IT HAPPENED TO ME: The Guy I Am Sleeping With Called Me Fat After We Had Sex.

I’ve been sleeping with my landlord for about a month, and apparently he thinks I’m fat and should exercise more.
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Publish date:
November 3, 2014
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Tags:
body image, fat shaming, bulimia

Like every human female, I grew up thinking I was fat. It started when I was about six years old and all my friends were skinnier than me. I realized much later that I wasn’t a fat kid; my friends were just unusually petite. I kept thinking I was fat all through adolescence and did actually come to the conclusion about a year ago that I am not, and never was, fat, just delusional, unhappy and bulimic.

So this last year I have done a great job of loving my body and accepting it even though I still sometimes relapse into hating it again. Now I am living abroad and have gained weight since I got here, from a lack of exercise and unhealthy food. I have tried not to care too much and I can usually tell myself its fine and that my weight will get back to normal after I’ve settled in better and that I should maybe eat a vegetable once in a blue moon, and I’m generally fine with it. But then the incident occurred.


One of the great life choices I made recently was to sleep with my landlord. I live with him and two other people in a large, cheap apartment in downtown Buenos Aires, which is kind of a sketchy area, but I kind of like it sketchy. Hence the sleeping with my landlord who is 39 years old, Italian, not particularly good looking, doesn’t have a job, and well, lives with three roommates at age 39. All in all, the perfect candidate for a sexual encounter.

We first slept together when I was pretty drunk after a night out with him and three of his friends. He had been kind of hitting on me for a while, and that night I just thought, what the hell. So we had sex, which was probably not great but I don’t really remember it.

I went to my room afterward and slept there, woke up early and wondered if I should regret my actions. Before I could make up my mind I went to the bathroom. No one can really make life decisions on a full bladder. I ran into him on my way back and we talked a bit and then we had sex again. Because, well, the damage was already done.

This was probably about a month ago and we have slept together a few times since then. The arrangement is fine by me, because I don’t actually like him so my feelings are unlikely to get hurt, and I can turn off that voice in my head that tells me when to be embarrassed and awkward.

And then it happened. We had sex the other night after I went to his room and asked if he was up for it. Before that we had just done the awkward dance of pretending to run into each other in the kitchen by accident and starting to chat and hoping it would magically lead to sex. So we had sex. He had his shirt on, and probably his socks, because, sexy, and I was naked, because, more sexy.

We were lying on his bed, after the sex having, talking about stupid things, when he turned to me and said, "
You’re kind of fat." 


And I said: "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" 
And he said something like: "Yeah, I think you’ve gained weight since you moved in…do you eat a lot?" 


Do I eat a lot? Seriously? Is that just something you ask naked girls in your bed who are young enough to be your daughter? Actually I do eat a lot, but that is my business and I, like other girls, have been taught to be ashamed of eating, so that wasn’t a question I felt like answering.

So my reply was that, no, I didn’t eat a lot, I just exercise less than in Iceland, which is true but only part of the reason for my weight gain. And he then went on to tell me I should exercise more, obviously.

Thank you old Italian man, I did not need my self confidence this month.

So I went on to tell him, very calmly but firmly that I now hated him and would never ever sleep with him again. And that he was old and probably balding, because the high road is never the way to go. He didn’t seem to torn up about it, because why get upset when the fat girl doesn’t want to sleep with you anymore?

So now its been two days since it happened and we’ve barely talked, and I made an extra effort to cook a giant portion of pasta in the kitchen and eat it right there, mentally challenging him to call me out on me eating habits.

So that is how the relationship is now, at a standstill. And even though I think its kind of funny, which it is, it also makes me feel bad. So now I’m searching for new sex partners, preferably to bring home and rub in his face -– again the high road is not for me -– and for a new place to live.