The writer and the boxer - a sweet romance

Chapter 7

"Thanks for meeting me. You looked like you needed a break," Luc said to me.

"Well you should know after all," I smartly reply. "Did you enjoy your meditation?"

We laughed and started our stroll towards the savannah. More of an exercise for me and apparently for him, as I now notice the slip-on bandage on one of his ankles.

What happened there?" I asked inquiringly.

"Weight shift too fast in my last fight, while swinging for the punch. My opponent shifted and I swerved a little more than usual but still making contact," and he grins ridiculously as he added the last part.

"Is it very dangerous?" I hear my voice turn into a whimper and clear my throat.

"Just as dangerous as any other job but I love it," he admits but with a shrug to his shoulder trying to implicate that any job can be a danger or a threat to one's life. "So what are you currently working on building siren?" He asked raising both eyebrows my way.

"A book of poems about life and overcoming different societal and social issues."

"What makes you a specialist in overcoming anything?"

"I have had many words thrown at me. Even now I still hear it on the odd occasion. Sometimes its a bother, most days I refuse to subject myself to the words and the thoughts. I am writing my experiences and how I feel/felt at the time."

"Was Friday one of those off days where you succumbed to what was being said to you?" He seemed really interested in the topic so I indulged a little in his questions.

"Yes, my size seemed to be the topic of conversation. I started to feel a bit bloated and out of sorts but watching myself in the mirror with my blue lacy, uhm, stuff I started to feel better about how thick I am." I heard myself saying the words and I wanted to crawl into a small space and confine my tongue to years of hard labour in jail. Is there a tongue jail?

"You are beautiful and your size is extremely sexy and I love thick women."

I stopped breathing and for a moment I even stopped walking as I heard him spit the words I have always wanted to hear. Not much men would vociferously state their likes when it comes to women with more to the hips and thighs. He was blatantly making me aware of his likes.

I tried my best not to look at him and continued walking like what he said was a natural part of my life. Like those words have been spoken many a-times and it's a customary part of my everyday life.

"Yeah, that's what you all say until the legs are spread then your tongue changes or your eyes stop to dilate, and then slim is the new flavour in town." I regretted what I said as soon as I heard the words out loud. "My apologies, I'm a little sensitive about my weight."

"I know how you feel but trust me when I say 'I do like meat on my bone', and I love to handle curves. The ride is always harder and I have to put in the work," all said with a glint in his eye which ended with a wink.

I blush again, relishing the thought that pink cannot be seen on tan coloured pigmentation. I could never see beauty when I viewed myself in the mirror. My best feature had to be my wit. Pug nose, dark brown eyes, unkempt eyebrows in need of a good plucking, fairly thick lips and semi-high cheekbones. My waistline more than 25 inches and my thighs stuck together when I walk. I was called all manner of fat and now I'm hearing someone likes 'pork chops'? I was not ready to do back flips and somersaults just yet. Still had a few more things to convince me of his undying love for the 'thick girl'.

We made our way back to the apartment and somewhere our hands had become entwined without any discussion. I was grateful to reclaim my fingers when we got to my door, and even welcomed the chaste kiss. This time it was placed on my forehead, as he took my face in the palms of both his hands. I suddenly felt totally cherished and decided this was the ideal moment for a parade in all my naked glory. I made a mental note to take a few minutes to appreciate my business before my bath time, then bedtime, which probably would be filled with a boxe r and his gloves