Pudge

2002, extract from Christine Lincoln, Sap Rising, in Marita Golden, E. Lynn Harris (editors), Gumbo: An Anthology of African American Writing, Random House (Broadway Books), page 676, The smell of her skin and hair after I have given her a bath, me nibbling at the layers of pudge on her legs and arms, around her neck—I drown in the scent of all that innocence.

Their faces are long and graceful and missing the pudge of the others.

He is high-booted (over rather skinny legs), with a tiny bit of a paunch showing, an intimation of genital endowment, and a sort of nice half smile (a tidge of pudge in the cheeks and jowls), his left hand leaning against and rather caressing a very bold phallic cannon's spout.