Alright, so I’m a big girl. 250 pounds. No big deal. I’ve kind of always been this way, chubby for as long as I can remember. My first pair of Calvin Klein jeans in eighth grade were a size 16, and by the time I left highschool I was another size bigger, shopping exclusively at plus-sized stores and being ridiculed ruthlessly in the locker room. I was pretty sure, from the time I started reading about sex in Cosmo at age 11, to the time I lost my virginity at 17, that I would never ever have sex. That I was just too fat for someone to love me (and when you’re a teenager, six years is FOREVER, and forever is a long, LONG time to feel that way about yourself.)
Bullshit.
I’ve had my fair share of exes (seven of them, if we’re counting,) all of them convinced this is ‘the way a woman should be’ and all of them thinner than I am, god damnit. It’s kind of empowering, you know, being the bigger woman. Literally. Whether it’s taller (as in the case of having two exes, one two inches shorter than I am, the other four,) or skinnier (as in the case of having an ex who weighed a whole hundred pounds less than me) it leaves you feeling kind of like an Amazon. A warrior woman.
Then I met my husband. He? Yeah, he weighs 330 pounds. He is a big, big boy and oh god how I love him. The feeling for once in my life of being small, it’s like nothing else I’ve known. I love to just curl up beside him and let him envelop me, arms around. I love to put on his clothes and get lost in them. I love being his wife more than anything, but I know, too, that ‘anything’ has its consequences.
I have this fantasy of being able to straddle a guy who is sitting- on the sofa, in a chair, whatever. Being on top while being held, slowly rocking to orgasm together, it would be gorgeous. Except… we can’t do that, not my husband and I. His tummy would be in the way.
I’m obsessed with the idea of being fucked up against a wall, maybe in the shower, maybe in an alley behind the goth club, but I know that I weigh too much for any such thing. I’ve accepted this- there’s plenty of other things we do and do well, defying gravity notwithstanding.
I’m obsessed with the idea of being fucked up against a wall, maybe in the shower, maybe in an alley behind the goth club, but I know that I weigh too much for any such thing. I’ve accepted this- there’s plenty of other things we do and do well, defying gravity notwithstanding.
He still loves my body, though. A blessing I did not foresee. He loves the feeling of my meaty hips in his grasp, loves to slide his hands down the back of my tightest jeans and get a handful of my ass when no one else is looking. He tickles my stretchmarks instead of scowling at them. He smirks to watch me flounce around the bedroom in a bra and panties, and gets all worked up when my lingerie is a little too short. It does wonders for a girl’s self-esteem to be this big and still be adored.
My husband is handsome as all fucking hell. He’s got this mop of gorgeous dark curls, eyes the shade of whiskey and this perpetual scruff on his face that makes him look roguish and sly. His voice is deep, often raspy, and his sense of humor is killer. He has me in tears more often than not. He makes me scream and lose my mind in bed. I love him. I don’t care what size he is.
I’m definitely not a reverse sizeist or anything, I get that we need to lose weight. We’ve both put on pounds since my pregnancy. Our collective health is at risk, we’re setting our daughter up for sadness and woe. Hell, even Ava couldn’t fantasize about my husband without taking note of the fact that she wished he was thinner. Okay, I get it. I’m there with you. We’re fat.
I’m definitely not a reverse sizeist or anything, I get that we need to lose weight. We’ve both put on pounds since my pregnancy. Our collective health is at risk, we’re setting our daughter up for sadness and woe. Hell, even Ava couldn’t fantasize about my husband without taking note of the fact that she wished he was thinner. Okay, I get it. I’m there with you. We’re fat.
What does that mean for our sex life? You know that phrase, ‘more cushion for the pushin’? It holds. I once had a boyfriend with a 28” waist, hipbones like daggers. Fucking him was a feat of contortion, trying to keep my inner thighs away from his sides as he thrust. Fucking my husband is like grinding two marshmallows together. Soft, good, awesome! But again, all that awesome comes with a price.
He has to shuffle his belly around sometimes when nailing me from behind. Standard missionary means our abdomens (wherever they are) are pressed together, which means I can’t get a finger (or a vibrator, or anything else) down there to rub my clit. We’ve had to devise a method that involves pillows under my ass to tilt me back far enough. This had its own happy side effect: g-spot stimulation. Who knew? (Actually I think I was the last to find out.)
This doesn’t, however, change the fact that we’ve had to design positions to work around our bigness. That concerns me, as it should. The idea of weight loss is an anathema to my husband, however, so we trudge on. I try not to be down on myself. I know a lot of glorious, sexy, chubby girls whose libidos can’t be quenched with anything short of a fire hose. Between yearly subscriptions to Torrid and Lane Bryant they manage to look hot as hell and men crawl across great distances for them. I know because I used to be one of them, and if I was still single, I might still be.
Now, I’m pretty much the cute housewife, destined to have one man and one man alone crawling at my feet. But as long as he’s my man, and as long as he’s taking me to bed with him, I don’t give a rat’s ass. He makes me feel like the only girl in the world, and that’s enough for me. The diet? Oh, that can wait just one more week.
Mighty blue
It’s so good to read something by someone who is fat! And not afraid to talkabout the belly roll!
F. Victoria Whitechapel
*high five!*
Jess
Very nice, thank you! I had to send the following line to my own man, because I appreciated it so much:
"Fucking my husband is like grinding two marshmallows together. Soft, good, awesome!"
F. Victoria Whitechapel
*giggles!* So glad to make someone's day!
F. Victoria Whitechapel
Can I just say I am loving Eden *hard* right now for the bangin' image they picked to go with this article? They win forever.
Krysia
Just wow.
I, too, have never been so small (right now I am at my biggest) and have always thought otherwise about other guys liking me. But lo and behold – I was WAAAAYYYY wrong. 
Thanks for this read! It made me appreciate my size 
Jerry321999
My fiancee and I resemble this Almost in its entirety. We both have extra "padding".
At one time 20-plus yrs ago I was the skinny guy with the plus-sized wife. Now I'm the BHM with the HOT-AS-HELL BBW finacee! I'm pretty content with that!
Airen
Neither of my guys likes skinny women, all of my husband's playmates are large and lovely! It's just amazing to me.