Johnny_Swell
Member
So we were out for a beer here in Sin City recently and had an interesting night. We finally get seats at the huge bar at a new, very trendy place in West Vegas (no easy feat on a Saturday night) and immediately the lady next to me (married and somewhat slammed) starts talking to me while her husband is in the bathroom. An absolutely drop dead, stunning brunette walks up to the empty barstool and asks if it’s available. Wifey informs her that it is, but they’re leaving soon – her husband will be back shortly and he’ll be easy to recognize as he’s 6 feet tall and 315 pounds and will defend her seat. The bombshell tells her with a semi-conspiratorial demeanor that “Ooo, I’m into big guys too.”
Wait… Really? The mythical thin and gorgeous FFA in public?!
Within 3 seconds of her sitting down a better than average looking guy starts laying down game on her. He is trying very, VERY hard, and the subject of his intended affection was being polite, but clearly uninterested. Then I hear this statement in the middle of a lot of hard to cut through background noise “Sorry, I only date fat guys.” And I see her friend sort of nod. Nooo, really? I mean is she just trying to get rid of him? (For clarification purposes I’m 6’1 and … well I’ve been told I’m getting “fat karma” for having drawn so many SSBBWs over the years that it’s only “fair” that I’ve turned into a certified BHM moving towards SSBHM myself).
I hear her actually ask him how much he weighs, and he says “185”. He was MAYBE 150. She actually poked his belly to see if he might be hiding something! Looking unsatisfied she turned back to her friend and tried to ignore him. Going back to bouncer training 101, I leaned over and whispered “Is he with you, and do you want him to go away?” and she said “No, but… it’s okay.” Damn. My friends and I could have had fun “convincing” him to leave. I wasn’t looking to flirt or hit on her (I was there to be wingman), but I have a problem with guys that won’t take no for an answer.
My buddy suggested I help her out by crowding out the lothario, so I slowwwwly inched my stool closer to hers so that he wouldn’t be able to stand between her and I at the bar. He kept trying, as the inches closed and he had to twist himself into awkward positions to get to his drink, sipping .01 of an ounce and setting back down. And then, when there was so little room he started brushing against me, I turned to look at him with the “If you don’t stop touching me I’m going to stomp a mudhole in you” look. At that point he *finally* gave up and retreated to the end of the bar to start over with someone less radiantly gorgeous.
Maybe I had heard things wrong earlier and misjudged the FFA-ness? Then she surprises me by leaning over and looking at the empty bowls and plate in front of me (giant serving of southern fried chicken breast, clam chowdah and biscuit plate) and said “Oh, looks like someone had quite a feast…” with an interesting smile, and seemed to almost want me to describe it! I looked over at the artichoke dip her and her friend had worked on and the plate of relatively untouched homemade potato chips and I think I said “Yeah, I’m pretty stuffed, you two hardly touched yours.” She reached over, started grabbing the chips and started putting them on my plate - I felt like I was in the beginning of a weight room story! She said something that I couldn't make out with all the noise, and that I couldn't hear over the crunchiness of the chips. Sorry guys, but the story ends there as they were leaving and I was with friends who needed to talk about very serious life matters so we all parted company but I thought you guys might like a real life story about an authentic FFA in a random, real world setting that might replenish the hopes of some of the more jaded BHMs.
Wait… Really? The mythical thin and gorgeous FFA in public?!
Within 3 seconds of her sitting down a better than average looking guy starts laying down game on her. He is trying very, VERY hard, and the subject of his intended affection was being polite, but clearly uninterested. Then I hear this statement in the middle of a lot of hard to cut through background noise “Sorry, I only date fat guys.” And I see her friend sort of nod. Nooo, really? I mean is she just trying to get rid of him? (For clarification purposes I’m 6’1 and … well I’ve been told I’m getting “fat karma” for having drawn so many SSBBWs over the years that it’s only “fair” that I’ve turned into a certified BHM moving towards SSBHM myself).
I hear her actually ask him how much he weighs, and he says “185”. He was MAYBE 150. She actually poked his belly to see if he might be hiding something! Looking unsatisfied she turned back to her friend and tried to ignore him. Going back to bouncer training 101, I leaned over and whispered “Is he with you, and do you want him to go away?” and she said “No, but… it’s okay.” Damn. My friends and I could have had fun “convincing” him to leave. I wasn’t looking to flirt or hit on her (I was there to be wingman), but I have a problem with guys that won’t take no for an answer.
My buddy suggested I help her out by crowding out the lothario, so I slowwwwly inched my stool closer to hers so that he wouldn’t be able to stand between her and I at the bar. He kept trying, as the inches closed and he had to twist himself into awkward positions to get to his drink, sipping .01 of an ounce and setting back down. And then, when there was so little room he started brushing against me, I turned to look at him with the “If you don’t stop touching me I’m going to stomp a mudhole in you” look. At that point he *finally* gave up and retreated to the end of the bar to start over with someone less radiantly gorgeous.
Maybe I had heard things wrong earlier and misjudged the FFA-ness? Then she surprises me by leaning over and looking at the empty bowls and plate in front of me (giant serving of southern fried chicken breast, clam chowdah and biscuit plate) and said “Oh, looks like someone had quite a feast…” with an interesting smile, and seemed to almost want me to describe it! I looked over at the artichoke dip her and her friend had worked on and the plate of relatively untouched homemade potato chips and I think I said “Yeah, I’m pretty stuffed, you two hardly touched yours.” She reached over, started grabbing the chips and started putting them on my plate - I felt like I was in the beginning of a weight room story! She said something that I couldn't make out with all the noise, and that I couldn't hear over the crunchiness of the chips. Sorry guys, but the story ends there as they were leaving and I was with friends who needed to talk about very serious life matters so we all parted company but I thought you guys might like a real life story about an authentic FFA in a random, real world setting that might replenish the hopes of some of the more jaded BHMs.
