Model Husband (chapter 1) (Patreon)

Chapter 1

You shimmy out of your black leather jacket and place it neatly on top of your Bottega Veneta purse at the base of the barstool. That purse probably goes for at least 3 thousand bucks, but I’ll bet you got it for free.

You fan yourself with your hand and say, “Sorry, I’m like sweating.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

You close your lips around your straw and take a sip of your vodka champagne cocktail. You turn to me. “So she asked you what your type was?”

Goddamn you are adorable. You’re the most photogenic person I have ever seen, but you are amazingly even more gorgeous in person. I nod. “Yeah.”

You raise your perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “And what did you say?”

I take a sip of my Pommard Burgundy then set the glass down on the bar. “I said I like tall curvy blondes.”

“Omigod.” You let out a little laugh-snort that is just about the cutest sound I have ever heard.  “Wait, so like, was she a tall curvy blonde?”

“Nope.”

You touch my arm. “Get the fuck out you did not say that.”

I smile. “Yeah I did.” I take another drink of wine. “I knew she wasn’t right for me, and I don’t have time to waste, unless it’s someone I’m truly interested in.”

“Dude, same.” You push your hair behind your ear and let it fall over the bare skin of your shoulder.  “Curvy blondes huh?”

“Yeah.”

After a pause you sip your drink. “I wasn’t always curvy you know. Actually I used to be really skinny, like scary skinny. When I was trying to be a quote unquote straight model I was a size 2, now I’m a 14.”

You’re nervous about telling me this, but I know this about you. I’ve spent hours looking through your snapchat, your instagram and your facebook accounts and I know way more about you than I should.

I know that you’re too young for me, only 24 years old, but your style and confident disposition makes you seem 28 or 29, and your intimidating beauty makes you feel like my peer. I know you’re 5 feet 10 inches tall but you often broadcast that your 5’11” or even 6 feet because it makes you feel slimmer. I know you have a chubby sister named Michaela, I know your parents are divorced and your mom was a model and your dad is a working actor. I also know that you’ve put on several pounds in the past year or so and your body has filled out in all the right places.

You have a perfect hourglass figure. You are a tall curvy blonde.

You are exactly my type.

I nod. “Much better, much healthier right.”

“So much healthier,” you say. “I was miserable when I was working out and starving myself all the time.”

“I love all the body positive stuff that’s been happening lately.”

“Yes, Ashley Graham has been a huge inspiration to me. I literally had no idea there was such a thing as plus-size modeling until I was like 17.” You lean closer and lower your voice. “Little secret by the way, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, but Ashley Graham is going to be in it this year, first plus model to ever be on the cover.”

Your soft peaches and cream fragrance is more intoxicating than my wine. “That’s awesome, but I think the term plus-size is weird.” I press my Tom Ford frames tighter to the bridge of my nose. “All the so-called plus size models that I’ve seen are just normal size.”

You smile and your eyes widen. “I couldn’t agree more.”

I get the bartender's attention and order two more drinks.

“Omigod are you trying to get me drunk?”

Yes.

“No, I just want to keep talking to you.” My eyes drop to your thighs and the way they cover your little round seat completely. You are a large woman, but you aren't fat. You’re such a California girl that you seem to be the embodiment of the state itself; long, golden, spectacular and excessive. You are a classic beauty with a classic figure and your little black dress accentuates your slim waist, full breasts and curvy hips.  “Should we grab an appetizer too?”

“Yes please,” you say. “I’m really a lightweight when it comes to alcohol on an empty stomach.”

You’re not a lightweight when it comes to the scale though are you.

What are you, 160, maybe 170 pounds?

You may have sharp facial features, a swan-like neck and a flat stomach but your arms are soft and untoned and so are your knees as I notice them poking their way out of your dress.

I wouldn’t call you chubby, but you don’t look like you're ready to run a marathon anytime soon either.

I order the baguette with truffle honey, gnocchi with mushrooms and basil fondue along with Parisian french fries for the sake of variety and simplicity.

The food here is very good. Bobo has long been one of my go-to places for first dates as I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t love a trendy French restaurant, or a bar with trendy French drinks.

Your eyes light up when the fries appear and I watch as you eagerly plop one after another into your mouth.

You have the sexiest lips I have ever seen. The bottom is full and plump and the top double curves in a perfect cupid’s bow. You’re wearing crimson lipstick that contrasts with your lightly bronzed face, dark eyeshadow, and wavy blonde hair.

You remind me of a fuller, bigger version of Sandy at the end of Grease but your hair is better, wilder, and fuller.

How could I be so lucky to find myself on a date with you? Plus size or not you’re a real life bona fide supermodel and you seem genuinely interested in me.

I was surprised when you added me on snapchat and more surprised when you responded to my messages. And when you posted that you were in town for a Lane Bryant campaign and had a few days to kill I jumped at the chance to ask you out.

You like that I’m 6 foot 5 don’t you.

It must be hard for you model types to find a man that you don’t tower over while wearing heels.

You like that I have a career and have money.

You like that I’m older.

You think I’m handsome, dignified and mature.

You think I’m safe.

You’re so beautiful it’s like you’re another species from another planet. Some planet of tall amazonian women with high cheekbones and long legs that makes us mere earthlings look as basic as a cardboard box.

I watch you nibble on the gnocchi with your fork and dip bread into oil and honey.

You like being a plus model.

You like it because you love to eat and you don’t need to suppress your appetite or deprive yourself of your favorite foods to maintain your figure.

Are you really maintaining though?

You already look a little curvier than you do in most of your photos.

“These fries are so good,” you say as you reach for more. “You better have some too before (chew, munch) I eat them all.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying them.”

You finish chewing then sigh. “It took me a long time to just like, enjoy food like this, like literally took me years.”

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t know the world of modeling do you.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Omigod okay so like, I used to eat literally nothing during the day except a chicken caesar salad, and even that would make me feel so guilty that I would force myself back on the elliptical for like an hour afterwards. I mean, you see how tall I am, I literally got down to 114 pounds and agencies still said that my hips were too big.”

“Oh gosh, that sounds terrible.”

“I know and I was like 16 years old and seriously traumatized. It took a lot of therapy for me to understand that it's okay to just eat a piece of cake and enjoy it.”

“It’s hard when you're a teenager,” I say. “When I was a kid I was so lanky that I was constantly downing protein shakes and I still had to run around in the shower to get wet. I was so skinny I was too ashamed to take my shirt off at the shore and stuff like that.”

Your eyebrows slant. “Yeah it’s hard, society puts so much pressure on everyone to look a certain way.”

I place my hand on top of yours and look into your eyes. They seem to exude sensuality and I forget where I am or what I’m doing for a moment. God it’s like you were born to be a model. I clear my throat.  “Well I think you look great exactly as you are now.”

Your lips pucker slightly. “Ohhh, you’re so sweet.”

We finish our drinks and you finish most of the fries. You offer to pay but I don’t let you and you say you’ll buy the drinks at the next place.

What is going on here?

There is no awkward silence.

There is no shortage of words from either of us.

We are conversing seamlessly, both of us listening, both of us interested in what the other has to say.

You like me.

We go to e’s bar then to Prohibition and we close it down as you slurp another mojito. I put my arm around your waist and keep you warm as we stroll 84th street towards the park beneath a clear dark sky.

“I really like talking to you. I don’t want this night to end,” you say, squeezing my shoulder. “You live in Brooklyn?”

We stop walking and stare at summit rock illuminated by the moon and the lights of the city.

“Yeah, well way down in Bay Ridge if you know where that is,” I say.

“No, sleep…til Brooklyn!” you say before laughing.

I smile. You’re fun and more down-to-earth than I expected. “Where’s your Air B&B?”

“Ummm, midtown I guess, the garment district. It’s a really cool place.” You bite your lower lip and look up at me. “Want to come see?”

We can’t stop kissing as we tumble into your bed.

This is our first time meeting in person and you’re drunk but I don’t care.

You’re unbuttoning my shirt and looking at me so wantonly it makes me wonder how long it’s been for you.

I’m still amazed you’re actually single.

We strip ourselves naked and you look even better than I imagined. You have great tits and your ass is out of this world.

Your long hair half covers your face and I can’t stand it a moment longer.

I am living out every man’s dream.

I am in bed with a 24 year old smoke show of a supermodel.

I am in bed with you.

Your body is incredible and you look so good in the nude it’s just stupid. I crawl on top and enter you.

“Oh god Brian, that feels so nice,” you say in a breathy gasp.

I kiss your neck then look into your eyes. “Do you know what you’re doing tomorrow?”

“No.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“You’re spending the day with me.” I thrust into you deeper.

You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

I fuck you and you’re so drunk and horny that you climax too soon. I slip out and roll you onto your back. You’re sweating and out of breath.

I bring you a glass of water then lay on my side and trickle my fingers along your heaving breasts. Your skin is flawless.  “Where have you been all my life?”

Your dreary intoxicated bedroom eyes gaze at me. You smile and brush hair away from your forehead.  “I was going to ask you the very same question.”

I crawl back on top of you.

This doesn’t feel like a one night stand.

This feels real.

I kiss your lips. I gently bite your ear then whisper, “I think I’m in big trouble Hunter.”

You let out a short blissful yawn. “Why?”

“I think I really like you.”

Your eyes flash into mine and they are now more sober and serious. You smirk. “I think I really like you too Brian. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”