Model Husband (chapter 4)

Chapter 4

2018 begins with a euphoric sense of excitement for both of us. You’ve officially been voted a Sports Illustrated rookie and you’ve used your newfound fame to start your own clothing line through the QVC network and you call it, All Worthy.

Our engagement seems to have given you a permanent glow, and you are accepting your curvier figure to such a degree that you’re making it your mission to broaden the garment industry’s standards and make women’s clothes more inclusive as opposed to exclusive. You're young and you have that fire inside that wants to change the world, for better or worse.

You’re working more than ever now. SI has you do a profile and body positive campaign, another provocative naked photoshoot but now with the word: Confidence; written across your softening leg in big black lettering and the word: Fearless; down your plush feminine arm. You’re giving interviews and traveling constantly and you're getting less and less interested in the gym unless it’s for video or some kind of promotion, not that you have much time for exercise anyway. When you’re home, you seem to want to do nothing but sit in front of the TV and eat.

“Mmm, (chew, munch) this place is so good,” you say after shoving another crispy chicken strip in your mouth. “I can’t (chew, chew) believe you never told me about it before.”

I wipe the sweat off my brow and set my water bottle on the kitchen counter. “It’s not exactly vegan friendly.”

You’re sitting on the sofa, and along with your laptop, you’ve got a substantial spread of food on the coffee table in front of you, Tex’s chicken and burgers, a local place down the street. It’s July, and the air conditioning is blasting at a cool 70 degrees. You're dressed in your usual at home attire of leggings and a crop top and your hair is tied back in a high ponytail.

You fold your calves beneath your thighs, take another bite of chicken and look at me. “Omigod, (chew, munch) can you believe what Revolve did?”

I walk towards you. “What?”

“You (chew) haven’t heard?”

How would I have heard? “No.”

I sit in the armchair across from you, and, still a bit winded from my two mile run along Shore Road Park, catch by breath. Your dog Stella looks at me with her little puppy dog eyes. She needs to be walked, and I know I’ll be the one who ends up doing that. I’ve noticed you’ve been going out of your way to avoid the stairs lately.

You scowl and roll your eyes. “They were freaking trying to advertise a sweatshirt that said, being fat is not beautiful, it’s an excuse.”

I smile inwardly. You’re the girl that didn’t want to go jogging or even walking with me, saying you were too groggy, saying it was too hot and muggy out, and instead stayed home and ordered doordash. I make my eyebrows go up.  “Oh what, seriously?”

“Yes and the ad wasn’t even shot on a plus model and they’re only selling them up to size XL.” You squish your lips around your straw and take a sip of your drink. “These companies are just so narrow minded, they really need to expand.”

Expand? Do you mean like your hips, like your waistline and boobs? And did you say, only goes up to an XL? XL stands for extra large, what the hell size could be bigger than extra large anyway?

You’ve put on more weight, right on top of the weight you gained before that. You’re starting to look a little more than curvy. You’re starting to look a bit chunky. Is that even possible? Can you be a model and also be chunky? Is all this curviest SI model ever and body positive stuff going to your head?

“Literally I guess,” I say.

You lean forward and grab another piece of fried chicken. Your exposed arms jiggle as you move. “What do you mean?”

Are you really not putting that together right now? “Umm, nothing,” I say with a shrug.

“People (munch, chew) are like so afraid of diversity and I really want to change that.”

“Well, you’re doing a very good job,” I say.

The days and months go on and you seem to be making little attempt to suppress your surprisingly hearty appetite. We’re growing closer and more in love, but it’s clear to me that you’re continuing to get bigger and you’re still gaining weight.

Maybe a couple more pounds in August, and a few more in September and October. It’s too gradual for you to take much notice, but by the end of the year, a whole 12 months into our engagement, the changes in your body are so glaring it’s almost shocking.

Coming in from the bitter cold, I enter the warmth of our apartment and find it empty. I’m not usually home this early but it’s Friday and I wanted to surprise you.  I make my way to the bedroom door but it’s closed. I give it a quick knock.“You in here babe?”

“Just a sec.”

I open the door and walk in. You’re wearing pink boyshorts and a white tank top. Your back is turned and you seem to be frantically cleaning something up the nightstand. “What are you doing?” I say, marveling at the newly developed width of your ass.

You turn around with an embarrassed smirk, your breasts heaving beneath your low-cut top. Your cleavage is so much deeper and longer than it used to be and I’m finding it very hot.

“Omigod, (pant) like don’t get judgy,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to see all this.”

“All what?”

You sit down on the edge of the mattress with a springy plop. “I’m just (pant) having a total pig out day.”

There’s a closed box of pizza from The Brooklyn Firefly with an empty dinner plate and a paper napkin placed on top. Just beside is an open carton of ice cream with the handle of a spoon sticking out.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Is something wrong?”

“Uhh, no.” You purse your lips, look at the pizza box, then back at me. “I don’t know it’s just like, you know I had to update my test shoots. I’m not getting call backs from a lot of the brands I used to work with.”

“Good. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard anyway, and you want to have time to plan the wedding anyway right?”

“I guess. It's just like so disheartening how these companies say they’re plus size and pro-curvy and stuff but they still see me as like, being too big. I guess plus size to them means 14 but not 18.”

18 did you say? You certainly look like you’ve gone up a size or two. I sit down next to you and put my arm around your waist. The roll of pudge in your lower back has gotten thicker, and it feels very nice.  “So lame.”

You let out a very girly and delicious sigh, almost a gasp. “It sucks, and now I feel guilty because I end up doing what I always do when I’m upset, curl up in bed and binge eat.”

“Babe you do not need to beat yourself up for being human.” I kiss your arm. “You do not need to be a supermodel when you’re at home, when you’re with me, just be yourself, be Hunter.”

“I need to stop gorging myself every time I feel depressed. I have never been this big before in my life.”

“You look stunning,” I say and I’m being honest. The way you’ve been gaining weight lately is becoming increasingly intriguing to me. I don’t know why I can't quite admit it to you but I’m actually starting to find it wildly sexy.

You shove me in the arm then stand up. “Shut up.”

I stand up too. “No, really.”

“I want to see how much I weigh, don’t follow me.”

You turn and wiggle into the bathroom, and when I say wiggle, I mean it.

My eyes are glued to your ass and despite your command, I’m right behind you. Those skimpy pink shorts are very revealing. Your butt is getting big and soft, and I’m fucking loving it. “Come on, there should be no secrets between us.”

“A woman never reveals her weight.”

“But she would to her fiance,” I say. “Isn’t that an outdated way of thinking anyway? Especially for someone in your position. Remove the stigma, who the hell cares? Let’s be totally open with each other.”

You kick the scale away from the wall with your toes, then turn to me and smile. “Gawd you are like the perfect man sometimes.”

I smile back. “Sometimes?”

You step on the scale and look down. You gasp. “Uhhh fuccckkk, I am not 220.”

No you’re not. I’m looking down at the numbers and I see you’re actually 228.

You act like you're so surprised, but what did you expect? A year and a half ago you told me you were over 200, and you’re clearly a lot bigger now. I can see it in your rounder face and softer jawline, I can see it in the thickness of your waist, your arms and everything else.

“Hey, watch the negative talk,” I say.

You step forward and poke me in the stomach. “What do you weigh?”

I sigh, step on the scale and see that I’m 210 pounds as usual.

You poke me in the stomach again and say, “Omigod I freaking hate you!”

“Come here,” I say. Don’t get upset, I think it’s really fucking hot that you outweigh me now. I like the contrast; me the tall slim man and you the soft and voluptuous woman. I clear my throat. “You have never looked so sexy. I hope you feel as sexy as you look.”

“I do.” You rest your head against my chest. “I just get like so frustrated with the fashion industry sometimes.”

I hold you and clasp your big, full ass cheeks with both hands. Goddamn you feel good. “It’s been an amazing year for both of us,” I say. “Be an example to other girls you know, be the change you want to see.”

You give your hips a little shake. You are so fucking hot. Does your curvier body turn you on as much as it does me?

“Shut up and take me to bed,” you say.