Making It Real

Out of breath and sweaty. Not the way I had imagined meeting Alex.

The suitcase handle left a shiny red impression in the palm of my hand; it was almost three o'clock in the morning, and no bell man had jumped up to help me make my way to the 19th floor. I smoothed my hair, caught my breath and carefully straightened the hem of my blouse. Quietly, I tapped on the door.

Alex and I had met quite by chance over the internet. I was on America Online one night, engaged in conversation with a number of "BBW's" and "FA's". Big Beautiful Women and their rather roughly named Fat Admirers, gather together every moment of the day in hundreds of chat rooms both on AOL and throughout the internet...looking for love, relationship, or simply acceptance. That was where I met him.

It started with E-mail once or twice a week. Simple notes telling of our lives, making small jokes, and innocently flirting. I learned about his family, his job, his living arrangement. In return, I shared bits and pieces of my humble life. One day, he gave me his phone number. In return, I gave him mine. Our telephone relationship bloomed and blossomed over the ensuing months. The sound of his voice made me smile.

In time, we began to talk about meeting. I was not ready. So many things still to work out in my mind. I did not accept my body, and was ashamed...no...afraid. So many had been less than accepting. I could not risk it. The time came for me to grow up. To believe in myself. To come to grips with the vessel which houses me. I wanted to be a woman. I went through therapy, found any number of ways to learn to love my body. I needed to see myself the way a man would want to see me. To release the chains that have tied me down for so many years. To look at my body through the eyes of a man who loves and desires the large woman. To hear and see his response. I felt myself blooming like a single perfect rose, eager to meet the new day.

Alex continued to write and to call, all hours of the day, from any place that reminded him of me. Because he knew I loved them, he called during a thunderstorm and I wished I were there with him in the hot rain. When he traveled, he sent me post cards from places I had never seen. Through our letters and our talks, he began to sense the change in me. He heard it in my voice and saw it in my pictures. I knew it was happening, and I knew I was ready. More than a year from our first chat, we were to meet.

We began to plan our meeting. His schedule. My schedule. Did we dare make reservations? My dream was to be in the mountains, in the cool of the autumn. He would give me my dream. Over the internet, we found a mountain resort with a large, deep spa in the room. Who would have imagined it? I had waited nearly two decades to sleep with a man, had saved myself for the man who would touch my heart. I felt this was the man, but was I right? I had no idea what was going to happen in just a few short weeks. I wonder what I would have changed had I known.

The waiting was the hardest part. The days slowed to a standstill. We talked by phone three or four times a week. I shopped for new clothes, made all kinds of preparations for what I intuitively knew would be the greatest adventure of my life. Lists. Candles. Warm clothes? Cool clothes? A little of each. Where would we go? What would we do? Any surprises for him? Relax. Don't stress. Be yourself. Who am I? How can I do that? Reading books on men, women, relationship, sex. What is too much? Will I seem cheap if I do this? What if he doesn't like me? What if I don't like him? Can I really trust anyone this completely?

The weekend. Sunday. Day after tomorrow, early morning we will leave from our respective cities, meeting in the middle, in the mountains. Seeing each other for the first time after more than a year of knowing only one another's hearts. Monday. I will leave tomorrow. The car is ready, the suitcase almost packed. Only a small amount of work left to do. I am so afraid. So excited. So very ready to do this.

I accidentally erased his phone message. He was at work, I guessed, and there was no way to call him back. I slowed my thinking and my actions down to make the time pass more quickly. 5:22 PM Monday. The phone rang. It wasAlex. Oh no, my heart was in my throat. Something was wrong. He wascanceling. Then, in that sweet masculine voice, he said: "I am on my way. I left early. Is there any way you can leave tonight?" He wanted more time with me, he said. Call me in an hour, I answered. I will see what I can do.

It was happening. Super fast motion. Making the picnic I had planned to bring. The laundry. Making the calls. Shower. Hair. Makeup. The hundred things I had spread out over my schedule in order to make the time pass were being done in an hour. I was, indeed, Superwoman.

Slightly more than an hour later, he called. I would be on the road between 8:00 and 9:00. He was already there. Waiting for me. Any moment, I was sure, my heart would explode in my chest. The drive was magical. Late at night, through the mountains, up and up I drove. The stars were perfectly clear. It felt as though I were flying through space, on my way to the moon.

It was 2:30 in the morning when I walked to the phone in the lobby. The operator called his room, and in a voice ripe with sleep he answered: "Finally."

"Hey, baby," I joked to break the tension. "Did you order a hooker?"

"Room 1971. Are you nervous?" I laughed and hung up the phone.

Pushing the UP arrow beside the elevator, I rose still closer to the moon.

I heard him clear his throat an instant before the door opened. There he was. So much like his picture, yet so different. Breathing, moving, smiling. Both of us nervous. He helped me in with my bags, half joking about how heavy they were. Before I could draw two deep breaths, I was in his arms. Pulled tightly to him as though we occupied the same space. His arms were strong and manly; he took my breath away. Briefly, he pulled back. His eyes were tired, but soft and filled with desire. He threaded his fingers through my hair and pulled our lips together in a hard, passionate kiss. It was so intense that it frightened me. How could he want me so much? Someone he had never seen. But someone he knew intimately. I started to tremble.What was happening? Would I be safe? Did I truly trust him? I wanted to run away. Instead, I went into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I whispered to my reflection. You know him.You trust him. He wants you. You want him. You have dreamed about this moment for months. It is happening. Relax and enjoy it.

I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and patted my face with a cool cloth. Slipping on a short white nightgown, and holding in my stomach for all I was worth, I stepped into the room. That night is not clear in my memory. I was so very nervous, unsure, awkward. His passion was intense. We made love twice that night. Slowly, deeply, with great energy. His hands were strong, his mouth soft and hungry. He pulled me to him in a fashion that left no doubt. We were joined in a lovemaking that, over the next few days, would explore passions and experiences beyond my greatest fantasies. I lay awake most of the night, listening to him breathe. Slowly and rhythmically, like the waves of the sea, he slept. Tomorrow was still a mystery, and I longed for it. Just before dawn, my eyes feathered closed.

As the gold of morning crept into the room, he reached for me, touched me with his lips, and we joined yet again. All morning, wrapped in each other's arms, we spoke of our lives, our hopes, our dreams, our families, our work. Familiar things. We shared photos and stories and I memorized his face. The journey we had started a year ago was continuing.

The first day we visited charming restaurants and took in the beauty of nature. I was proud of him. So happy to be with him. He put me at ease with his stories and his humor, with his easygoing outlook and his passion for life.

That evening, we returned to the resort, and I took a few moments to explore our suite. Immediately upon entering, we were in the living room. A sofa, love seat, solid wood tables, and a television set. Behind the TV was a folding screen which surrounded the spa. Two people our size could fit comfortably in its depths. I had no idea what pleasure I would find there over the next few days.

The kitchen area was to the left, and directly across was the solid oak table, two suede cloth chairs and a banquette. In the extremely large bedroom, there was an entertainment center with a second color TV and VCR. The natural stone wall contained a real woodburning fireplace. The bed had piles of pillows and down comforters. When reclining in bed, the view from the headboard overlooked the pine trees near the ski run. It was perfect.

Alex had arranged for a special gift to be brought to the room: a metal pan such as gold panners might use, containing a bottle of champagne, two etched champagne flutes, a box of chocolates, and a sprinkling of gold foil chocolate coins. Alex opened the wine and poured us each a glass. Looking at him, this beautiful setting, the sense of excitement was electric. This, I was certain, was what it felt like to strike gold! Alex pulled me close to him. As suave and fluid as any Hollywood leading man, he pointed the remote control at the stereo, and beautiful music filled the room. If I had not seen it happen, I would never have believed a man could actually be that romantic. With the backdrop of soft jazz, we made love twice that afternoon. He filled me with awe as he touched me and loved me. I found myself responding to him with a depth and an intensity I had not known before. I felt like I was another woman, but I was more myself than I had ever been.

As the shadows began to lengthen outside the window, we lit candles and sat naked on the king sized bed to enjoy the Italian picnic I had brought with me.We fed each other and talked softly, sipping champagne and kissing. I felt completely comfortable, and in awe that things like this moment could actually happen.

After dinner, we dressed and made our way downstairs for an adult beverage at the lovely bar. Alex talked baseball with the bartender and the other patrons, and I respected and admired him more with each laugh, each story, each easygoing discussion. An hour or so later, we went back to the room and filled the spa. We languished in the hot water, massaging ourselves in front of the jets. I had placed candles around the edge of the spa, and turned off the room lights. Alex once again chose the perfect music, and we spent three glorious hours pleasuring each other in the warmth of the water...touching, kissing, exploring...it was simply heaven.

Late in the night, we dried ourselves and each other. Alex led me to the bed, and we made love again and again, until we fell asleep exhausted.

Alex went down to breakfast the next morning, while I showered and prepared for our last full day together. When he returned, we left for a day of sight-seeing around the lake. I took lots of pictures, and Alex teased me about being a tourist! That afternoon, back in our suite, we snacked on the remains of the picnic, trying to watch some television. I was thoroughly enjoying the movie, but by this point it was becoming impossible for us to keep our hands off each other. We made love again that afternoon, slowly and intensely, while Keanu Reeves fell in love on television. It was our last night together, and we went out for my birthday dinner! I had almost forgotten that I was turning 45 that day! That was just too much else to think about.

We got home very late, and again we filled the spa and felt the warmth and relaxation of the jets on our tired, happy bodies. I wish I had the magic in my fingers to write a set of perfect words to describe how Alex made me feel. As we lay together in the scented water, holding each other, kissing, touching, sharing ourselves, it seemed as though every event in my life had led me to this moment. All that I had experienced, every lesson I had learned, each step along the path had brought me to this place, to be held by this man, to be taken to heights of pleasure I never dreamed possible. He touched me in a way no man had ever touched me before. He showed me ways to love, made me feel more like a woman than I knew I could.

Leaving him the next morning was difficult. As he said, we had to become adults again. We packed our bags, enjoyed a light breakfast at the hotel, and shopped briefly in the gift shop. When we gave the claim checks to the valets and they went to find our cars, I knew it was really over. I turned to him, trying to be casual and nonchalant. "I can't kiss you like I want to." He leaned down and pressed his lips briefly to mine, and I knew he wanted more. He followed me down the street, and when we reached the highway he turned right and I turned left. He waved, I smiled. I was surprised I did not cry. It had been a beautiful three days. He was everything I had hoped for---and more. He was, above all, a man. But a man with strength and character, a man who knew how to make me happy, how to listen, how to make love. He was powerful yet tender. He made me laugh, teased me without being cruel. His masculine qualities made me proud of him, and so glad to be a woman.

At that moment I did not know what would happen next: when would I see him again? Would we continue to explore and investigate one another? Would that casual wave at the intersection be the last time I ever saw him? I didn't know, and I wondered if it mattered. If we never were to meet again, I believed these memories would hold me. Our three days were so perfect, so filled with pleasure and passion. Yet there is never another "first time". Now that I know him and can see who he is, I know that any time spent with him is special. He makes me feel treasured and cherished.

He makes me happy.

Kris Watson