My name's Jacqui, and I'm a 28-year old civil servant working in central London. I'd like to say I haven't previously had much success with men, but that would imply I'd had any experience with men at all. Until the story I'm about to tell you happened I'd never had a real boyfriend, and I never really believed I would get one.
The problem was that, as I described myself, I was a big, fat ugly cow. Well, if I'm honest the ugly bit isn't true, it was just how I felt. I've got twinkly blue eyes, rosy cheeks and a pretty smile. I'm also intelligent, witty and good company. But I'm six feet one tall and considerably overweight (my vitals, last time I bothered to measure them, were 42GG-36-48). I had pale, blotchy skin, eyebrows like the Brazilian rainforest, at least three chins, my tits looked like barrage balloons, I had rolls of fat on my hips and belly, and my bum and thighs (thunder thighs, I called them) rippled when I walked.
I'd tried diets, of course -- dozens of them -- but it was always the same story: they worked for a while, then the weight loss seemed to grind to a halt. That got me depressed, and I found myself sitting in bed on a lonely Sunday morning thinking "Why the fuck am I bothering, no bloke's ever going to want me". So I would go down to the local supermarket, race around buying all the fattening shit I could see and spend the rest of the day bingeing on it, which just made me even more depressed. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong in principle with being big, some people carry it off wonderfully and look great, and I hugely admire large women who are at ease with, even relish, their size. I just was most definitely not one of them.
About the man thing, I wasn't a virgin when this tale started. No, I'd had sex twice. The first time was my 18th birthday, up against a kitchen counter with a 31-year old married cousin, which lasted about 30 seconds. The second was a drunken one-night stand with an ugly middle-aged Arab guy who picked me up in a pub. The only thing I know about him is his first name, and that was probably a lie. So that was it -- two random fucks in the12 years since I passed the age of consent. My friends -- I had lots of friends, just no lovers - had always told me I didn't help myself with the way I dressed, which was true; but my view was why waste money on nice clothes just to stick them on a haystack? So I would rarely wear make-up, my long brown hair hung loose about my shoulders, and I dressed in frumpy brown and black clothes, bought in discount stores or charity shops and chosen to try and make people not notice me -- difficult when you're as big as me.
Anyway, in April last year a new guy started working in my team -- I'm a team leader, a very, very junior manager. His name was Danny, he was 23 and just out of university. Short -- five-eight maybe -- and slim with curly black hair, a gold band in one ear lobe, a long chin sporting designer stubble, and a preference for sharp suits. As with any new bloke in the office, the girls spent the first week sizing him up, and general opinion was that he was very tasty. My own view was that he was a nice guy, but probably gay.
Danny and I hit it off immediately. We found we had a common interest in vintage cinema -- Bogart, Hepburn, Cary Grant and so on -- similar tastes in music and TV, and a similar sense of humour. We started chatting regularly in our coffee breaks, and as the months went on Danny even started light-heartedly flirting with me. A couple of times he joked about taking me out, but I just ignored it: a lad like him could never seriously fancy a hulk like me, I decided, and the very idea of us as a couple was too ludicrous to even contemplate. Of course, the girls in my team, always looking for a new topic of gossip, notice my developing friendship with Danny, and occasionally wound me up about him having the hots for me, but I just laughed it off and told them to grow up. That doesn't mean I didn't occasionally think about him at weekends, and even indulge in the odd 'what if' fantasy; but that just started to get me depressed again.
As Christmas drew close, I started to contemplate another depressing break with my family: Mum asking if I'd got a boyfriend yet, Dad trying not to look aghast at the size of me, my younger brother, who I adore but is so maddening, cracking jokes about white hunters and hippos, the rows over gran's size-ist, homophobic, racist, you-name-it-ist rants...it's not a time of year I enjoy. In the office, Danny organised our annual Secret Santa draw -- you know, where members of the team pull each other's names out of a hat, then buy that person an anonymous gift. In our office the gifts tend towards the crudely humorous, candy knickers for the girls, knob polish and so on for the boys, that kind of thing.
We opened the presents just before we went off for our team dinner, at the end of the Friday before Christmas. I was amazed to find mine was a lovely gold pendant, on a delicate chain, which had clearly cost more than the agreed £7.50 spending limit. It took everyone about three seconds to guess it was Danny who'd bought it (he admitted to me later that he'd fixed the draw so he would get my name.) Between admiring my gift, the girls were nudging me in the ribs, winking at me and hissing that Danny was planning to get me drunk at the meal and give me one. By the time we left the office I was blushing scarlet, and I couldn't look at the poor boy without a fresh wave of embarrassment. I just thought what a nice man he was, and made a mental note to get him a present over the weekend.
The dinner lasted a couple of hours, and went well with everybody having a great time and bathing themselves in alcohol. Two of the girls went out of their way to make sure I was sitting facing Danny, and I did my best to ignore their continued grins and innuendos about his and my supposed fling. Afterwards we decided to carry on the festivities in a pub. I don't know if you've every tried to get into a central London pub on a Friday night near Christmas time but...well, you know those pictures you sometimes see of people being pushed with brooms onto the Tokyo subway until they can hardly breathe? This was worse. It took two of our lot five minutes just to fight their way to the bar to get our order in, there was nowhere to sit, and wherever you stood there were people jostling you as they made their way through the place. The juke box was playing, but was drowned out by the deafening roar of human voices. I like pubs, but my taste runs more to quiet inns with about three customers, where the loudest sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall. Basically, I was hating the experience. The whole point was for the team to sit and have a nice social chit-chat, but it was impossible to hear what anyone was saying unless they were screaming at you from two inches away.
I had one drink then made my apologies and left, amid much kissing and hugging -- the following Monday was Christmas Eve, and most of the team wouldn't be in the office. After the maelstrom of the pub it was nice to get out into the cool and relative quiet of the evening. As I started to make my way towards Victoria Station, for my train home, I heard Danny calling my name. He caught me up, buttoning his coat against the winter chill. "God, wasn't it bloody awful in there! It's a bit early to knock off Jacks, d'you fancy going somewhere else for a drink? I promise we'll get a seat." I was reluctant, as I was sure Danny could find better company for the evening than me. But...what the hell, it was Christmas, and he had offered. I started to suggest we get the others out of the pub, but he shook his head. "They're all happy enough in there. The place we're going is a bit sophisticated for a drunken Christmas party."
With that Danny took my arm and led me down a series of side streets, then down a flight of stairs into a basement. It was some sort of club, dimly lit, with cool jazz playing and, amazingly, only about half full. It was only ten minutes from our office, but I never even knew the place existed. To be honest, I felt slightly out of place there, a bit out of my depth. Danny, however, was on first name terms with the bar staff. With the lighting, the music, and its alcove tables, the place was, well, very intimate. They also served the best dry Martini I've ever tasted. We settled back and chatted quietly about what a good day it had been, how much everyone had enjoyed themselves and so on. I also thanked Danny again for the lovely gift he'd given me.
After a couple of cocktails I began to feel distinctly tipsy. As I finished the second, Danny cupped his hand over mine, gave me a wink and asked "Well Jacqui, I've finally got you out on a date. Are you having a good time?" I felt myself blush again, and avoided his eyes. This wasn't a date, of course it wasn't, it was just a friend and colleague being nice to his supervisor. Busying myself with my handbag, I said I'd had a really nice evening, thanked him again, and explained I had to go for my train. Danny insisted on escorting me not only to the station, but to the door of my train. Just before I got on he took both my hands in his and said, "Thanks Jacqui, I've had a really nice evening too. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have." Then he kissed me on the cheek, and watched until I pulled out of his view on the train.
I dreamt about Danny that night, and woke up telling myself not to be a silly cow. I was determined to get him a nice Christmas gift though, and I braved the last-minute Christmas shoppers to find a lovely gold and blue tie with matching cufflinks, which I thought would go perfectly with a blue pinstripe suit Danny favoured. My normally crowded train into Victoria was deserted on Christmas Eve, and I arrived early with my rucksack for the trip to my parents, and placed my gift on Danny's desk. He didn't get in until nearly ten o'clock, and clearly liked my present. "Oh Jacqui, this is beautiful, thank you so much. It's just perfect."
With only the two of us in we chatted amiably while getting on with our work. Mid-morning, Danny came over and perched his backside on my desk. "Jacks, I just wanted to tell you again how much I enjoyed last Friday. I'd really like to do it again -- I mean a real date next time."
I stared at him. He obviously couldn't be serious, and I was irritated that he seemed to want to make fun of me. I replied, rather tersely, "Yeah, right, well there's always next Christmas."
I dropped my head back to my work, but Danny didn't move. After a few moments, he spoke again. "Jacqui, don't you want to go out with me? I thought you liked me."
Now I was angry, although I wasn't really sure why I felt so upset. "Danny, it's very nice of you, and I know it's a time of goodwill to all men and women and all that, but you really don't have to patronise me. If I want someone to take me out I'm quite capable of finding someone, so just stop pissing about and go and get on with your work."
