by Alexis Angel
I have no makeup on, and my hair is a wet mess. Two years ago, I would have never liked a picture of myself like this. But now…I actually kind of like how I look, even when I’m not all glammed up.
I toss it up on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook and throw some hash tags in the captions.
“Damn girl,” Holly-Anne says, obviously still reeling from the news. “Your first fuck after the big breakup with Ryan is a threesome. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get back in the game…and here you are, playing a double header.”
Ugh. I would have preferred that she didn’t mention him…but even I have to admit, it does feel kind of like sweet revenge.
“I mean, the guy dumped me after I lost my contract,” I say. “Can you really blame me for taking my time? I thought he loved me for me.”
“Ryan was a piece of shit, and he never deserved you,” she says solemnly. “You fucking know that, right?”
“Actually…I’ve been contemplating about whether or not I should message him again now that I’m skinny,” I reveal.
I don’t exactly feel good about that, honestly. I had missed him for so long. Or at least, I’d missed the companionship, the cutesy couple bullshit, and the admittedly less-than-regular sex.
“No, Kara. Fuck that. You’re moving on! And in a really fun way. Two guys at once…I am all about this.” Holly-Anne pops open the freezer door and starts digging around for ice cream. “How did it even happen? Spill, girl.”
“Well, they started watching me work out and helped me exercise.”
“Mmmhmm,” Holly-Anne says, grabbing a spoon. “And then?”
“Aaand then they caught me masturbating to them in the shower…so I guess they figured they’d make my fantasies a reality.”
“You crazy bitch. I am so proud of you,” she says, popping the lid off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “Want some?”
“Nah,” I laugh. “I’ve had plenty of cream in my diet for one day, if you know what I mean.”
I make my way into my bedroom to get out of these clothes. If I had gone to the gym, like, ever before in my life, I would have known to pack something clean to change into post-workout—but before today, my lazy ass didn’t even own workout clothes.
Something to keep in mind for next time, I guess. Because with Chase and Eric around…you can bet your ass there will be a next time.
I check my closet for clothes, turning hanger after hanger and finding nothing I want. I sigh. I need to go shopping again.
None of my shit that’s cute fits, and none of my shit that fits is cute.
I decide to just throw on some pajamas.
Fuck it, right? I have to tighten the little drawstring at the waist as much as I can to keep the pants on my hips, but it’s better than nothing. The silk feels good against my skin—nice and cool.
Back in the living room, my phone buzzes loud against the table. Like, constantly.
When I check it to see what’s up, my notifications are flooded with likes, hearts, and comments. It’s nothing unusual for a former plus-sized public figure…except that I’ve been pretty much media-silent since I lost my contract, and I figured I would have lost my following by now.
I scroll through the notifications, just perusing the positive comments. But then a notification comes in from him.
My heart skips a fucking beat, then lodges itself in my windpipe.
“Holly-Anne,” I croak as I turn my phone to her.
“That little shit,” Holly-Anne swears back.
Ryan has started following my profile again.
On some level, I’m actually surprised. Not that he’s joined my fan base, though…but more because I’m not actually sure that I care. My initial reaction was as expected, but the follow-up leaves something to be desired.
I mean, after Chase and Eric in the shower today—do I even give a fuck about that image-obsessed prick anymore?
“God, I’d forgotten all about him blocking me,” I admit. “Big surprise he wants to be back in the picture now.”
“Forgot? Kara, you dated him for years. Plural. And you forgot about him cutting you off? Ghosting on you?” Holly-Anne asks.
“I-I don’t need Ryan,” I explain. “Time heals all wounds, right? I just don’t see the point in being hurt over it. I don’t think I need him anymore.”
And I mean it. I don’t need him.
Every moment I spent with Ryan was spent in agonizing worry—was my muffin top showing? Could he see my tummy rolls if I put my legs up over my head?
Compare that to today, when I had two pretty-much-strangers feeling up my body, showering it with kisses and shoving their dicks inside it—and all I could think of was how fucking good it felt to be with them.
After Ryan, I second guessed everything. I moved a certain way to avoid any jiggling. I tried no carbs.
No fats. No calories. No anything.
I bought a Shakeweight for that man, for fuck’s sake! And none of it paid off—it just ended in binge after binge as I broke down from whatever fad diet I was on that week and ate my feelings.
No matter how much I ate, though, I still felt unhappy.
All it took was a few hours with Chase and Eric, and all of that literally melted.
I want to feel that again, I realize.
Fuck, I have to see them again.
“So are you going back to the gym tomorrow?” Holly-Anne asks, carving a path through the Ben & Jerry’s with her spoon.
“And the next day,” I laugh. “And the next. And the next.”
Eric
I walk into my kitchen, the cool tile hitting my bare feet and my cock bouncing heavy against my thigh.
When I’m home, I barely wear anything. I cover just enough to keep the husbands of my female neighbors appeased: sweatpants.
My fingers collect beads of water between them as I drag them through my hair. After our little encounter with Kara in the shower earlier, I needed a second shower just to cool down.
I grab a cutting board out from beneath my sink and place it onto my stainless steel countertop…and seeing the steel reminds me of Kara’s fingers gripping the hot and cold water dials in ecstasy just a few hours ago while I pumped her full of my cum.
Christ. I don’t usually stay in long enough to notice them, but today was quite the exception. Every gasp, every moan, every aching detail of ever delicious moment is still fresh in my filthy mind.
I fuck a lot of women. And I mean a lot of women.
Chase can vouch for me. He’s fucked half of them, too. Shit, we’ve fucked them together plenty of times.
But this Kara chick is just something else. I don’t know if it’s her wit or her looks or the adorable way she acts like she can resist me, but I’m hooked. Already.
The way she makes everything an obstacle for me really turns me on. It makes it an accomplishment when I get there.
Normally, girls are throwing themselves at my cock. Literally.
But I had to actually get through hours before fucking Kara. She didn’t even initiate it. She was prepared to walk out of that gym with a wet cunt and not even a peek at the monster between my legs.
Shit, I can’t remember the last time I had to make a move to get someone on my cock.
But fuck am I glad she did hop on it. Fucking Kara was phenomenal.
An entire day of sexual frustration, and finally my hard, throbbing dick was granted release. Kind of like how when you haven’t eaten anything all day, and you get those first few bites of your meal, they just taste better.
Kara Gilmore. I could eat that woman right up.
I pull a pot out from my lower cabinets and fill it with water. As I wait for it to boil, I chop up some broccoli and set it in a bowl, ready to chuck it in when the water’s at temp.
I walk over to my refrigerator and grab a package of chicken tenderloin, which I start cubing. I stare at my spices once it’s all cut to my preference and then decide I’m feeling an Italian-style dish tonight.
I thr
ow some oregano, salt, pepper, basil, and parsley onto the chicken and drizzle some olive oil onto it.
I’m a good cook, so it’s going to be fucking delicious. I could afford a personal chef, but there’s something more rewarding about doing it myself.
Besides, I’m starving. I probably waited too long to eat. But considering why, I’m not too bent out of shape.
Kara satisfied a different kind of appetite.
It’s important when you work out as much as I do to have a schedule for your nourishment. And ninety nine percent of the time, I can follow it.
But when a tasty treat like Kara shows up in my day, I don’t mind deviating once in a while. And she made it worth it.
I wonder if Kara ended up getting some actual food. God damn, I hope she isn’t one of those girls that just eats one meal a day. Especially after the workout we gave her.
I grab some garlic and chop it up to go in with the chicken. I heat a pan and toss it all in together.
As I move the chicken and garlic around in the pan, I have my other hand on my phone. Multitasking when I’m doing something so simple isn’t a problem. I’m flipping through social media, trying to figure out the best way to get people looking at the Protein Plus shakes.
All through my feed, there’s tons of advertisements and hashtags about the upcoming Miss Sexy Universe pageant. That cock-eyed bitch Camille is everywhere. I know that winning the pageant, she’s the guaranteed spokesperson for the competition this year, but if I could stop seeing her nipples pressing through the fabric of that stupid “Shake ‘Em Ups” logo tank top, I would be able to breathe easier.
As I scroll, I see sponsored ad after sponsored ad. I get that I follow strictly fitness related posts, but I would pay money to never see that failed protein shake pyramid scheme ever again.
Shake ‘Em Ups. Disgusting fucking product, stupid fucking name.
The fact that a few months after the competition last year, Shake ‘Em Ups went bankrupt should be a sign to someone―if not everyone―that their entire company is bullshit. But nope. Fuck.
At least I got my personal vengeance out by revenge-fucking Camille. Wasn’t even difficult. I just needed to stand in her vicinity, and the bitch threw herself right at me.
I can still remember the way she went even more cock-eyed with my cock in her mouth.
Oh, Eric! she cooed after. Your cum is soooo yummy! Gimme more, pretty please? I’d do ANYTHING for more!
Christ. Maybe I need a girl to enter in the Miss Sexy Universe pageant. That’d get some good exposure for Protein Plus.
I look over to my stovetop and see that the water is finally boiling. I toss in my broccoli for a couple of minutes and set my phone down on the counter to finish the chicken.
I pop open a jar of organic tomato sauce and pour it over the chicken and garlic, stirring it around. My broccoli looks done about the time I finish it so I strain it and shock it in some cold water over at the sink before I pour it in with the rest of the dish.
I grab some rice I prepped from the fridge and heat it up and pour that in too.
Voila. Dinner. I’ve got my protein, my veggies, and a starch.
A well-balanced meal, perfect for after a long day of working out with my best friend and a hot chick.
I throw a good portion into a bowl and grab a fork. I make my way over to my couch and sit with my food. Back to my marketing plan. We’re so far in development that I need to start advertising as soon as possible.
As my thumb pushes Shake ‘Em Ups up and out of my view, a picture that has been reposted by a page called “Fitness Junkies” catches my eye. Not because it has anything to do with my strategy, but because I know exactly who’s in it.
Kara. Why would Fitness Junkies have Kara on their featured posts? I’m too curious.
Repost after repost, I trace the picture back as far as I can, which lands me to Kara’s personal account. She has over a million followers.
What the shit?
As I peruse her public photos, I can’t even believe it’s the same girl. The rest of her pictures are at least two years old.
She’s still hot as hell in them, but I don’t recognize her. With that much internet fame, I feel like I’m supposed to.
Her curves back then were as phenomenal then as they are now. Anyone would be lucky to fuck her at any size. I can fucking say that with a smile.
But my curiosity is piqued. I scroll even further into her gallery.
My god, this girl used to be a plus-sized model. No fucking wonder people follow the fuck out of her.
I take a heaping spoonful of my dinner. Goddamn, that’s good. See, just like I said.
When you’ve been starving all day, that first bite tastes so much better than it would have had you not waited for it.
I wonder what made Kara decide to lose all of that weight. Seriously, she’d be perfect at any size. She’s got such a gorgeous face and such delectable proportions…more of her just means that there’d be more of her to love.
She’s gorgeous now, too, of course—and with a little training, she’ll look even healthier. But the world isn’t always kind to women with curves like that, no matter how fucking stunning they are.
It takes me a second to realize it, but I’m actually fucking worrying about this girl. I’m the kind of man who usually pumps and dumps, but Kara has me all concerned about her well-being and shit. Probably because, judging by the way she was trying to lift today before Chase and I came along, it’s obvious that someone needs to take care of this girl.
It’s not just me being over-protective, though. I’ve never been so intrigued by someone, especially someone I just met. And now I have all of this empathy for her, and I want to get in her head.
Huh. I genuinely want to help this girl be happy.
And I think I have a good start to how I can do that.
I return to my feed, littered with Miss Sexy Universe ads.
I think Chase and I can mold her into our model. We can sponsor her with Protein Plus, enter her into the competition, and make her the face of our brand.
She has the model strut, she has the looks, and she definitely has the right backstory to melt hearts in our name. We’ll just need to get her on board.
And with a little convincing, I think we can have that in the bag, too. I take another heaping bite of my food and wash it down with a full glass of water.
I pull up my text conversations and find Chase’s thread.
I have a plan, I send him.
He responds, not even a minute later, What else is new?
I reply, It’s for Protein Plus. The plan is Kara.
Kara? he asks. Shower-fuck Kara?
Exactly. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to be our face in the Miss Sexy Universe pageant. And we’re going to win, hands down, I explain.
Fucking genius, bro. When are we telling her?
Tomorrow. Before we start our workout. I know exactly how we’ll ask..
Sweet. Fucking awesome, he sends back.
I can’t wait to see the look on Kara’s face when we give her our idea.
In fact, if I have anything to say about it, she’s going to take it just fine.
Kara
I can’t believe how many people are still showing me support after I posted that selfie yesterday. Every time I think the likes and comments might stop coming in…my phone buzzes again with a new notification. At this rate, I could use the fucking thing as a vibrator.
It would give a whole new meaning to getting off on social media, at any rate.
Posting pictures of a thinner me is still difficult. It makes me feel like I’m cheating the people who used to think of me as a plus-sized role model.
But at the same time, promoting a healthier, happier me is a good thing. Everyone is comfortable at different places and sizes—and this is the size that I’m comfortable at right now. I don’t feel like that’s a bad message to send.
Regardless, the ratio of bad and good comments t
hat came about from my post show that the vast majority of my fans still support the shit out of me, and that’s just awesome.
I feel like I could climb a mountain―riding this high of overwhelming support from them as my source of energy―and I’d make it to the top. No questions asked.
I grab a wash cloth and some exfoliating scrub to clean my face before I head off to the gym. I think taking care of your skin before and after a workout is important. I can’t afford any blemishes with my recent spike in attention, and keeping my face acne-free has become pretty much effortless since I stopped eating the nutritional equivalent of garbage.
Not to mention I’d probably focus more on that than my workout if that happened. I’d be concerned that my flaws were all that Chase and Eric would be looking at. With those two in mind, I’ll be deep cleaning my skin day and night if that’s what it takes.
I grab a towel and blot my face after I rinse the exfoliant from it. Once I’m nice and dry, I hang the towel and make my way over to my dresser.
I pull out my underwear drawer and find a pair of whoops, I’m accidentally sexy panties. They are low cut in the front and tastefully revealing in the back, so my shapely ass will show well through my leggings.
I grab a couple of socks, not bothering to match them, because really, who has time for that? I find a good pair of calf-length leggings and a black sports bra. Aaaand a cut-off crop top, because why the hell not?
For once, I don’t even have to feel uncomfortable about rocking it.
I assemble my look and take a step back to examine myself in the mirror. I look adorable, fuckable, and totally ready to work up a sweat.
I leave my room and walk out to my living room. I see a pretty decent-sized stack of mail sitting on my coffee table and decide I should probably look it over before Lucy swats it around.
I have a system for sorting my mail.
Bills are trash. I pay everything online.
Ads are trash. I look up everything online.
Credit card offers are trash. The APRs on anything pre-approved are terrible.
