Bob was about 45 years old when Irma had left him. Now 55, Bob felt he had been a good husband: He had no secret life, and never cheated on Irma with another woman. Nevertheless, Bob had made the supreme mistake of sharing the truth of his secret desires with Irma: He told her how he was aroused by her body, but yes, also by men's bodies as well. Bob told her how he had felt that arousal as long as he could remember. Upon hearing Bob's revelation, Irma was at first complacent, thinking it was only a phase Bob was experiencing (a "midlife crisis" she called it). But she filed it away in her mind, and eventually, Bob's soulful admission (tough for a guy born in the early 1950s) became one more item in a litany of Irma's complaints about what was wrong with him, with men, and with the world. She blamed herself as well, saying that Bob's curiosity was due to her failure as a wife, and as a woman. Bob tried to explain to Irma that his "interests" were sexual curiosity, and had nothing to do with love, or his love for her. He repeated that his interest in men's bodies was no passing fancy; it was lifelong, existing way many years before he met Irma. However, what had been his simple curiosity soon got complicated when it was mixed in with Irma's dissatisfactions. Yes, he understood that Irma wanted more attention from him, who at the time was caught up in getting ahead in his career at the bank. She, too, had been busy, managing the many tasks in her life, including her career, keeping a nice home for them, and taking most of the responsibility for their children.
The 1990s had begun a time in America when the quality of one's work was judged, in large part, by quantity: How much time you spent at work, with a sixty-hour workweek a standard at Bob's bank (except for the top executives, and the temps who were paid by the hour). Thus, the other employees like Bob were terrified by the prospect that they might have to take a sick day, or worse, time off for a vacation, fearing that it would not only look bad, but also that another employee who filled in for you would thereby get a leg up on you, and make you expendable. (Nobody Bob knew used all ten vacation days of their annual two-week vacation.)
Irma faced similar issues at work, so she and Bob, like other married adults, gave much time to the demands of employment. Couples barely had time to share a morning coffee. So when Bob confided in Irma, he hastened to add--and remind her--that he was still very attracted to her, and enjoyed being romantic and having sex with her. He never thought of himself as being a gay man. Yes, he knew that sometimes when he and Irma were having sex, Bob would fantasize about a nameless, faceless but masculine man joining them in a threesome, which helped him come more strongly. But he shared none of this fantasy with Irma, because the truth of Bob's "interests" was already out, and Bob didn't want to make things worse. Nonetheless, Irma connected her unhappiness with Bob's revelation. What made Bob feel a little cheated was the reality of his being a caring husband and a good friend to Irma did not seem to count for very much after all.
When Bob began to gain weight, he also lost his job: The bank let go over one hundred middle managers in a cost-saving action. To get by, Bob took a temporary job in the mall doing peoples' income taxes, but the loss of his regular paycheck was a great blow to Irma, who asked Bob to move out. Irma then filed for divorce. (Bob would not find out for years that, prior to the divorce, Irma had already been enjoying the affection of a tall, thin, and married-but-gainfully-employed computer technician--ten years younger than Irma--who was not shy about letting her know how much he adored her, and sympathized with the rough breaks life had so far dealt them both. After all, he told Irma, his wife had also gained weight over the years, and was probably herself a closet lesbian as well.
Over the 10 years since Irma divorced him, Bob had gotten even heavier--living alone, he had a bad diet, which took its toll along with his getting older, and his getting less and less exercise. Now, at age 55, Bob was now a little over 300 pounds, which at a height of 5'11" made him look very fat in the middle. A handsome man, Bob now also had a salt and pepper beard, a broad chest, and legs that were like piles that supported piers in the harbor.
Bob and I met through the Internet, where we exchanged emails--I as a married man who was "curious," and he as a "lonely fat guy," as he called himself. We met for coffee at a diner, hit it off immediately, and then he invited me to his apartment. We sat in his kitchen, across from each other at his kitchen table. Bob was a charming guy, had a wonderful smile, and made good conversation. I was honest with Bob: I was not in the market for a relationship, only a good friendship. Bob understood, and agreed, saying he too was not looking for a relationship, but if one came along, he would accept it, and enjoy it. For me, this would be my first real experience with a guy since my teenage years, forty years ago.
Perhaps Bob's best asset was his sense of humor, which was excellent. As Bob laughed, his belly went up and down, in the manner of a Santa Claus. Yes, I noticed the golden brown hairs at the top of his chest, showing above his shirt's top button. Nice brown hair! He said he liked the suggestion I made in one of my emails that I would like to massage him, so I got up and stood behind his chair. I put my arms around him, and nuzzled his neck, smelling his nice masculine aroma. I rubbed his arms through his shirt, and put my arms down on his chest, rubbing it lightly through his shirt. I moved my hands down to his huge belly, which felt large and firm. Leaning forward, placing my head ear-to-ear with him, I stroked the tops of his thighs, and then--ever so gently--I touched the front of his pants, feeling for what was underneath. Under his huge belly, by lifting it slightly, I could feel his penis, which felt soft Yet as I stroked him, it began to harden beneath my fingertips. Bob said "ahhh" as I lightly rubbed his jewels. (I smelled the smoke on his breath!) I kissed his neck as I rubbed them. I rubbed the insides of his thighs (which are supposed to be the most sensitive-to-arousal parts of the human body), and let my forearms brush his swelling penis.
Bob was enjoying my massaging him. So I came around to the front, and opened his shirt. His hairy chest looked inviting, as did his dark hard nipples. I knelt between his legs, and stroked his hairy chest, then his belly. I opened his pants, too, and undid the belt. I left his pants opened as my hands returned to his chest
