Have You Ever Been Attracted to a Man’s Body?

8 Oct

"The Walking Man", Auguste Rodin

I was struck last night, again, at how very much I enjoy Hubert’s physicality.  Mostly, this is due to his height.


I myself am 6’ tall and rarely have the pleasure of looking up to a man.  Add to that my large frame—OK extra large frame—and you will understand my position in life as a towering presence in any room (except those rooms where male members of my family are present).  Unconsciously, cues and signifiers have emerged in my interactions with 5’10”-average-sized men who do not regularly encounter women who are larger than they.  “You are man, dominant, strong.  I am woman, mild, soft,” my subtleties convey.  When you are 6’ large, and single, this is what happens.


Hubert shifted the paradigm.  For Hubert is 6’8” tall.  The heights of delight contained for me in that fact compel me to repeat it.  Hubert is six feet, eight inches tall. 


When we met at church ten years ago, I was entering the beautiful phase of my life.  What a novelty, what a thrill to be beautiful, standing in my 3-inch heels and able to look up with a smile at handsome him.  Sometimes he would add to my glee by hugging me.  The places where our bodies touched—faces and torsos, arms and shoulders—fit together just right.


Hubert was wonderful to pal around with.  I derived a dual benefit from knowing him—he was a friend, so we talked, shared, and encouraged each other, and he was female arm candy, a sweet treat to have around on the right occasions.  Hubert also was a man with a great many personal problems.  His problems exceeded my stores of patience and prevented me from considering anything more than friendship with him.  My dear friend Debs, charmed by his charm, attempted a love relationship with him.  It did not work. 


After a while things changed at church.  We moved to an immense new edifice, Sunday meeting times changed, there were additions to and subtractions from the pastoral staff, many in my circle relocated to different parts of the country.  In the midst of all this, Hubert disappeared.  He took his 6’8” self, and his eminently pleasing hugs, away.


Lately he’s been back.  I have made sightings of him in the distance.  Then last night at the prayer meeting, he came into the balcony, saw me, and excused his way down the row to sit next to me.  Mostly it was the leg room in that row that made him choose it, I’m sure.  We didn’t talk much, but he seemed the same.  The service wound down and he bid me good-bye.  Before leaving he turned to me, extended his arms, and enfolded me in a hug.  Perfect fit.


Hubert is still troubled it seems.  He is still my dear friend’s ex.  And his hugs still make me want to linger in his arms.


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