I'm Melting!

For six weeks a couple years ago I participated in an experiment and/or gift on (or to) myself. The impetus of this came from me wanting to better myself, both physically and emotionally. When I got sick – struck down by a genetic disorder - I was in my prime. I looked amazing. (That’s not conceit; I really looked great.) For a gay man in my shoes – small conservative town, not being truly talented at too much aside from bodybuilding, not particularly well-off, etc., etc., – looks are very important. But then, aesthetics are very important to a lot of folk. I prided myself on my chest and arms and the ability I had to sculpt my body into what I wanted it to look like. My body – for better or worse – became my identity. It’s how I saw myself. I should have known there would be issues down the road, but when you’re that young, who’s thinking of the future?

After my illness, my body faded from its former glory. I’ve been able to keep it respectable looking since, but I will never again have 20 inch arms (though my chest – in scientific terms, my BOOBAYS! – is still doing very well). All my life I’ve had problems, as do a lot of men, with my midsection. I have never had the washboard abs of our lovely Olympic swimmers. It’s just not in my genetics. But I always tried to keep trim and cut so that I would look good in the tight sweaters I insisted on buying. Unfortunately, my illness now limits what I can do, so a lot of cardio is out. And my wrist has been weakened to the point that I only do pulley exercises – no free weights. This has led to a bit of the dread love handles, not too noticeable, but to me they’re ever-present. My body dismorphia won’t let me shrug them off. For a while now, I’ve been trying to figure a way to rid myself of those treacherous things, exercising my buns off and saving liposuction as a last resort. Then I came across Ultimate Lipo at Splendid Spa in Louisville, Kentucky. I figured, what the hell. If it will make me feel better about myself, go for it, right? As a gift to celebrate the anniversary of my brain surgery (August 26), I got a package of six visits to the spa.

The idea that you’re going to have the fat melted inside your body like butter is a bit disconcerting at first, but it’s a pretty unremarkable experience. The office is lovely and smells gorgeous. The staff is nothing if not friendly and quite chatty. Any anxiety I had about the procedure disappeared within five minutes. Basically you are asked to lay on your stomach while a technician rubs a cold jelly on the area that’s annoying you and causing the issues with your sexy. When that’s done you’re zapped with a device that looks like it had a past life massaging hearts back to life. This zappy-massagey thing is applied a good 20 minutes to each lovely set of love handles. There is no pain. My only issue was, I’m not a huge fan of masseuses or people I don’t know touching me in any intimate manner.

As far as results, I honestly didn’t expect much. Things that seem too good to be true usually are. But to my surprise it really worked! I lost four inches from my tummy section and two inches from my sides. Were my abs showing through like some Abercrombie model? No. But they never have and never will. Still, I felt kinda pretty again. I’m a pretty girl, momma!

Oh, if I had had a mountaintop I would have gone and twirled about on it tout de suite!…Of course, somebody would have had to help me twirl, otherwise it would have turned into a vertigo-induced disaster: Eric twirling – Eric tripping – Eric tumbling down mountain – Eric laid up in hospital and gaining all that fat right back – Eric cursing God and vowing his revenge.

Eric has a peculiar imagination.