Big Game Hunters

It started with Rick's dad, who was never a big presence in his life. His mother raised him; his dad, Rick says dismissively, was your typical West Side drunk. But he could talk. And he liked to talk about "sweat-hogging." A college friend, a good-looking guy, had been into it. "Let's go out and pick up some pigs tonight," the guy would say. He homed in on fat girls, demanded oral sex, then kicked them out of the car when he was done. "He'd literally boot 'em out with his foot," Rick says, telling the story just as his dad told it to him.

When Rick and his friends headed out for the night, his dad would inevitably ask, "You guys going sweat-hogging?"

In high school, Rick lost his virginity to a large woman. It only escalated from there. He eventually dropped the "sweat." But hogging -- that was something he got good at. Good at doing, good at talking about, just like his dad.

Rick is sitting at the Treehouse patio, drinking bottles of Bud with his roommate Mark and talking about hogging. Rick is tall, broad, 23, a salesman who looks like a construction worker. Mark is three years older, shorter, with a shy grin that women love.

At first, both are hesitant to discuss the subject. Hogging, after all, is something men talk about with men, not women, and certainly not a woman taking notes. But they can't help themselves. After just one beer, they're egging each other on, jockeying for time, trying to top each story with something bigger and better.

Rick explains the attraction bluntly: "Everyone knows that if you want to get belligerent with your friends, hogging is the way to go. It's not something you aspire to, but no one decent is going to talk to you when you're at the bar with your friends, doing shots of Jaeger. Sometimes you just say, 'Fuck it, let's get a pig.'"

It's not that they prefer fat women, they say. It's just easier.

"You're not embarrassed getting shot down by them," Mark says. "You're not embarrassed when they leave."

Mark's had nothing but big women for a long time. On a woman of average height, he'll go up to 160, 170 pounds -- 225 if it's St. Patrick's Day or New Year's Eve.

"I wake up and see monsters in his bed," Rick says, feigning horror.

Mark doesn't dispute their size. But he resists the "monster" label. "The problem is, sometimes they're really nice people." He feels sorry for them, sorry for using them, sorry for being a jerk. If his friends don't find out, he'll call them. Do it again.

Rick will have none of it. "I just talk to them like they're complete disgusting pigs," he says. "You gotta break 'em down with insults. Comment on their fat -- 'You're a dirty little pig.' They call me a dick, an asshole, but after a few beers, they're into it."

"He's good because he has no conscience," Mark says mournfully.

---

Rick runs through his Rolodex of hogging adventures with little prompting. There was his ex-girlfriend's sister: "She was a little porker, and I violated her every way." The secretary, with her big white breasts. "She was a perfect hog." Beautiful face, big soft body.

Then there was the girl who gave him and a friend oral sex in the front seat of a Ford Explorer. His friend wanted to take it further, but Rick dissuaded him: "Most of the time, you're not going to bang 'em," he explains, disgusted by the thought.

Few hoggers take such obvious delight in degrading women. But all have stories they're dying to tell, so long as their real names aren't used. "My mom reads Scene," one guy explains.

Scott, a 30-year-old from Broadview Heights, met an obese woman at Knucklehead's in Parma on St. Patrick's Day. He'd been drinking since 8 a.m. They made out at the bar, then he took her home. The next morning, he made up an excuse to get her to leave; he actually circled the block in his car until she left. But when he ran into her two weeks later, they did it again. His friends gave him a hard time: "You went home with a hog."

His ready answer: "I got laid. What's your point?"

Jake, a 35-year-old bartender, had just broken up with his girlfriend when he met a big girl. Took her home. Got some. "The next day I was, like, how did this happen? Well, it just happens."

Bryan, 29, met his hog at karaoke night. One minute she was applauding his performance, the next they were singing a duet. Soon they were making music of their own in the parking lot. "I might see her again, I might not," he says, adding, "If I do, I hope none of my friends are there."