Charlotte’s Burden
The month Victor and Charlotte had spent together had been like a dream. Each had found in the other the embodiment of what they had wished for. For his part, Victor had found the kind of woman he had longed for—thickly-muscled and glad to be so; glad to have her muscles caressed in bed, glad to have her biceps given a squeeze while she was driving, glad to have her solid rump patted when no one was looking, and glad to hear how beautiful someone thought she was—because she was muscled.
For her part, Charlotte had found the man she had longed for—a tender, loving, considerate man—a man who said he loved her muscles, a man who asked her to wear her little black dress so ‘everyone can see how thick you are’; a man who was proud to be seen with her because she was so muscled. And it was this last thing that she valued most about this man from Indianapolis. When they were together, she was for the first time in her life free from the embarrassment that had plagued her since she was a teen; free from believing she had to cover her fine strong arms and bulging calves with long sleeves and pantlegs in order to escape the notice and the derogatory remarks of passersby.
This was Charlotte’s burden.
The day before Victor went back to Indianapolis, the two had been at the mall. Victor had overheard a woman say to another, “Why doesn’t she look in the men’s department?” Victor had turned to see two women shaking their heads disapprovingly, clucking their tongues. They had been glaring at his lover. The man’s Latin temperament flared, and he had approached the two with fire in his eyes. Charlotte, for all her strength, was unable to restrain him.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
Stupidly, the one who had made the remark responded. “She looks like a man with all those muscles!”
Victor went white with fury. He swore under his breath in Spanish, then silently begged God to restrain him. Then he asked that God restrain the stupid woman, too. His request was partly granted. “I want you to understand something, puta!” he hissed. “She is not a man—she is every inch a woman, and I should know, because she loves my dick—in her pussy, in her mouth—everywhere! Do you understand!” His face was inches from hers.
The woman’s neck blotched. She could only stammer.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that Victor had asked God for restraint, the woman might have made another ignorant remark and then Victor would have lost his temper, but as it happened, the woman had been rendered speechless, and Charlotte was able to drag her lover out of the store without further incident.
Victor had still been shaking with anger in the car on the drive back to Charlotte’s condominium. “I cannot understand why she said that!” he had shouted, pounding his fist on his thigh.
Charlotte had been filled with sadness. The incident in the store had been all too familiar. She had done her best to make Victor understand. Fighting back tears, she had told him, “It happens all the time, honey. Everywhere I go, I get the same shit from people I don’t know. They think I’m a freak because of the way I look, and they don’t hold back. People I pass on the street call me all sorts of things, right to my face!”
Victor
had fallen silent then. His lover’s
remarks had caused many questions and thoughts to push into his mind. Should I tell her again she should be proud
of herself for the way she looks? She
is every inch a woman; I need to tell her that, for sure. What can I do to make her feel better?
Victor and Charlotte had spent most of the evening without talking. Victor had wished the incident had not happened the day before he had to leave. He thought that with more time, they could have talked it through, but as it had happened, he knew that what had happened would cast a pall over the time they had spent together.
“I will be back”, he had whispered, as the two lay that night, making spoons.
Neither was well-rested in the morning. And as they had been silent the night before, so they were silent too on the drive to the airport. They cried in each other’s arms sitting in Charlotte’s car, promising to call, to Email, to IM, to write, to come back soon, to come to Indianapolis if at all possible.
If it had been a year-and-a-half earlier, Charlotte would have been able to sit with Victor until time for boarding, but since security had been tightened, they said their goodbyes in the car, and this is how they had left it: They had agreed they were happier with each other than they had been with anyone else, but, given the distance and given the fact that they both had needs, they agreed also not to hold each other to a long-distance commitment.
And as the 727 banked to the north, Victor knew that his lover would be dating, and as Charlotte saw her lover’s plane banking to the north, she knew he would be seeing other women, and they had heavy hearts.
That had been two months ago. Things had gotten back to normal, Charlotte had said. Her job was so-so, she wrote. And, “I miss your sweet kisses” was how she ended each Email. There had been nothing remarkable in Victor’s Email until the morning of October 23rd. He logged on after he got up and saw Charlotte’s Screen Name. It said, Re: Its happening again. His brow furrowed. He clicked ‘Read’ and with a sinking feeling, saw what she had written.
Victor my love,
One of my girlfriends fixed me up
with a guy the other night. What a jerk. He took
me to a real nice restaurant, and I thought we were going to have a good time until he started making remarks like,
“I bet you take steroids to make yourself
as big as a man”, and “I bet you’re a dyke, aren’t you.”
Needless to say, I walked out in
tears.
My girlfriend stopped by later to
apologize—I guess this jerk had called her to tell her God knows what.
I feel like a freak, Victor. Why can’t guys down here appreciate me the
way you do?
I’m sorry to burden you,
Victor. I know this is my problem. I just feel so down.
The main thing is, I feel like I
have to start concealing myself again.
I probably shouldn’t say this last
thing, but I’m going to. The other day
at the gym, I overheard one guy say
to somebody else, “I see she doesn’t have that spic boyfriend of hers anymore.”
Then this guy said, “I bet he dumped her for a real woman!” and then he and that guy he
was talking to laughed. I knew he was talking about you, honey. I feel awful for embarrassing you by being
what I am.
I hope you don’t decide to break up
with me because of all this.
Sorry,
C.
Victor’s response was immediate. He had been wrestling with what to say since the night before he returned to Indianapolis, with no clear answer coming to him. But as he read his lover’s Email, he knew exactly what to say. He wrote back:
My Dear Charlotte,
I am sorry I am not there to defend
you. The asshole who said that in the
gym would be sorry if I was
there.
About feeling lonely, as if I was the only man who appreciated a
woman with muscles, I want you to
do something for me. Go to Google.com
and search for Diana the Valkyrie. When you get there, go to New Galleries, and
look. Then
Email me.
I know this doesn’t make sense now,
but after you do what I have suggested, it will.
Love,
Victor
Charlotte did as Victor had suggested. In the Galleries, she saw pictures of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of proud muscular women, and into her mind came wonderful relief. She knew in an instant something terribly important. She declared, “Victor is not the only man who likes muscular women. Diana’s website would not exist unless thousands of men, perhaps hundreds of thousands, admired and lusted after women like me, and seeing these pictures has made me realize I am not alone in what I am, but a part of something new and wonderful that has come into the world.”
And after she had said that, she knew why Victor had suggested she look at Diana’s website. The pictures she saw there had reassured her more than anything her lover could have said, and she logged on.
My Dear Victor,
I love you more than I can say. You have made me understand it is OK to be what I am—no. It is more than OK. It is
wonderful. I am proud of my muscular body, and resolve never
again to be embarrassed or ashamed of the thickness
of my arms or my legs, and I resolve never again to conceal what I am from the eyes of the world. I will wear clothes that flatter me, I will
walk with the confidence of a lioness, and, my darling, I will make reservations
for the next flight to Indianapolis.
I will see you this evening, Victor
my love.
Thank you,
C.