Martha is a curvy, attractive restaurant manager who hasn't had luck finding a man. One evening at the restaurant, a gorgeous, successful editor of a fashion magazine ensnares her heart and gives her his business card. Even though he's hot for her, the paparazzi tailing her every move and cruel social media attacks on her size threatens their future. Through Phil, Martha learns to embrace her curves and love herself.
Warning! This 10,168 word story maybe too hot to handle! This story is told in alternating first person perspectives. Includes sexually explicit scenes.
I took a large gulp of the drink and the burning sensation down my throat seemed to melt away my uneasiness. “What’s it like?” What’s it like being famous, what’s it like being a big shot in the fashion industry?
He brought his glass of whiskey to his lips and pondered. “I don’t know. I don’t like how public my private life has become, but other than that I don’t really notice. I avoid tabloids.”
We had disappeared into the back of the bar, and the paparazzi were no longer visible. I felt removed from the incident, even though it had just happened. He was right.
After a few drinks, I was finally feeling myself again. We talked about everything—from politics to childhood cartoons and pop culture. He was so funny, and I kept laughing at every joke he delivered.
“You have a beautiful smile, I know that’s a cliché compliment, but it’s true.”
I had been laughing so hard that I had clutched onto his arm for support. I was close enough to feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and I tilted my head back. His fingers tangled in my hair as he lowered his face and our lips met. He kissed me with a passionate hunger that surprised and inflamed me. His hot tongue roved inside my mouth and his teeth, slightly bit my lower lip. His hands moved to the small of my back and crushed my body against his. I could feel my breasts smashing against his chest and I felt desire as I’d never felt before. I wanted to rip off his pants and fuck him, but it was too public of a place.
He seemed to realize this too. We broke from our kiss and he seemed to be painfully aware of how aroused he was. I looked down and saw a slight tent in his pants.
Phil smirked and gave me a lustful gaze as he turned to pay the bartender. I disappeared into the bathroom to adjust my cleavage and repaint my lips. I smoothed over my hair, suddenly nervous. Calm down Martha, I told myself. You got this.
With a sigh of renewed resolve, I left the bathroom and curled my arm around Phil’s elbow. “Your place or mine?” I breathed into his ear.
“My place is pretty close. We’ll probably get chased to my car, though.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I saw the shadowy figures moving through the pane of glass, no doubt trying to capture a glimpse of us.
He squeezed my hand, offering me reassurance as we exited the bar.
At once, they closed in around us, clicking madly. Phil increased his pace and so did I. They kept saying his name, asking him about me, anything to get a reaction.
“It’s only a couple of blocks!” he shouted through the noise.
We entered the parking garage, but still they followed us. The garage echoed with their incessant clicking and harsh beams of light blinded my eyeballs. He opened the door of his car; I didn’t even stop to wonder what kind of car it was as I ducked inside. Then he walked around and slid inside, shutting the door. And they still would not stop. Their cameras fixed themselves to the glass windows, flashing away as the engine roared and the car began to move. Only when Phil had honked several times did they part for him, and finally we left the garage, unmolested.
I blew out air that I didn’t realize I was holding in. That was completely mad. I couldn’t imagine dealing with that every day.
“They aren’t usually so many of them.”
He looked at me with a worried glance, wondering whether I was put off by all the attention. I gave him a reassuring smile. It would take far more than that to scare me away.