What a public sight I saw recently. A fat (white) man — grossly obese like David Fatrelle after a pastry bender, arms like bloated Ganges corpses, manboobs jutting so forcefully into the air I thought they might spontaneously projectile lactate — was in the midst of a tiff with his (white) girlfriend.
His cute, slender, perfectly fuckable (white) girlfriend.
She was crying, her face contorted and flushed with emotional discharge. A lover’s argument kind of face. She was at his side, then walking ahead of him and turning to plead with him, then walking backward in front of him to keep pace with his uninterrupted stride, (or, in his case, shamble). Every so often she would reach out and grip his ham hock solicitously, to punctuate a question or coax a response.
He said nothing, mostly ignoring her except for the occasional exasperated frown. He barely acknowledged her, brushing off her touches and changing his peripatetic course so that she’d have to jog after him to keep him with earshot. His body language was as dismissive as his silence. This cute girl who’d have no trouble finding ten other non-obese men willing to fuck her and love her and dry her tears was chasing down a land manatee and begging for his tenderness.
His tits were bigger than hers.
Game recognized, fat man.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen similar scenes, but it was one of the more egregious examples of the awesome power of Game to overcome almost any male deficiency. How did I know he had Game? I knew indirectly, through his girlfriend’s reactions. But I also knew by the way he hauled his heft.
Fat as he was, underneath all that triple-chinned blubber I could discern the contours of a shitlord’s ZFG mug. His eyes, in permanent squint through larded lids, projected but one emotion: cocky self-confidence. He never wavered under the onslaught of her tears; there was no second act where her entreaties broke his situational command. He walked on, he smirked, he pushed her off, and he never appeased her implied demand for comforting reassurance. A fat man walking with a chiseled man’s self-regard. The alpha attitude was all over him, and when I saw that I understood how it came to be this thin, sexy girl was chasing after him, coiled in a tempest of dread that he might leave her and take the warm swaddle of his pendulous milktits with him.