A year ago, I had basically given up. I know that probably thousands of people get married every day, but I just never imagined it would ever happen for me. It’s one thing to date a person or even to date them exclusively, but it’s a big deal for one person to say to another that they want to spend the rest of their life sharing a bed and a home with them. You’ve got to really love that person, right? You’ve got to believe in your heart that nobody else better is ever going to come around.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I just couldn’t imagine any man looking at me and saying to himself, “I just want her. Nobody else. Forever.” It didn’t seem possible. I mean, I’m not exactly Quasimodo, but I would think most men would want the woman they marry to be somewhat attractive. I’m not. I’m on the other end of the spectrum.
So when Jim Matchett, my boyfriend of six months, held out a little blue velvet box to me on the steps of my building, I almost had a heart attack. This felt like something that should be happening to someone else, not me. Some little blonde hottie in size 2 jeans. (Sorry if you’re a little blonde hottie in size 2 jeans, but FYI, I definitely hate you.)
Of course, Jim isn’t exactly the kind of guy that little girls fantasize about having standing next to them at the altar in their dream wedding. First off, he can’t stand at all. He’s a quadriplegic. Other than that, he’s great. Other than that one totally unimportant and insignificant thing.
Seriously though, Jim might be the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He’s not perfect, I guess. He’s kind of a (huge) dork. And while he’s really funny, sometimes he has trouble being serious. But those are pretty minor issues. And damn, he’s good looking. No complaints from the neck up. From the shoulders down… well, you know. He’s a quadriplegic, like I said.
Jim was still holding the blue velvet box to me expectantly. “Uh, are you going to open it?”
“Am I supposed to?” I asked, all flustered.
“Somebody should,” he said thoughtfully. He flashed me a crooked smile. “I’m too nervous. I’ll drop it. It’ll fall into a sidewalk grate or something.”
I took the box from his hand with fingers that were shaking about an equal amount to his. I couldn’t believe this was happening. He looked about as terrified as I felt. I don’t know why I was so nervous. Maybe I thought he’d change his mind as soon as he realized what he was asking of me.
“Open it,” he encouraged me.
I slowly opened the box and was almost blinded by the ring inside. Oh. My. God. A woman like me should NOT have a ring that looks like this. I mean, it’s beautiful. It’s too beautiful. I don’t know enough about rings or diamonds to spout out nonsense like “it’s a whatever carat solitaire diamond” or something like that. But I’ve got eyes and that rock was freaking huge.
“Wow,” I managed. “Jim, I…”
“Wait,” he said. “I had a speech planned.”
He blushed. “Well, it wasn’t… all right, never mind. Forget the speech.”
“No, I want to hear it.”
“Well, I didn’t get a chance to memorize it yet, anyway,” he mumbled. “Something about… how I loved you the first moment I saw you and that I knew you were going to be someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You know, the usual stuff.” He was blushing bright red now. “Look, Tessie, it’s written on index cards in my sock drawer if you really want to read it. It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is… will you marry me?”
“Yes!” That probably sounded a little overeager. I cleared my throat. “I mean, of course I will.”
Jim wanted to put the ring on my finger, but he didn’t quite have the dexterity for that. He can barely move his fingers at all. He gave it a few tries, but it was obvious this wasn’t going to happen. Finally, I took the ring and put it on myself. It looked amazing. I was afraid my finger would be cut off by bandits.
As I held out my hand to admire the ring, I felt a lump rise in my throat. I couldn’t believe Jim really loved me enough to want to marry me. I looked up at his face and he was teary-eyed too. “You like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“I was planning to give it to you tomorrow, on Valentine’s Day,” he said. “I had this amazing proposal planned. We were going to go to the planetarium and the stars were going to light up to read ‘Will you marry me?’ Then a bird was going to fly in carrying the box and drop it into your hand.”
I frowned and studied his face. “You’re totally making that up.”
“Of course I’m not!” he cried, as if offended by the thought. “Then after the bird brought you the ring, a live orchestra was going to be lowered in from the sky to serenade you.”
I slugged him in the arm and he laughed. As crazy as that whole thing sounded, it also actually sort of sounded like something Jim was capable of planning.
So here I am, engaged to a great guy. I’m going to be a married woman. I’ll have someone to sleep in a big bed with me every night and an automatic date for every Saturday night. I am really happy. I know I shouldn’t say that because it will completely jinx everything, but I am. I’m happy. I love this guy.
Jim originally had some big plans for us for V-day, but we ended up spending the entire day in bed. Literally. Every time I made an attempt to get out of bed, he would tackle me and not let me leave. He eventually let me get up to use the bathroom. And to get some food items for the kitchen.
“I think I’m getting dehydrated,” I told him.
He looked up at me. At that moment, his lips happened to be on my left nipple. “Too bad,” he said, then went back to pleasuring me.
His lips ran down the length of my abdomen and I felt myself instinctively tensing up. I hadn’t been on a scale in a while and when I finally weighed myself a few days ago, I was kind of horrified. I had gained a LOT of weight lately. It was daytime and therefore not dark, so Jim had to notice all the flab in my belly.
“Why are you so tense?” he asked me, concerned. “Doesn’t this feel good?”
I’ve never completely shared with Jim all my insecurities about my body. I’m worried he’d think I was nuts. Men don’t want women who obsess over their weight, although probably we all do. Whenever I say anything hinting that my body is anything less than perfect, he gives me a look like I’m out of my mind. Then he points out the fact that his body is worse than mine. But honestly, it isn’t. I mean, he’s disabled, so he has an excuse for having a gut. I’m just fat.
“Could we close the shades?” was what I finally said.
He pouted. “But I want to be able to look at you.”
Finally, I relented, because damn, Jim is the master of oral sex. You know that stupid commercial where they show people doing all sorts of crazy outlandish things for a Klondike bar? Well, I don’t like Klondike bars, but I would do just about anything to get Jim to go down on me. Luckily, he doesn’t make me beg for it. (Well, sometimes he does.)
After I had an amazing orgasm and Jim allowed me to replenish my lost fluids with a glass of water, we made plans to move in together. I can’t believe I’m going to live here. I love Jim’s apartment, which is about a hundred times nicer than mine. It’s pretty big too, for a one bedroom. But we’d have to move it weren’t just the two of us anymore, which I suspect Jim is hoping for in the next couple of years. (Hint, hint.)
We went to get my beautiful ring resized today. Naturally, Jim underestimated my finger size.
We went to Tiffany’s to have it done. I got a look at some equivalent or smaller looking rings and got an idea of how much Jim must have paid for mine. Let me just say, it made me kind of ill. “I think this ring is too expensive,” I hissed at Jim, while I gazed into the display case. “You didn’t honestly pay this much, did you?”
He glanced at the prices. “More,” he said.
He looked hurt. “I thought you liked it.”
“I love it, but…” I looked down at the rings on display again. “I would have been happy with something… cheaper.”
“I can afford it,” he insisted. “It’s not even three months of my salary. It’s not even one month.”
He’s right that he actually can afford it. Yesterday, Jim showed me his finances while we were working out details of my moving in and… he’s pretty loaded. Our company is paying him a shitload of money and he’s got a lot saved too. I mean, he’s not super rich like Trump or something, but he can definitely afford a really nice engagement ring. I’m doing pretty okay financially too, so between the two of us, the last thing I should be thinking about is money. But my parents always worried about money, so it’s just ingrained.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a salesman whose nametag said Allen approached us. He called me “ma’am.” I must be really getting old. Good thing I’m getting married.
“We’d like to have this engagement ring resized for her finger,” Jim spoke up.
Allen looked at the ring then looked at the two of us. Actually, he was kind of staring. Uncomfortable.
“We’d like it back as soon as possible,” Jim added.
“Of course,” Allen said. He gave us another weird look. Then he took a measurement of my finger and it turned out Jim had underestimated my finger diameter by about half a size. I wondered if I lost twenty pounds, if the ring might fit.
Allen excused himself for a minute and I whispered to Jim, “He was staring at us.”
“Yeah.” Jim shrugged.
“It was weird.”
“I thought you’re used to that by now,” Jim said. “He’s staring because the guy in the wheelchair is getting married.” He shrugged again.
He was right, I guess. I mean, people stare a lot, but I just didn’t expect it at a swanky place like Tiffany’s. It occurred to me suddenly that the whole wedding planning process was going to be like this. We weren’t just going to be able to buy flowers and hire a caterer like a normal couple. Everyone was going to be looking at us and saying, “Hmm.”
Well, screw ‘em.
I think that Jim must have slipped the Tiffany’s guy a fifty, because they got my ring back to me this morning. I was willing to wait, but Jim drove me to work and we swung by the store on the way. I tried to play it down, but I have to admit, I was excited about showing it off at work. I’ve had so many engagement rings shoved in my face over the years. Finally, I got a turn.
I had probably been in the office for about five seconds when Sandra, my best friend at work, must have sensed the ring or something. She ran over to my cubicle and picked up my hand. “You’re engaged!” she squealed, loud enough that a few people turned to look.
I hushed her and we huddled together in my cubicle as she admired the ring. “It looks beautiful,” she gushed. “I knew it would.”
She grinned at me. “Okay, don’t tell Jim I told you, but I helped him pick it out. He wanted to make sure to get something you’d like.”
“Couldn’t you have talked him into something a little cheaper?”
“Oh, I know,” Sandra sighed. “He went a little overboard. I told him you would like something smaller just as much. But he had a number in his head and he just wouldn’t budge. He really wants to impress you. It’s very sweet.” She looked down at her own ring and made a face. “I’m so jealous.”
Sandra isn’t really jealous, or at least not in any real way. She’s already married and a few months pregnant. She’s been married several years, so she and her husband aren’t in that “crazy in love” phase anymore. But there’s something to be said for being comfortable with another person.
“I’m going to have to plan you an amazing bridal shower,” Sandra said.
I sort of froze up when she said that. I’d been so caught up in the idea of getting married, it’s starting to occur to me that I also need to think about planning a whole wedding. Honestly, I’m not super excited about it. I should be. I mean, I’m a woman. Women love planning weddings, right?
Anyway, I had a pretty fun day today, showing off my ring. I could tell all the women were really jealous, although I got a couple of kind of derogatory comments along the lines of, “Oh, you’re marrying that computer guy who’s in the wheelchair?” Apparently, that’s how Jim is known.
I need to lose like maybe thirty pounds.
I got on the scale today and felt a bit horrified. I’ve gained so much weight since I’ve been dating Jim. It’s not even funny. A lot of my clothes don’t even fit me anymore. I’ve possibly five pounds away from having to wear a sack to work.
If I’m honest with myself, thirty pounds is on the low end of what I need to lose. Fifty would be great. But I don’t think it’s going to be possible to lose fifty pounds. Actually, thirty probably isn’t possible either. Maybe I can do twenty.
I want to lose the weight for the wedding. If I’m going to be wearing a wedding dress, I want it to look halfway decent. I don’t want everyone to be whispering about the fat girl getting married. I know that’s what will happen if I don’t lose some weight.
While I was getting ready for bed last night, I looked in the mirror at my full length reflection in underwear and I literally almost started crying. I don’t know how I let my weight get so out of control. The best thing I can say is that my boobs looked pretty big.
Jim came out of the bathroom to see me standing there mostly naked in front of the mirror and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I quickly went for my bathrobe to cover up. He smiled at me. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured. I really don’t understand how he could say things like that with a straight face.
“Uh huh,” I said. I tied the bathrobe around my waist.
“Don’t cover up,” he said. “I want to look at you.”
I gave him an exasperated look. “Come on,” I said.
Jim himself was in underwear. He was wearing his boxers and an undershirt. Like me, he wasn’t much for going around completely naked. Actually, from when I’ve seen him in his wheelchair with no shirt on, I have to admit it’s not a great look for him. He has no stomach muscles at all. He looks good with the undershirt though.
“What?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to lose like thirty pounds,” I told him.
He frowned at me. “What? You’re crazy.”
I sighed. I don’t know what’s wrong with him sometimes. “Look, I know you’re trying to be nice, but the fact is, I really have to lose some weight.”
“I think you look great the way you are,” he said thoughtfully. “I mean, if you want to lose weight for your health, that’s fine. But I think you look beautiful.”
“Well, it’s not ideal for the bride to weigh more than the groom, you know?” I said. I looked him over. “How much do you weigh?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Maybe… one sixty?”
Oh god, I really do weigh more than him.
“Maybe more,” he said quickly. “I haven’t been on a scale in a while.”
I didn’t want to think about the question that had been running through my head, which is how could Jim possibly want to have sex with the girl who was staring back at me in the mirror. But as if on cue, he wheeled over to me and gently pulled open my bathrobe and started kissing my bare abdomen. “You are so sexy,” he breathed. “I can’t believe you’re going to be my wife.”
I ran my hands through his hair, bringing his face closer to my body. I stumbled back a few steps till I hit the wall and he continued to kiss me as I leaned against the wall and clutched his head. The angle was wrong for him to go down on me in that position, but just the feel of his lips on my chest and stomach made me moan with pleasure. I swear, I thought I was going to come just from him kissing my belly.
When I couldn’t stand it another second, he pulled me into his lap and gave me a ride to the bed, where he finished me off quick with his mouth on my pussy. Our sex has been completely amazing since we got engaged. I mean, it was great before, but it’s just stepped up to a whole new level.
I should just be grateful to be with a great guy who loves me and not worry so much about my weight. After I lose thirty pounds, that is.
To be continued...