You do not want me anymore.
Somehow, the addition of 1 stone of fat around my hips and stomach has meant I am no longer worthy of those worshipful touches that meant so much to me.
I am just not desirable to you anymore, because I don’t measure up to the memory of how I looked when you married me.
The one person I have told about this actually cried when I told him. He looked at me incredulously and said “But you are lovely”, and then he wept the tears that I want to cry over how, somehow, you don’t want me anymore.
It doesn’t matter that I have laid down my life as a living sacrifice for you. It doesn’t matter that I gave up a career I had spent 8 years studying for in order to support your dreams. It doesn’t matter that I worked with you in sun, rain, and snow. It doesn’t matter that I am the kinkiest fucking slut you’ve ever met, that I will take your cock in every hole I have, that I will bend you over and fuck you up the arse with a strap-on, and that I want your cock in me three times a day.
Instead, I am lucky if I get it once every 2 weeks.
Because, though you may love me, though you may be fond of me, though you need my intelligence to run our lives, though you appreciate the greater income I bring into our household, the fact remains: You don’t not want me anymore.
And so, I will try my best to lose that weight, to tone those dimpled thighs and flatten my slightly curved stomach.
But how am I supposed to do that when all I want to do is weep and moan and rock myself to sleep, because I cannot believe that after I have laid my life as a sacrifice at you feet, something so small as a stone of fat can mean that you do not want me anymore?