In high school, I was a size 7 when the other girls strove to be a size 2. J Lo hadn't yet made booty something to be desired, and the Kardashian's were still sweet and innocent. Strategically hiding my wobbly bits, they only became more pronounced over the years, and I could only blame baby weight for so long.
Along comes my Dom. He loves all my wobbly bits. He runs his hands up my body, stretch marks and all, and like a cat, I purr in pure delight. I lay beside him, my left leg stretching along his right, my right leg brought up to go over his chest in order for every inch of the front of my body to touch his. With just a slight adjustment I can feel the friction of the hair on his thigh on my damp center. I run my hands through his chest hair and close my eyes reveling in the feel of his beard on my breast. With my right hand, I run my fingers through his hair, over his face...memorizing the scent and feel of this man who loves me just the way I am.
Please keep the lights on Sir.
