Spiral (down)
I’m a large girl, and in the dating market that body type plays out a lot like being a small man. You’re loved less, not because of who you are, but because of one particular feature. And when you grow tired of being judged by your cover, sometimes you flip a switch. You make your weakness your strength by stepping onto a dating site where your flaw is actually your asset.
That’s how I ended up on a BBW dating app — with the full self-awareness of a fat girl in a small-minded world.
Of course, men approached me. Mostly Americans. But I wasn’t just looking for attention; I wanted some real TLC.
One day — I think it was November 2024 — I got a message from a man with happy pictures. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be in contact with him. I felt like a fawn on slippery ice. Ten years of dating had made me cautious, and I can say with all fairness that I’m a complex woman. Partly by nature, mostly by experience and upbringing.
So, in an attempt to scare him off, I told him just how complex I am — and what kind of behavior he could expect if he continued. He said he was willing to take the risk.
And I suppose I hadn’t learned my lesson yet, because I trusted him. We moved our conversation to Telegram.
I started to appreciate him for what he said. He came across as quirky — someone who really understood me. I told him I’d always felt misunderstood, like I didn’t fit in anywhere. He said he felt the same. That’s what connected us.
I soon learned I was chatting with Simon J. Woolf — an orange wine expert from the UK, now living in Amsterdam, and the author of several books on the subject. I’ve barely drunk alcohol in my life, so I couldn’t connect with that part of his world. I even told him I’d probably be a burden because of it (and for other reasons), but he couldn’t have cared less.
We started sharing stories and music — both things we consider essential in life. Music became a language between us. Simon had been professionally involved in the music scene, and we both loved food.
After a while, we decided to meet. An actual date — something I hadn’t done in a very long time. But this felt right. We agreed on dinner in Den Bosch on the 18th of December. I’d pick the restaurant, and he would come by train. We’d meet at an Afghan place I’d heard good things about. And the flow of the evening would decide if we’d go our separate ways, or meet again.
Nervous, I waited at the restaurant — where, honestly, a few things weren’t going that well already. But then Simon walked in. He was on the small side, dressed in light blue, with a charismatic charm about him.
Dinner was lovely. So was Simon. He had what I playfully thought of as a “gay” vibe — but I loved the quirkiness. And when he spoke Dutch, my heart melted. That accent!
He was entertaining, kind, passionate about food and wine, a little shy — which I adored. But also, very hard to read. I had no idea what he thought or wanted. Luckily, after dinner, he said he’d love to grab another drink.
So off we went to the center of Den Bosch.
As we walked, I asked if I could hook my arm into his because I had knee pain (what a good excuse at the same time). He said sure. Walking like “lovers” gave me small butterflies.
We ended up on a terrace where Simon ordered a beer called Mannenliefde. I couldn’t help but laugh at the coincidence.
And there, on that terrace, I think we both felt a spark. For him, I suppose it was physical — after all he said, he preferred fat women. For me, it was definitely about his personality and mind. But we cuddled up on that bench outside the terrace until we were kicked out.
At last, the night had to end. Simon was leaving for a wine festival the next day (Italy–Albania), and he needed to catch the last train.
He walked me back to the parking garage near the train station, and we held hands. I felt like such a lucky woman — this man had shown real interest in me, and had wanted to continue the evening even after the somewhat disappointing meal we’d shared.
I’d heard great things about the restaurant, but the food tasted bland, and the courses arrived too fast — like they wanted us out quickly to refill the table. To make things worse, we were seated right underneath a huge, bright lamp that did nothing to create a romantic mood. So the fact that the evening had still turned out this well was a small victory in itself.
There we stood, in front of the parking garage I use every week for work — like two insecure teenagers not quite knowing what to do next. But somehow, we ended up kissing.I remember saying to Simon, whose hands seemed to be taking on a life of their own, “Please try to behave at least a bit — there are cameras everywhere here, and I park in this garage every week!” . Time was against us — we had to say goodbye.
Suddenly, Simon reached into his backpack. He reminded me of a magician pulling a white rabbit from a black hat. Out came a copy of his book, Amber Revolution. He apologized that the cover had some discoloration from lying in the sun.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he dove back into the bag and produced a glass jar of homemade kimchi he’d bought in Amsterdam. There’s a whole story behind that kimchi, but trust me — it was bought with me in mind.
I was flabbergasted. I felt a little foolish being showered with gifts when I had nothing to give in return.
Then he had to rush to catch his train, and just like that, our ways parted.
My brain was struggling to process everything that had just happened. Simon had definitely pushed some buttons.
As I walked to my car, he disappeared from sight. I sat inside the car, before leaving,I opened the book — and there it was: a sweet inscription:
To Donja. I would never have imagined gifting you a book about wine, but you seemed quite curious about it all, so I hope this may be of some interest! xx Simon
Wow. I couldn’t stop smiling. I’m sure anyone walking past my car must have wondered, What on earth did I just witness?
I started driving home, my heart full. While I was still on the road, Simon called. He was on the train and wanted to keep chatting.
The train was packed, and I could hear him moving around, searching for a quieter spot. Meanwhile, I reached my house, but he still had some time left on his journey. We kept talking — it felt so easy and good. We had humour, we connected, we could talk about so many things, even though we led such different lives.
When Simon reached Amsterdam, he had to cycle to his house — but even then, on his bike, he kept the conversation going. The weather was terrible — I could hear the wind howling through his speaker — but neither of us minded.
And then he asked!
He would be back in town on the 23rd and he’d be leaving on the 24th to celebrate Christmas with his brother, sister-in-law, and their children in the UK. But before that, he wanted to meet again.
He suggested I come to Amsterdam — to his place, for practical reasons — and he would cook me a good Asian meal (something he claimed he was very good at). He couldn’t make it too late because of his flight departing early next morning.
I couldn’t say no. After ten years, it felt like this could be something. But deep down, I was still so hurt and broken that the idea made me anxious too.
Simon went on his trip. He was very busy with his friends, his wine and really seemed to enjoy himself, that was good. He didn’t have that much time for me but I understood cause after all this was a combined trip. Friends, festival and wine. He did sent me a picture standing in his cute romantic hotelroom, photographing himself in a nice new coat he bought. He liked it that much that he wanted to share it and he looked so good in it. I liked that he shared that moment with me. But that was about all we shared.
Time went by and although it we’re only 4 days, it felt as if he wasn’t that interested anymore so that was somewhat dissappointing but I also know that my insecurities sometimes take over my thoughts and become a selffulfilling prophecy.
Anyway, I didn’t want to give up without giving it a decent try although it had the impression he was distant cause he didn’t contact me that much since the date in Den Bosch. But on the 23th he send me a picture that he went outside the house wearing two different shoes with a message that he must have been somewhere else with his thoughts’. How I love this haha. So on the 23th I bought Simon a bottle of homemade Limoncello that the father of my sons friend made. I put on my long black dress, got in my old car and went to Amsterdam. A one hour drive and I knew parkingcosts would be skyhigh. We agreed on 18:00 cause like told, Simon was a bit in a rush. When I arrived in Amsterdam and rang his doorbell my heart raced. He opened his appartmentdoor and I went up to the floor he lives. I remember he asked to take of my shoes which ofcourse I did. I stepped in and liked the interior and decorations of the flat. The art was lovely and of my taste and he had some stories coming with it. I love it when things had a life and represent something like the art he inhereted of his mother that sadly passed away.
I think the evening was all we could want. Simon cooked a wonderfull diner, he ofcouse had some wine for us and we connected. He told me about his life and some real personal things I will not repeat. We ended up at his couch and when I layed there, with my head on his lap it felt as if we knew eachoter for years. That is how we ended up doing what lovers do. 🙂 So when time slipped through our fingers Simons repeatedly said frase ‘I can’t make it late because I have a flight early next morning’ kept popping up and I din’t wanted to be disrespectul and offered to leave him alone to prepare for his holiday. To my surprise he asked me to stay but warned me we had to get out early. That is how I ended up staying and drinking some of the Limoncello together.
Ofcourse I didn’t sleep at all, yes some ‘hazenslaapjes’ but nothing well. I was broken. I’m a bad sleeper and the situatian didn’t help. So early that morning we woke up, Simon made me some coffee, offered me a shower and said he would call a cab to bring him to the airport. I said I had to leave and if he would I could give him a ride. Cheaper for him and for me it didn’t make any difference, he agreed. So not that long after we got his suitcase and went to Schiphol. He seemed a bit distant but probably because he wanted to make sure to be in the airport at time. We arrived at the kiss and ride, he got out, got is lugage and I stayed in the car because it felt as if he wasn’t into that romantic mood. But, before he walked away he asked me ‘Ain’t you gonna kiss be goodbye’ and ofcourse I wanted to so I got out of the car, gave him a quick kiss and he left wearing his new coat proudly.
I really thought everything was good but after this moment all went downhill faster than light.
So, like I said, Simon went to celebrate Christmas with his brother’s family.
I, on the other hand, was facing a very different Christmas. I had lost my dad just six months earlier — on the 16th of June — and the circumstances around his passing had left deep scars.
My dad and I had always had a complicated love-hate relationship. And the way my family treated me and my son during his brief illness and at the funeral had left me both scarred and sad. I told Simon about this — told him how devastated I still felt.
I had no family base anymore. The past years had been hard on me, and I’d always had to do and decide everything on my own — emotionally and physically exhausted.
To make it worse, my son would be leaving for a holiday with his girlfriend’s family over Christmas, staying away into the New Year. I was dreading the holidays.
And I had been very clear with Simon — right from the start — that I didn’t want to end up as a friend with benefits. I didn’t want conditional love. No “you can come when I feel like it” arrangement. That was a line I had drawn very firmly.
I wasn’t asking for marriage or living together — just something based on respect and more than just physical need. He said that was not what he wanted either.
Back to Christmas.
I asked Simon how he felt about us. He responded with a friendly, hopeful message. But honestly, I didn’t quite know what to make of it.
You must understand — English is not my mother tongue, and in any second language there is always more room for interpretation. Add to that the lack of nonverbal cues in written text, and the differences in how men and women often communicate — it becomes a minefield.
Deep down, his message triggered my insecurities. And I probably didn’t handle it well.
I sent the message to a friend. At first, the friend was positive, but when I shared my perspective, the response changed: “Well, maybe this isn’t for you.”
Another friend said: “Friends with benefits only works when you both want exactly that, with clear expectations and agreements.”
Even my son weighed in: “Mom, are you sure you want to stay on this train? The longer you stay on, the faster it will go — and when you jump off, it’ll hurt more.”
In hindsight, that was probably not the encouragement I needed, but I know they meant well.
Days went by. Simon’s words echoed in my head. I was torn between hope and disappointment — and the silence from his side became louder and louder.
I couldn’t understand why, knowing my situation, he wouldn’t communicate at all. Yes, I knew he was with family and probably busy — but surely, five minutes for a message wasn’t too much to ask?
The silence kept growing.
Eventually, I concluded that this was his way of ending things — by ghosting me. I wrote him as much — that it wasn’t what he was looking for, and that this was his way of saying so.
He responded that I was right — though not about everything I said. But I never got an explanation about what exactly had happened.
At one point, he offered to explain — but I told him that at that moment it wasn’t the right time. I would probably be too emotional and might make things worse. I said we should wait until the storm had passed. But that moment never came.
Simon blocked me everywhere. Deleted accounts. Went into full gaslighting mode — as if I had never existed.
I can be intense sometimes — I know that. But I tried everything to end this in a respectful, normal way. He refuses to engage. He treats me as if I’m a freak.
If I were truly crazy, I could easily go to Amsterdam and cause trouble — but I won’t. I’m trying to be respectful.
I still believe we should have talked about this like mature adults. I don’t hate him — but I don’t like the way we communicated in the end.
I made mistakes, and I apologised. I know I should have done better — but I can’t turn back time.
Simon never gave me his phone number. Looking back, was that already a sign? Maybe it was.
There was something else too — something I won’t discuss here — but it made me realise he wasn’t that serious. It had to do with another woman he had dated back in September. The way he handled that hit me hard. It wasn’t just inconsiderate — it was downright rude.
But anyway. On January 9th, Simon dropped a new track on SoundCloud titled “I know you needed someone that would be there for you.”
I couldn’t help but feel like he was talking to me. As if it was a quiet goodbye, his version of explaining what had happened between us. The “about the track” even strengthened that feeling:
“Deeper and deeper, somehow the planets aligned and the music all went in that direction. Yeah this is druggy. Find a darkened room, turn this up as loud as hell, indulge in whatever you like to indulge in. And enjoy.”
That was exactly how I had felt about that short period when our lives crossed. And yet, very soon I realised: this was exactly that — how I felt. And again, it became some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. I had this deep need for an explanation, to hear that it wasn’t all fake. So I projected my own feelings onto his words. But in the end, that was all there was to it — my own projection.
On Valentine’s Day, I made one last attempt. I sent him a physical Valentine card to his address in Amsterdam. Not to win him back — I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with me. I simply wanted to part ways respectfully, to close the chapter.
But of course, that card also fell on deaf ears. I guess Simon probably thinks I’m obsessed with him. But that’s not the case. As I wrote to him in that last message: “I’m a choice, not an option.”
All I ever wanted was to reflect on what had happened — two adults, two people — and part ways with respect. But it seems that was not the story he wanted to tell.
I genuinely hope he is happy — and that when he looks back at those two days, he remembers them fondly.
One of the artists Simon introduced me to was Jamie Woon — and the song Spiral will always be connected to my memory of Simon, filed away forever in my musical memory library.
Hope you are doing well, Simon.