My Name is Leda, and I’m a Chubby Chaser
I was looking at pictures of Michael Fassbender today and realized he would be the perfect man if only he was 45lbs heavier. Don’t get me wrong, his abs are amazing and I would like to rub my face on them, but would I really want him pumping away on top of me stabbing me with his hip bones? Probably not. But if his head was on Kevin James body? Oh god, it would be on like Donkey Kong!
I have this habit of finding perfectly good guys and trying to fatten them up. Drew was a really great example of that. When we started dating he was really fit. Like, rockstar fit. He had that v-shaped cut above his groin area which made him look really great in nothing but tight underpants. He was nice to look at, but really all I had were his massive shoulders to grab on to every time we had sex.
A few months after moved in together, when his depression was really running wild, and he was turning to my nightly dinners for comfort, he really started to fill out in a delightful way. Suddenly his six pack turned into a one pack. His belly became soft and comforting. On the few occasions that he did want sex, I felt like a kid in a candy store. But alas, our relationship was not meant to be and I ended up moving far, far away from his perfect body.
Fast forward two months to when I started dating Ray. He was stout to begin with so it was perfect! He could be chubby and I wouldn’t get blamed for it! Except for, of course, the fact that he was actively working out trying to get in shape. What a loser.
I got him to be lazy and drink beer with me for about six months before his off and on fitness regimen, and his awful farts, eventually ended the relationship. Pizza and beer farts are fine, add protein powder into the mix and it creates a lethal stench that will literally melt the paint off of your walls.
So here I am, single, chugging beer, and looking for my guy with a delicious belly to keep me warm on this Pacific Northwest evening.
Where are you Kevin James? I can make cupcakes!