I'd had a crush on Katie for 20 years.
I first saw her in high school. She was in my junior-year English class. Her thick body, large breasts and plump, round butt drew my attention right away.
Unfortunately, I wasn't the first to be drawn to her, and she'd already acquired a boyfriend. I awkwardly tried to talk to her a few times, in the hope that we could at least be friends, but my shyness made things difficult, and she looked at me almost pityingly.
Because we both stayed in the small town we grew up in, and there weren't a lot of places to do things like shop or eat or go to the movies at, our paths crossed frequently. We'd say hi to each other in the store or at the theater, and I would look longingly at her, but since she had gotten married, I was afraid to do more than just say hi. She knew I was crushing - I couldn't possibly hide it - but I didn't want to do anything that would be interpreted as hitting on her.
High school reunions were the worst. I'd see her and her husband enjoying themselves and socializing and I'd still be single, awkward, by myself in the corner, pining for the woman I knew I couldn't have. I had a good, stable job, and had probably worked extra hard to advance my career to compensate for being a zero in the dating game. When I needed a woman's touch I'd go to the local whorehouse, three or four times a year. In between I would watch porn and jerk off, usually fantasizing about Katie's voluptuous body.
So it came as a sudden shock, one day as I was shopping for food, to encounter Katie in the frozen dinner aisle with tears on her cheeks, clearly trying to keep from blubbering.
"Katie?" My voice was quivering, seeing the expression on her face. "Are you all right?"
She looked up at me. "Hi, Brad." Her voice was dull and emotionless. "No, I'm not."
"Can I help with anything?"
"Find me somewhere to live."
What in the actual fuck?
"You can crash at my place. Why do you need a new place to live? What happened to Greg's house?"
"Oh, it's still there. He's just kicking me out of it."
There had to be more to the story than that. I encouraged Katie to walk to my car with me, where I could sit and talk with her.
She told me her story. Her husband very much wanted kids. They had tried five times. Five times she had miscarried. After the fifth, the doctor had told Katie that for her own health, she wasn't allowed to try again, and in fact, he recommended a hysterectomy. When Greg heard that he went ballistic. He went even more ballistic after she had the hysterectomy, and said he didn't want to be with a woman who couldn't have kids. He gave her a month to get out.
"What about adoption?"
"Nope. He insists on passing along his own genes."
"Jeez. I'm so, so sorry. Anyway, you're welcome to stay with me for as long as you live. Would you like me to help you pack?"
"I'll think about it. I'm still in shock."
I gave her my phone number and address, and she went back into the market. At least she was no longer about to burst into tears.
A week later, I found myself helping Katie pack her things.
"I figured a loser like you would take her in," Greg observed as he placed books into a box. "I didn't figure you cared about passing your useless genes on, anyway."
"There's more to life than having kids," I replied. "And you know as well as she does I've been crushing on her since high school."
Katie flashed me a smile from where she was folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase.
"Oh, I know, Brad," Greg grunted. "That's why I wasn't worried about kicking her out. If there hadn't been a bunch of losers around here who I knew would be willing to house her, I'd have made sure she had a place to go first before cutting her loose."
The sarcasm in my voice was thicker than a 19th-century London fog. "How generous."
