BHM, Romance
Looking for a BHM to do Sensitivity Reading for her new novel about an overweight protagonist finding love, Simi meets Jonah.
Jonah is not only morbidly obese, but also annoyed about Simi being too curious and penetrating and he despises love storys and all the stereotypes Simi used writing about BHMs and FFA.
#enemiestolvers #slowburn
Hello Lovelies,,
This is just a little piece that popped into my head. It's a release of the frustration that my manuscript was rejected by several publishers because it has a BHM as the protagonist (although I'm totally happy that it will actually be published soon).
At the same time, it's dedicated to the beautiful and very fat man I kept seeing on the piazza in our neighborhood over the summer. I couldn't help but stare at him whenever I saw him. Which he has already noticed because he stares back darkly. I know 100% that I will never have the courage to speak to him. But as you can see, I fantasize about him and also about what he thinks of me.
I can't say yet whether these little snippets will turn into a story, but I wanted to share these thoughts with you and hope you enjoy them.
Etta
Just as Simone was about to reach for it, it started to ring. Melanie's number popped up. She was her literary editor. Should she really answer it or postpone the call until tomorrow morning? Perhaps Melanie had already read her manuscript. Sighing, Simi reached for her cell phone and plopped back down on the desk chair.
“Yes, Melanie?” she answered.
“Hey Simone, how cool that I can still reach you. I was afraid that you'd already left your desk in this beautiful weather and that your cell phone was on silent mode somewhere in your handbag.” Simi heard the laughter in Melanie's voice. Melanie somehow always laughed, regardless of whether they were negotiating something serious or discussing the tragic developments in one of her love stories.
“Was actually just on my way out.” Simi twirled one of her shoulder-length curls around her finger. She'd been to the hairdresser just yesterday, had her long mane cut and highlights put in. “So get out: what's up so I can finally go out.”
Melanie cleared her throat at the other end. Simi heard a rustle, then her editor began in an unusually serious voice. “It's because of the manuscript you handed in. It's very intense.”
Simi paused in her movement, feeling her heart beating against her ribs. They had discussed the idea beforehand. What could Melanie possibly have to complain about? “Yes, it was supposed to be intense.” She tried to sound casual. “Or what about it?”
“Simi, listen, it's not that simple.” It was rare for Melanie to use her nickname. So something must really be up. “We were talking about body positivity and size acceptance and when you said your protagonist was fat, I thought he was mildly overweight, with a trendy dad bod, but still healthy and slim enough for all the readers to develop a book crush. I never thought you could dare to choose a protagonist who is morbidly obese.”
Silence.
Simi ran her finger over the surface of her desk. But wasn't that exactly the point of representing people who didn't conform to the norm? They had talked about it after her novel about the disabled athlete had been so successful. Melanie had also agreed that it was important. The publisher wanted to show a broad representation of sexual preferences, body types and gender. “A dad bod is just as unrepresentative of fat people as all those curvy models who wear a size 12 thus represent the general average,” she said dryly. “We talked about how important it is to represent all social groups.”
“Mhh, yes, you may be right.” Silence followed once again. Simi could picture Melanie sitting there chewing on the end of her pencil. “Still, wouldn't it be better to take out the whole part about the fascination and erotic attraction of fat bodies?”
“So no Spice!” Simi was really pissed off by now. She got up and started walking around the room. “Who said romance novels without spice don't sell anymore? In the New Adult and Romance sector, at least one sex scene has to be part of it.”
“Simi, don't argue with all my objections.” A nervous laugh followed. “You're right, that's exactly what we discussed beforehand.” Melanie sighed. “Okay, I can't even remember what my point was.”
“I know exactly what your point is. You're fat phobic.” Simi couldn't hold back now. Normally, it was important to her to always keep up the façade of friendliness. Whether it was criticism or an argument, she always remained friendly. But right now she was just frustrated. Everything that was important to her, everything they had talked about beforehand, was now being called into question. “You want to be open-minded and tolerant and present yourself that way to the outside world, but your reaction to my story shows that you're not.”
She had obviously struck a nerve. “It's all right, you're right in everything you say.” A nervous laugh followed. “I guess I was shocked to read the intensity with which you portray the protagonist's physicality, the sexual attraction of his fat body. But maybe that's a selling point. I also take shock value sells well!”
Now Melanie was only thinking about the sales figures again. Sure, that was her job, but Simi was primarily concerned about the story. “Apart from that, did you like the story at least a little?” Simi hated that her voice sounded like that of a defiant child.
“But Simi, of course. I love your style of writing. The atmospheric descriptions, the characterizations, the dialogues are just great and the love story is so sweet, too.”
“Thank you,” Simi finally managed to say. Before her inner eye, she saw herself sitting on the piazza. It would definitely be wine today, not a latte.
“Okay then, I'll let this sit for now and we'll talk tomorrow.” Melanie had the smile in her voice again. Obviously, from her point of view, everything was okay again.
Simi was about to say goodbye, but Melanie piped up: “Just one more thing. Before we publish a book like this, it's essential to do a sensitivity reading. An original POV would certainly help. If only I knew where we could get such a heavyweight test reader.”
This was his favorite spot, at the edge of the square under the trees, the bench in the shade early in the afternoon. It was only a few steps to the bus stop and supermarket. The children were splashing around in the nearby fountain. On the playground behind them, mothers sat and chatted, always keeping an eye on what was happening so they could jump up at any time. The posh ice cream bistro in the middle of the piazza was populated by older ladies with carefully coiffed short haircuts and pearl earrings. They came down from the expensive villas on hill overlooking the quarter, drank their glasses of champagne here and enjoyed cake and coffee. The students were sitting in the square, enjoying store bought beer and Coke with chips, falafel or pizza from the restaurants and bars lining the square on the opposite side. From his position, Jonah was able to watch the hustle and bustle on the piazza without becoming a target of observation himself.
At least most of the time. As long as she wasn’t there. As if on queue she appeared and took her seat again. At the last table of the ice cream parlor, her chair positioned so that she could see his bench. Even if she put a book on the table, as he had seen her do over the last few days, he could tell that she was only pretending to read. Whenever he looked at her, she was staring straight at him over the edge of her book. Of course, he was used to people staring at him. But she was brazen enough not to even lower her eyes when he stared back. He wondered what she was thinking.
He had speculated what kind of woman she was the first time he had seen her. Her face, her hair color, her figure. Everything about her was average. The designer denim jacket had a metal band patch on it, the glasses she wore were statement glasses, beatnik style and horn-rimmed, and she wore shiny polished cowboy boots with skinny jeans. She seemed to be trying desperately to look special or rebellious in some way, but never so much that she would really offend anyone. A glass of wine, which she held demonstratively for everyone to see while reading a book, boosted her self-esteem. As if she wanted to show everybody how clever and educated she was. He wondered what she did for a living. She probably thought of herself as a feminist intellectual and actually worked as a bank clerk and drove to a stuffy suburb every evening.
As if she had read his thoughts, she now raised her head and gazed at him steadfastly. This time he would not lower his gaze. He crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he could conceal his expansive body. Jesus, he knew himself that he was so fat that it was hard to miss him. But did she have to stare at him like that, scrutinize him with that serious expression on her face?
He didn't know his actual weight. It had been 440 lbs and a year since he had last stepped on the scales at his doctor's office. After he had not been prescribed cough medicine,instead had only been lectured about the risks of being overweight, he had not gone back. But even so, he could feel that he had put on more weight. As fat as he was now, he found it difficult to move around in public without attracting attention. Not only because he found it difficult to move. His thighs rubbed against each other with every step and his legs were pushed so far apart by excess flesh that he was forced to waddle with his legs apart. He was now so much man that he seemed to have outgrown his entire surroundings. He was the first to avert his eyes and look down at himself. His belly was now so enormous that it not only bulged forward, but had a clear apron of fat covering half his lap when he sat down.
When he wasn't forced to go out in public, he simply ignored his weight. After all, there was no point in feeling sorry for himself all the time and whining about how fat he was. After all, it was his own doing. He knew only too well how difficult it was for him to control his eating habits. But when he sat down after an exhausting day, he didn't give a shit. And it wasn't this pseudo-intellectual rebel's fucking business to judge him for it. His body was simply none of her fucking business. So she should stop staring at him like that.
He raised his head again. The woman swirled her wine glass and took a pleasurable but tiny sip from it. She probably ate the same way. He could literally see how she didn't just take a bite or use her hands, but knifed off small strips of bread or pizza, put them on her fork and didn't just put them in her mouth, but only took a small bite off it. She put the glass down and tilted her head. Her eyes were still turned towards him. He wondered if she was also thinking about his eating habits. Imagining how he tore off a huge, greasy slice of pizza with both of his hands, folding it up and then simply stuffing it into his mouth. Somehow the thought that she could imagine that or watch him do it excited him. How he would have loved to stuff her mouth too.
Fuck it. He couldn't stand it any longer. He would get up now and head over to the fast food restaurant. Normally he always had his food packed to go. But now he needed something straight away. Greasy chips, plus a burger or two. Plus a few nuggets and a salad for his conscience, which he would drown in French dressing and garnish with croutons, fried bacon and egg. He was sure no one in the snack bar would stare at him as unnervingly as this woman. And if that wasn't enough, he could always order something to take home.
Jonah slid forward a little. His eyes fixed on the floor, he took a deep breath. Then he pushed himself up. Fortunately, this time he succeeded on the first attempt. He was finding it harder and harder to heave himself up from a damn bench. How pathetic. There was certainly a mocking smile playing around her mouth now. That little mouth with the carefully painted crimson lips. He raised his eyes and there was indeed a twitch around the corners of her lips. Or was he just imagining it.
He wasn't going to let her upset him anymore. And he wouldn't look at her again just to register how she was witnessing his humiliation. As quickly as his heavy body could manage, he began to move. With every step, he felt his stomach hit his legs and felt his midsection jiggle. He hadn't been able to move his arms directly along his body for a long time. Due to his protruding love handles and the fat pads leading from his thick breasts under his arms to his back, they were always at an angle to his body. Now they swung back and forth as he tried to move as quickly as possible. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
Sweat pearled on his forehead as he stood in the snack bar ten minutes later to place his order. To take the weight off his legs, he leaned on the counter in front of him.
“Is that all?” asked the young man taking the order with a forced smile.
Jonah didn't look him in the eye. “Put onion rings and cheese nuggets on top,” he added to his order. He would get an ice cream later.
“It's in progress. Please wait a moment.” the man said, giving him an all over look. “Next please.” With a broad smile, he turned to the next customer.
“I'd like some fries with ketchup and a mineral water.” The warm voice cut through right through to Jonah's bone. He had never heard a womans voice sounding so soft and sexy. He turned around. Standing there in blue T-shirt and skinny jeans, her denim jacket casually thrown over her shoulder, her book in her hand, was the young woman with the brown curls. Her eyes were large and an unusual shade of green, as Jonah noticed up close. She gave him a broad smile. “So we meet again.” She giggled. Was she making fun of him right now, was she going to ogle him as he ate?
Displeased, Jonah pushed a strand of hair off his sweaty forehead. Damn intellectuals. “Then just make sure your book doesn't get any grease stains,” he hissed. “Although you prefer to stare at people instead of actually reading it.” He gave her a dirty look. Then he picked up his tray and waddled with as much dignity as he could muster to a high table in the far corner of the snack bar.
Looking for a BHM to do Sensitivity Reading for her new novel about an overweight protagonist finding love, Simi meets Jonah.
Jonah is not only morbidly obese, but also annoyed about Simi being too curious and penetrating and he despises love storys and all the stereotypes Simi used writing about BHMs and FFA.
#enemiestolvers #slowburn
Hello Lovelies,,
This is just a little piece that popped into my head. It's a release of the frustration that my manuscript was rejected by several publishers because it has a BHM as the protagonist (although I'm totally happy that it will actually be published soon).
At the same time, it's dedicated to the beautiful and very fat man I kept seeing on the piazza in our neighborhood over the summer. I couldn't help but stare at him whenever I saw him. Which he has already noticed because he stares back darkly. I know 100% that I will never have the courage to speak to him. But as you can see, I fantasize about him and also about what he thinks of me.
I can't say yet whether these little snippets will turn into a story, but I wanted to share these thoughts with you and hope you enjoy them.
Etta
Sensitivity Reading
by Etta
PrologSimi
Simi closed her laptop and stretched. Done for the day. She had already sent the new manuscript to the literary editors on Monday and had used the last few days to update her Insta account, organize author’s readings for the autumn and finish her registration for book fairs. The tax returns could wait until tomorrow. Now it was time to go outside, enjoy the last rays of sunshine pf the late summer weather, take a walk through the neighborhood and finish off with a latte in the shade of the trees on the piazza. Maybe she could call one of her friends and persuade them to have an early dinner with a glass of wine. She got up. But where was her cell phone?Just as Simone was about to reach for it, it started to ring. Melanie's number popped up. She was her literary editor. Should she really answer it or postpone the call until tomorrow morning? Perhaps Melanie had already read her manuscript. Sighing, Simi reached for her cell phone and plopped back down on the desk chair.
“Yes, Melanie?” she answered.
“Hey Simone, how cool that I can still reach you. I was afraid that you'd already left your desk in this beautiful weather and that your cell phone was on silent mode somewhere in your handbag.” Simi heard the laughter in Melanie's voice. Melanie somehow always laughed, regardless of whether they were negotiating something serious or discussing the tragic developments in one of her love stories.
“Was actually just on my way out.” Simi twirled one of her shoulder-length curls around her finger. She'd been to the hairdresser just yesterday, had her long mane cut and highlights put in. “So get out: what's up so I can finally go out.”
Melanie cleared her throat at the other end. Simi heard a rustle, then her editor began in an unusually serious voice. “It's because of the manuscript you handed in. It's very intense.”
Simi paused in her movement, feeling her heart beating against her ribs. They had discussed the idea beforehand. What could Melanie possibly have to complain about? “Yes, it was supposed to be intense.” She tried to sound casual. “Or what about it?”
“Simi, listen, it's not that simple.” It was rare for Melanie to use her nickname. So something must really be up. “We were talking about body positivity and size acceptance and when you said your protagonist was fat, I thought he was mildly overweight, with a trendy dad bod, but still healthy and slim enough for all the readers to develop a book crush. I never thought you could dare to choose a protagonist who is morbidly obese.”
Silence.
Simi ran her finger over the surface of her desk. But wasn't that exactly the point of representing people who didn't conform to the norm? They had talked about it after her novel about the disabled athlete had been so successful. Melanie had also agreed that it was important. The publisher wanted to show a broad representation of sexual preferences, body types and gender. “A dad bod is just as unrepresentative of fat people as all those curvy models who wear a size 12 thus represent the general average,” she said dryly. “We talked about how important it is to represent all social groups.”
“Mhh, yes, you may be right.” Silence followed once again. Simi could picture Melanie sitting there chewing on the end of her pencil. “Still, wouldn't it be better to take out the whole part about the fascination and erotic attraction of fat bodies?”
“So no Spice!” Simi was really pissed off by now. She got up and started walking around the room. “Who said romance novels without spice don't sell anymore? In the New Adult and Romance sector, at least one sex scene has to be part of it.”
“Simi, don't argue with all my objections.” A nervous laugh followed. “You're right, that's exactly what we discussed beforehand.” Melanie sighed. “Okay, I can't even remember what my point was.”
“I know exactly what your point is. You're fat phobic.” Simi couldn't hold back now. Normally, it was important to her to always keep up the façade of friendliness. Whether it was criticism or an argument, she always remained friendly. But right now she was just frustrated. Everything that was important to her, everything they had talked about beforehand, was now being called into question. “You want to be open-minded and tolerant and present yourself that way to the outside world, but your reaction to my story shows that you're not.”
She had obviously struck a nerve. “It's all right, you're right in everything you say.” A nervous laugh followed. “I guess I was shocked to read the intensity with which you portray the protagonist's physicality, the sexual attraction of his fat body. But maybe that's a selling point. I also take shock value sells well!”
Now Melanie was only thinking about the sales figures again. Sure, that was her job, but Simi was primarily concerned about the story. “Apart from that, did you like the story at least a little?” Simi hated that her voice sounded like that of a defiant child.
“But Simi, of course. I love your style of writing. The atmospheric descriptions, the characterizations, the dialogues are just great and the love story is so sweet, too.”
“Thank you,” Simi finally managed to say. Before her inner eye, she saw herself sitting on the piazza. It would definitely be wine today, not a latte.
“Okay then, I'll let this sit for now and we'll talk tomorrow.” Melanie had the smile in her voice again. Obviously, from her point of view, everything was okay again.
Simi was about to say goodbye, but Melanie piped up: “Just one more thing. Before we publish a book like this, it's essential to do a sensitivity reading. An original POV would certainly help. If only I knew where we could get such a heavyweight test reader.”
Jonah
Jonah carefully shifted his weight. He had escaped from his apartment into the open air. Even though it had cooled down in the meantime, it got dark earlier and the days were no longer quite so oppressive, the heat of the last few days still lingered in all walls. It was shady here on the bench under the trees on the piazza. Nevertheless, his T-shirt stuck to his vast physique and every roll of his blubber was clearly visible. Self-consciously he tugged the shirt away from his body.This was his favorite spot, at the edge of the square under the trees, the bench in the shade early in the afternoon. It was only a few steps to the bus stop and supermarket. The children were splashing around in the nearby fountain. On the playground behind them, mothers sat and chatted, always keeping an eye on what was happening so they could jump up at any time. The posh ice cream bistro in the middle of the piazza was populated by older ladies with carefully coiffed short haircuts and pearl earrings. They came down from the expensive villas on hill overlooking the quarter, drank their glasses of champagne here and enjoyed cake and coffee. The students were sitting in the square, enjoying store bought beer and Coke with chips, falafel or pizza from the restaurants and bars lining the square on the opposite side. From his position, Jonah was able to watch the hustle and bustle on the piazza without becoming a target of observation himself.
At least most of the time. As long as she wasn’t there. As if on queue she appeared and took her seat again. At the last table of the ice cream parlor, her chair positioned so that she could see his bench. Even if she put a book on the table, as he had seen her do over the last few days, he could tell that she was only pretending to read. Whenever he looked at her, she was staring straight at him over the edge of her book. Of course, he was used to people staring at him. But she was brazen enough not to even lower her eyes when he stared back. He wondered what she was thinking.
He had speculated what kind of woman she was the first time he had seen her. Her face, her hair color, her figure. Everything about her was average. The designer denim jacket had a metal band patch on it, the glasses she wore were statement glasses, beatnik style and horn-rimmed, and she wore shiny polished cowboy boots with skinny jeans. She seemed to be trying desperately to look special or rebellious in some way, but never so much that she would really offend anyone. A glass of wine, which she held demonstratively for everyone to see while reading a book, boosted her self-esteem. As if she wanted to show everybody how clever and educated she was. He wondered what she did for a living. She probably thought of herself as a feminist intellectual and actually worked as a bank clerk and drove to a stuffy suburb every evening.
As if she had read his thoughts, she now raised her head and gazed at him steadfastly. This time he would not lower his gaze. He crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he could conceal his expansive body. Jesus, he knew himself that he was so fat that it was hard to miss him. But did she have to stare at him like that, scrutinize him with that serious expression on her face?
He didn't know his actual weight. It had been 440 lbs and a year since he had last stepped on the scales at his doctor's office. After he had not been prescribed cough medicine,instead had only been lectured about the risks of being overweight, he had not gone back. But even so, he could feel that he had put on more weight. As fat as he was now, he found it difficult to move around in public without attracting attention. Not only because he found it difficult to move. His thighs rubbed against each other with every step and his legs were pushed so far apart by excess flesh that he was forced to waddle with his legs apart. He was now so much man that he seemed to have outgrown his entire surroundings. He was the first to avert his eyes and look down at himself. His belly was now so enormous that it not only bulged forward, but had a clear apron of fat covering half his lap when he sat down.
When he wasn't forced to go out in public, he simply ignored his weight. After all, there was no point in feeling sorry for himself all the time and whining about how fat he was. After all, it was his own doing. He knew only too well how difficult it was for him to control his eating habits. But when he sat down after an exhausting day, he didn't give a shit. And it wasn't this pseudo-intellectual rebel's fucking business to judge him for it. His body was simply none of her fucking business. So she should stop staring at him like that.
He raised his head again. The woman swirled her wine glass and took a pleasurable but tiny sip from it. She probably ate the same way. He could literally see how she didn't just take a bite or use her hands, but knifed off small strips of bread or pizza, put them on her fork and didn't just put them in her mouth, but only took a small bite off it. She put the glass down and tilted her head. Her eyes were still turned towards him. He wondered if she was also thinking about his eating habits. Imagining how he tore off a huge, greasy slice of pizza with both of his hands, folding it up and then simply stuffing it into his mouth. Somehow the thought that she could imagine that or watch him do it excited him. How he would have loved to stuff her mouth too.
Fuck it. He couldn't stand it any longer. He would get up now and head over to the fast food restaurant. Normally he always had his food packed to go. But now he needed something straight away. Greasy chips, plus a burger or two. Plus a few nuggets and a salad for his conscience, which he would drown in French dressing and garnish with croutons, fried bacon and egg. He was sure no one in the snack bar would stare at him as unnervingly as this woman. And if that wasn't enough, he could always order something to take home.
Jonah slid forward a little. His eyes fixed on the floor, he took a deep breath. Then he pushed himself up. Fortunately, this time he succeeded on the first attempt. He was finding it harder and harder to heave himself up from a damn bench. How pathetic. There was certainly a mocking smile playing around her mouth now. That little mouth with the carefully painted crimson lips. He raised his eyes and there was indeed a twitch around the corners of her lips. Or was he just imagining it.
He wasn't going to let her upset him anymore. And he wouldn't look at her again just to register how she was witnessing his humiliation. As quickly as his heavy body could manage, he began to move. With every step, he felt his stomach hit his legs and felt his midsection jiggle. He hadn't been able to move his arms directly along his body for a long time. Due to his protruding love handles and the fat pads leading from his thick breasts under his arms to his back, they were always at an angle to his body. Now they swung back and forth as he tried to move as quickly as possible. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
Sweat pearled on his forehead as he stood in the snack bar ten minutes later to place his order. To take the weight off his legs, he leaned on the counter in front of him.
“Is that all?” asked the young man taking the order with a forced smile.
Jonah didn't look him in the eye. “Put onion rings and cheese nuggets on top,” he added to his order. He would get an ice cream later.
“It's in progress. Please wait a moment.” the man said, giving him an all over look. “Next please.” With a broad smile, he turned to the next customer.
“I'd like some fries with ketchup and a mineral water.” The warm voice cut through right through to Jonah's bone. He had never heard a womans voice sounding so soft and sexy. He turned around. Standing there in blue T-shirt and skinny jeans, her denim jacket casually thrown over her shoulder, her book in her hand, was the young woman with the brown curls. Her eyes were large and an unusual shade of green, as Jonah noticed up close. She gave him a broad smile. “So we meet again.” She giggled. Was she making fun of him right now, was she going to ogle him as he ate?
Displeased, Jonah pushed a strand of hair off his sweaty forehead. Damn intellectuals. “Then just make sure your book doesn't get any grease stains,” he hissed. “Although you prefer to stare at people instead of actually reading it.” He gave her a dirty look. Then he picked up his tray and waddled with as much dignity as he could muster to a high table in the far corner of the snack bar.
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