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Eyes wide with promise, I comply, at first preening at his attention as he watches my mouth as I eat. But then I find myself self-conscious about how many bites I take of the rich, delicious dinner.
We make small talk while I take a few more bites of the amazing potato lasagna, just enough to ease the hunger ache in my belly, and then focus on the salad. Overall, I mostly push my food around my plate and don’t eat much before pushing my plate away as politely as possible.
Cal raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “Is that all you’re going to eat?”
“I’m not all that hungry,” I lie.
“I thought you said you skipped lunch.”
“It’s not a big deal. I don’t eat as much as it looks.” My self-deprecating humor isn’t appreciated, though. Cal puts down his fork, tension settling over the room like heavy fog.
“Beth, what’s wrong? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to feel obligated to pretend. I’m happy to get you something else. You need to eat more than just that.”
“It’s delicious, Cal, really. It’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever eaten, actually. But I don’t want to fill up too much before doing a lot of exercise,” I say suggestively, changing the subject.
His mood lightens, and he grins. “Sorry, I thought you were getting self-conscious on me again. I love watching you eat.”
“Is that your kink?”
I keep a smile on my face, my voice light and joking, but inside I’m reeling. His attraction to me actually makes sense if I think of it that way, which isn’t something I’d considered before. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Part of me is mortified, I’d hoped he truly liked me for me. But there’s also part of me that thinks maybe it’s a good thing.
“Youare my kink, bláth fiáin. Everything about you. I’m pretty sure you could fart in my face and I’d get hard.”
A snort escapes me, tears rolling down my eyes from laughing so hard.
“What? It’s true,” he says through his laughter. “Probably smells like vanilla, too.”
I’m dying.
“You’re ridiculous!”
“I’m obsessed,” he says, still smiling but calming down. “I can’t really think of a specific kink I’ve ever been especially partial to, not that I’ve engaged in, anyway. Fantasies, certainly.”
“Fantasies?” I ask.
“You’re telling me that you don’t have fantasies? Not even about a certain artist?”
The flush from my laughter intensifies, but I try to play it off. “I’m not the one on trial here,” I say as he picks up our plates and takes them to the sink.
“Oh, I’m on trial now, am I?” He tops off my glass of wine.
“Yes. We’re talking about your fat fetish.” I’m proud of the way I keep my voice matter-of-fact. “There’s nothing wrong with it, of course. I’d like to know more, but if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’m into the whole feeder thing.” I don’t want him to feel kink-shamed. I’m trying to be open-minded about it, but the idea of someone feeding me to get me to gain weight makes me feel just as uncomfortable as a partner trying to force me to lose weight.
“Beth,” he says sternly. “I don’t have afat fetish. I love your body. I love every curve that I’ve had the pleasure to explore. I lo—loving everything you have to offer has nothing to do with a fetish.”
“Oh,” I answer, and uncomfortable silence settles between us.He almost said the L word again.“So wh—” I stop myself from asking why he’s interested in me or attracted to me, embarrassed by my own need for reassurance. Instead, Irephrase the question I was about to ask. “What is your fantasy, then?”
Blushing slightly, which is adorable, he clears his throat. “Well, this might seem silly, if not obvious. But I’ve neverphotographedsomeone before.”
Come to think of it, I can’t think of one photograph of his that has people as a direct subject. “I wonder how I never realized that,” I mutter to myself.
“Well, I wouldn’t share them, would I?” He seems almost put off by my response.
Wait. “Oh! You mean, like, erotic photographs. Duh.” I hold my hand up to my forehead at my blunder.
“What other kind of photography would someone fantasize about?”
“I don’t know, it’s your kink, not mine,” I joke back.
