For the first time in a couple of weeks, I asked Karen if we could have "story time" together. We haven't had intimacy since a couple of days before Aunt Flo's last visit, and I have been craving her touch and kisses. "Story time" is a compromise quickie, where we make out while she smokes (and while I engage in manual stimulation), and occasionally there actually is an erotic story involved.
As we were starting to make out, Karen reached out and patted my stomach and made a comment about it being like a little shelf to set something on. I was so embarrassed and mortified. I've put about 15 pounds back on over the past couple of months since I injured my foot, and it all went straight to my stomach area.
To put that into perspective, a gallon jug of water weighs approximately 8 pounds. So, the equivalent weight of two gallons of water are now sitting BACK on the stomach area of my body; the fattest part of my tired, aging, old body. I can deal with the rest of myself. Even my face, which is starting to show the laugh lines and wrinkles of old age, and the gray hair that is multiplying like rabbits in on my head and in my beard and mustache. But I am deeply ashamed and embarrassed about my stomach; and no matter how hard I try to lose the weight and mass on that part of my body, it sits there and taunts me day after day. Its daily fight with my belt are enough of a reminder. I didn't expect one from Karen in a moment of vulnerability and what should have been tender intimacy.
It really hurt.