Andrew has never really been with many women with pudge. It wasn’t really a choice, just skinnier women tended to flock to him. But then you happened. And he wasn’t sure how to act with your love-handles, with your cellulite, with your thighs.

He loves it though. Especially your love-handles, they seem perfect for his massive, long fingered hands. He adores being able to squeeze at them, massage them, dig his nails into them. He loves it.

So, when he walks into your shared bedroom, his mouth starts to water at the sight of your tight dress. He’s practically drooling. He’s quick to pounce, grabbing your hips and pushing his face into your neck, loving the smell of your perfume.

Andrew: “I like this dress… feck me, I like you…”