Model Husband (chapter 3) (Patreon)

Chapter 3

“Oh gosh,” I say, looking at your laptop screen. “That’s body paint?”

You gaze up at me from your spot on the sofa. “Yeah, took Josie like 12 hours to put it on. She did an amazing job.”

Having already flown to Brazil and back, the SI photoshoot is complete and you’re giving me the privilege of being one of the first to view the fruits of your so-called labors. You’re naked in these pictures but the pastel rainbow smear of body paint is meant to look like a skimpy one-piece swimsuit, a swimsuit that’s literally painted on.

“That’s incredible,” I say, “you look incredible.”

You lean forward in your seat and put your hands on your hips.

You look bigger than normal.

Have you gotten wider in the past month or something?

The purple crop-top and shiny black leggings you’re wearing seem almost as tight to your skin as the paint in the photos.

You shove a handful of milk chocolate and sea salt covered almonds between your lips and look at me again. “It’s (chew, munch) funny, I know I’ve like, (chew, chew) put on some weight, but I have (munch) never felt sexier than I did during this shoot.”

I come around the coffee table and sit down next to you. Is that a belly roll poking out over the waistband of your tights?

“I can see why,” I say, looking back at your laptop. “These are the sexiest pictures I have ever seen.” I’m not joking, but I am a little surprised by how soft you look as you're sprawled out on the beach with your deceiving nudity.  “What are you going to wear tonight?”

You smile with arched brows. “Something bold, something racy. Something that you wouldn’t normally see a curvy girl wear because society has deemed it, like wrong you know?”

We go to the magazine’s launch party and it’s a who’s who of models, athletes and celebrities. I feel like I’ve been invited into some sort of beautiful people’s club and can hardly believe it. Colin Kapernick and J.J. Watt are there and I finally get to meet Ashley Graham and even fucking Kate Upton.

Upton is who you get compared to the most, your look-alike, your twin. Many people consider her to be the sexiest woman alive but as I see you standing next to her, she looks comparatively ordinary. You have a prettier face than she does and you’re so much more voluptuous than her, more feminine, more vivacious and your curve hugging black dress shows you off beautifully, and yes, with your body I could certainly call the dress, bold and racy too.

Your boobs look ready to pop right out of that thing and you're starting to get some really nice cleavage.

When did your breasts get so big?

The weeks pass and if that shoot you did with Treats Magazine made a stir then this Sports Illustrated stuff is causing a tornado.  They’re calling you SI’s curviest model ever, and everyone wants a piece of you.

They put you on a press circuit and you make the rounds from Access Hollywood to Steve Harvey and Ryan Seacrest. You are becoming famous, and I feel like a groupie that’s just along for the ride.

You are getting more confident with your body and less self-conscious about your size. I don’t know if it’s all the excitement and exotic globetrotting but you’ve definitely been gaining more weight. In June, you do a short video for E’news about how a swimsuit model gets her exercise and I'll be honest, you’ve never looked so big before and you’re having some difficulty lifting your body from a plank, to a standing position without getting winded.

You’re not as light on your feet as you were when I met you.

You seem a little out-of-shape.

I understand that curves are sexy and everything but don’t you think that you might be perhaps, getting a little too curvy?

It’s not like I’m worried or complaining as I know you’re always going to be the most beautiful person in the room wherever you go, and being a professional model, it’s not like you’ll ever get fat or anything.

Added poundage aside, you’re great on camera and it’s really impressive for a girl that modeled her way through high school and never went to college. You speak well, like you’ve been doing it for years.

2017 is a whirlwind of traveling and TV appearances and you seem to be replacing Ashley Graham as the poster child for this newfangled, sexy-at-any-size movement.

What size are you now anyway?

Are you really still a 16?

How much do you weigh?

I get my answer In July, as you step off my bathroom scale and sigh. “Well, never thought I’d say this but I’m over 200 pounds.”

Really? Wow. I thought you might be close but it’s somehow more shocking hearing you say it out loud.

I take the toothbrush out of my mouth and spit in the sink. “Baby, you get more attractive every day.”

You give your panties a tug and smile. “I know, I feel so much sexier as a 16 than I ever did when I was skinny and it’s not even close.”

I stand up straight and stare at your naked navel, it’s getting deeper. “I believe you.”

“My lease is up soon.”

“In August right?”

“Yeah.”

I take you by the waist and draw you close. It’s amazing to me how much softer your sides feel now. I look into your eyes. “I want us to live together, I want to support your career and take care of you. Brooklyn ain’t so bad and you’ll have an extra, what, 4 grand a month?”

You squish your plump lips together then say, “38 hundred, but yeah, I’m ready to just move in with my big handsome man. I just needed my Carrie Bradshaw moment you know?”

“Carrie Bradshaw?”

You look at me like I’m stupid. “Omigod are you playing dumb right now?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Hello, Sex in the City!”

“Oh right.”

You gaze at me and trickle your fingers over my chest. “I just needed to have my New York experience, plus I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, like if I just moved in with you right away…wanted to keep you missing me.”

I swallow. I’m still a little in awe and taken aback by your beauty sometimes. “You’re doing a very good job of that.”

You move into my spacious 2 bedroom apartment as the summer heat fades to fall. I know it’s a step down from what you're used to. My place doesn’t have an elevator or a doorman, and you need to climb four flights of stairs just to get to the front door, but maybe that’s good for you anyway.

I know you always preach that exercise is important, for both mental and physical health, but looking at those thighs, I’m not sure you’ve been following your own advice.

Don’t get me wrong, I love your curves, but even I’ll admit that you could probably stand to tone up, at least a little. It’s all those pork and chicken dumplings, cheese pizza slices and street tacos you’ve been eating. My mostly vegan diet hasn’t quite rubbed off on you yet and it's showing in the form of your wobbly hips and fleshier arms.

I must say, it is kind of cute, watching you haul yourself up the stairs with that big full ass of yours jutting out behind you and testing the limits of your jeans, perhaps because in all other instances you seem so flawless, elegant and perfect, and it’s somewhat refreshing and oddly hot to see you struggle at something for once.

The more time we spend together, the more I find myself getting turned on by the luscious, softening contours of your body. I’m starting to like playing with your little love handles in bed and I’m really digging your meatier legs.

Your weight gain seems to sort of temper the impostor syndrome that I feel at times.

I mean, Kate Upton is married to a Cy Young award winning baseball player. Who the hell am I? What the fuck am I of all people doing with a 25 year old supermodel like you?

At least I have an extra 15 years of experience and wisdom on you. Maybe you just like the safety and comfort of being with an older man.

I really like you and you really like me. I’ll try not to overthink it.

In December, I make a reservation for three at the Tavern on the Green in Central Park. It's as Christmasy as Christmas can get and all the trees are smothered in white lights. You love this time of year and you’re a Christmas junkie and I know you’ve always wanted to do something like this.

When we finish eating we go outside as a few light snowflakes fall from the sky and land on your hair like fairy dust. We walk towards the lake and stop at the sight of Bow Bridge and It’s perfect.

I turn to my daughter then turn to you. “Leah and I have talked about this, we want you in our family.”

I drop to one knee and pull the ring out of the pocket of my brown wool topcoat. I feel like I’m in some sort of Hugh Grant or Julia Roberts movie. This is planned and very prepared and I’ve even hired photographers to capture this moment paparazzi style. It’s a rose gold cushion cut diamond ring, just like the one you always wanted, just as you dreamed.

You bring your hands to your face, pulling your black duster tight to your waist and breasts in the process. “Omigod Brian!”

I gaze up at you. Lord, you look more voluptuous than ever in that snug coat. “Hunter, will you marry me?”

Your nose scrunches and your eyes twitch, then your entire face twists with emotion. “Yes!”

My heart is about to beat through my ribcage. I smile with uncontrollable fervor, stand and slip the ring on your outstretched finger. It’s kind of a tight fit, which is weird because I was very careful about getting the right size. Has your hand gotten a little chubbier in the past 3 months?

Maybe it’s all the opulence and indulgences that come with the holiday season.

Oh well, no biggie, it still fits. The point is that oh holy fucking god I’m engaged to the hottest fucking supermodel in the world.

I’m engaged to you.

I did it.

You are going to be my wife.