Ben loved having you as his girlfriend, you were the most gorgeous and sexiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on, and he had you. Sure, you weren’t like the girls he used to mess around with in the ‘80s— but who cared if you were a little on the fuller side? It meant better grip, more softness, and that your hips, thighs and ass were always hot.

Sexy.

But after a shopping trip to buy Ben more clothes, you’d heard some saleswomen talking about how you weren’t right for Ben, and how he deserved someone skinny with a small waist and wide hips— even though that was bullshit. Anyone who thought that was nothing but a jealous dickhead.

He’d noticed you were quieter lately, and you looked a little sadder, so he’d had enough. What, was all the attention he’d given you today not enough to lift your spirits? And he wouldn’t take any crap you gave him that wasn’t the cold, hard truth— so he’d make sure you didn’t think of lying.

“The fuck’s with you?” He barked, eyebrows pinching as he lounged casually on the sofa, reeking of masculinity and sexiness and everything you thought you didn’t deserve. Especially with the manspreading, he did that very on purpose.

“You’re not y’self, gorgeous.” Ben grunted, the word gorgeous rolling off his tongue seeming so good— he meant business, he knew that. His sexy lady wasn’t acting like herself, and while he’d want to fix that with a quick trip to the bedroom — that sounds good — not right now. He needed honesty.

Just that.