks, upset but also I think really concerned. “Louden, you’re like the antithesis of what we’re supposed to be teaching.”

  “Am I?” I ask, holding onto my temper by the slimmest of margins. At least I know what antithesis means. “Denise, you’re judging me by two photo shoots I did when I was twenty two and needed the damn money. As for fat shaming, and how I look, let’s just put it on the table. Yeah, I won the genetic lottery. And before you even ask, no I’m not obsessed with my looks. I dress for work in stuff that basketball players wear, and I wear this court side for games because Coach Two Eagles dresses that way, one upping me with a suit. As for my body, I work out hard yeah, but I don’t work out nearly as hard as a lot of the players on the teams. Our center this year is a kid that’s six nine, weighs three hundred pounds or so on a light day, three fifteen on a heavy day. He’s a beast, both in the weight room and on the court, and I know he watches what he eats. Still, he’s nowhere near the same build I’ve got, as you’ll see when you meet with the men’s basketball team. And you know what?”

  “What?” she asks, leaning forward. “You want him to drop twenty pounds?”

  “Hell no!” I shoot back. “I want him to be able to run the court for the whole game, I want him to be able to work the boards, I want him to be able to be the best damn player he can be. He’s undersized for a center as it is, but it’s not his numbers on the scale that I care about, it’s the numbers that he can put up in the game. Denise, you’re worried about some beefcake shots I took back then, and what I’m trying to get through to you, I did a piss poor job of it last time I’ll admit, is that I don’t care about weight. I never have. What I do care about is the performance of the players on my team.”

  “Then what about what you said about drinking a protein shake for lunch?” she asks, and I roll my eyes. “What? That’s like, so body conscious that it’s ridiculous.”

  “I do that because that way I can get my lunch done in fifteen minutes instead of an hour!” I reply, frustrated. “Fuck, I already spend ten hours a day or more at work, so if I can save an extra forty five minutes and get home at a halfway decent hour sometimes by drinking some nasty ass protein shake instead of going out to lunch, I’m going to do it. I tried brown bagging it with sandwiches, but the shakes are faster and I can keep everything in my office without having to pack a bag every day.”

  I shake my head, chuckling mirthlessly. “I tend to forget little details like that during the season, hell I sometimes forget milk for my shakes and have to drink them with water. As for my personal workouts, I do it because I like to work out, that’s it. It’s not to keep my body in photo shape or to impress anyone with my abs or arms or anything like that. I do it because I like it and it helps with the stress of being a coach. I could drink. I could meditate. I choose to workout. That’s it. Now, are you done making assumptions about me, or do you want to know how many sets of stupid beach muscle exercises I tend to do during my lifts? It’s about ten percent of each workout, by the way. You done? Can we get to actually making a fucking difference about the jackasses on the football team or not?”

  Denise stares at me for a moment, then nods, sighing. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I guess it’s my turn to apologize, when I found these pictures I jumped to some conclusions about you. I’m still not a hundred percent sure you’re seeing things the way they need to be seen, but we can work on that.”

  “Hold on right there,” I counter, sitting down. “Denise, if you think we can go in there and just make the athletes see things the way you want them to be seen, we’re not going to get anything done. They’ll tune you out.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do, just excuse them?” she asks hotly, her face flushing and her curves moving as she gets excited. Unfortunately, that’s exciting me between my legs, too. “Doing so just makes things as bad as they were before.”

  “Denise I’m not saying that there isn’t a problem that needs to be addressed. I’m saying that there needs to be an approach that we take that talks with the athletes from their point of view.”

  From there it begins. Progress is slow but as we continue to talk and as we continue to work on the information that she has I begin to see her point of view.

  In a lots of ways she and I see things the same way. We start with making a slideshow that has a lot of facts and pictures and other information, but as we continue I realize that this may not quite talk to the players the way she wants.

  “Hold on,” I tell her, back in control of my pants again at least even if I’m still having other thoughts about her. “All of this is interesting, but it doesn’t talk to the players at the level that I think will make the impact you’re looking for.”

  “So how do you think we should try and approach it?” Denise asks. “Because your counter-shaming idea isn’t going to help.”

  “Why not?” I ask, shrugging. “Denise, I’m not saying that it’s right, but a lot of these athletes are the type that unless you take them on strength versus strength, you’re going to be fighting a losing battle. Maybe we don’t need to run them down, but what I’m saying....”

  “What?” she interrupts me, and in her raised eyebrow I see that she’s fighting an internal battle. On one side, she wants to be a professional counselor and she’s doing things the way that a professional counselor is supposed to do things.

  On the other hand, there’s another side to her that I wonder if she doesn’t have that sort of competitive background that she understands as well.

  “I’m just saying that we might need to be prepared to do more than ask for peace, love and understanding. Because the ones who you want to reach aren’t the ones who are willing to listen without an object lesson sometimes.”

  I sit back, gesturing to the computer that we’re using to set up the slide show. “Remember, these are college students. They get lectured to every day. And while I’d like to say that they sit in the front row, listen in their classes and try to learn everything, you and I both know that isn’t true. They’re going to tune you out, do the least they can to get by, and some of them if they get pissed off enough are going to give you shit.”

  “So what do you propose?” Denise asks, and we start in again, refining and tweaking. While I’m not too sure about her insistence at not ‘coun
ter-shaming,’ which I kind of understand what she means, she still makes some adjustments, and as we creep towards nine o’clock I think we’ve got a pretty good presentation set up.

  As we work, I’m constantly aware almost always of Denise’s presence next to me. The way she looks, the way her hair gleams in the light of her office, and as we scoot closer to work on presentation, the feeling of her leg pressed against mine is warm and sexy. When I feel the soft weight of something pushing against my arm, I realize that it’s her breast, a tingle going through me and my cock hardening in my pants as I’m more and more aware of the sensual nature of the woman next to me.

  I’m unable to control it, and there’s a part of me that wants to touch her, too. Maybe she’s not the current magazine beauty, but she’s definitely a real woman, voluptuous and curvy, a woman and a half and something that I haven’t had in my life in a long time.

  “Louden?” Denise says, and I see her dark eyes gleaming in the overhead lights, and I realize she’s asked me something, but I have no idea what.

  “Sorry, gathering wool a little,” I reply, turning and seeing her soft lips so close. “I just... sorry. What was it you asked me?”

  “I said, what was your idea for handling the difficult athletes?” she says, and I swallow, leaning in closer.

  “Sometimes, you just have to be direct,” I say, and suddenly we’re kissing. Her lips are soft and inviting, like no other kiss I’ve ever had, and when my tongue presses for entrance she opens up to me, our kiss deepening until I’m raging hard and I reach up, placing my hand on her breast and caressing the heavy softness until I feel a hard bump form, and I realize it’s her nipple. I run my thumb over it and she gasps, pushing away when she realizes what’s happening.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she asks, standing up. I don’t follow, my cock is tenting my dress pants like it’s nobody’s business, and the only thing saving the little bit of my dignity that’s left is that she’s got a wooden table. “Seriously Louden, making a pass at me?”