airearthfire
New Member
[Contributor Note:
People of Size truly are the last group where it’s still acceptable to be Politically Incorrect. After being entertained by Samster’s Debbie Hill’s excellent adventures, I trolled the web to see if others had devoted any thoughts about Trophy Wives gaining weight. What I found was a couple of disconcerting draconian diatribes, which I found offensive. I’ve taken these two editorials and turned them on their ear, hopefully putting a balance to the rotating axis of the FA World in which I live.]
WHY I LEFT MY FAT WIFE
Or, Did She Leave Me?
Abridged & Re-Edited by Airearthfire
A few years ago, my wife, Sabrina, and I were sipping a couple of Big Long Islands Ice Teas and nibbling at pieces of Melted Cheese Garlic Bread fresh from a Boston Pizza Restaurant’s oven when one of my bosses appeared with his Thin Trophy Wife in tow and touched my shoulder. When I introduced him to my wife Sabrina, he naturally looked her up and down. She was quite the prize with Rub-on Tan, Bleached Blonde Hair and Large Augmented Breasts.
I froze.
Sabrina and my boss exchanged some small talk, but I could see behind the polite chit chat that my boss’ eyes flickered with a hint of disgust. I noticed Sabrina hadn’t put down her fork, upon which was perched a wobbly chunk of eggplant.
“Well, it was good meeting you,” my boss said, cutting short the conversation.
Sabrina looked at me and shrugged.
“He’s not a very friendly guy, huh?” she said, as my boss walked off to his table.
“Um, yeah I suppose not,” I lied.
My boss was actually one of the friendliest men I knew. I understood why he walked off so abruptly. My boss may be friendly, but he’s also a winner, and winners avoid fraternizing with losers. My boss took one look at my fat wife, and recoiled from the image of Losersville. Inside, I was mortified.
Technically, I had it all back then a cool job, expensive car and Million-Dollar Mansion, but what I didn’t have was a wife I felt proud of. God knows I wanted to be proud of her, after all I always thought Sabrina was smart and funny.
I preferred having a stay-at-home wife, looking after the home front, but living with her as she became fatter and fatter wasn’t what I’d imagined being marriage bliss. The plan wasn’t for Sabrina to lose her looks so rapidly. I went to work when she started graduate school, thinking that I’d head back to get my Doctorate in English Literature once she was done. In the future, I envisioned us as educated liberal bohemians drinking coffee in bed on Sunday mornings, while reading poetry to each other as I set out a collection of sexy lingerie for her to wear as we re-enacted sex scenes from Romance Literature.
Instead, I fell in love with my first job at a modeling agency, and eventually, after a few promotions, I found myself working as a photographer for a fashion magazine.
Things went less smoothly for Sabrina. By the time we both had completed our post-education, we were several years into our marriage. By this point, she’d been working at a job teaching film for six months and was beginning to gain weight from all the take-out she ate. She began packing on the pounds by the week. I believe the weight gain affected everything about her – her mood, job performance, health, sexiness. The lingerie I had bought her no longer fit, lost in the folds of her burgeoning rolls, bumps & bulges.
Still, the minute we moved into a Million-Dollar Mansion, I knew I needed to work even harder at my job to ensure our best chance in life. I worked late nights for six months, while Sabrina continued, yes, bloating up. In 18 months, she’d gained 40 pounds.
Meanwhile, I was being pursued by the models I photographed. Eventually, I flirted with some of them. I felt like myself again – flirting, feeling horny, loving the sight of beautiful women, doing the witty-banter thing in the halls with the models.
But my marriage started to fall apart. I felt guilty about being glad to go back to work, and in my head, I made it Sabrina’s fault. Because she had gotten fat, I blamed her when I was working late and had to miss our evenings out together with friends; it was her fault I had to go in early every day, since the fact that she couldn’t stay slim meant that I couldn’t stop myself from checking out other women.
And when I got home, I seethed. I couldn’t walk across the living room without tripping over a half-eaten Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie or empty Haagen Daz ice cream carton. Sometimes, I’d find her asleep snoring away on the couch still wearing the same nightgown she’d slept in the night before. Other times, she’d be reading a book of poetry, while picking through a large box of bonbons with fingers the size of sausages sitting on the increasingly concave couch sprinkled with remnants of Cheetos corn puffs.
Food-Obsessed, there wasn’t a hint of any food left in the kitchen or refrigerator; Sabrina had eaten it all. She was home all day getting as ‘Big as a Whale’, but she couldn’t see the need to at least make a trip to the corner supermarket to purchase some groceries, much less run a few laps on the freaking treadmill I’d purchased and set up in the living room.
Eventually, communication between Sabrina and me deteriorated.
“Wait till I tell you what Oprah said on today’s show,” she’d say every once in a while, as she gazed adoringly at the blaring television and I gazed around the room to avoid looking at my wife’s Pillsbury Rolls.
There were those moments when I was reminded why I had once thought Sabrina was the sexiest woman in the world. But our sex life was in ruins; I expended my sexual prowess spending all my spare time at home on the computer checking-out nude photographs of women on the Image-Fab Website, or outside the home at work-sponsored Happy Hours with the Models. I chalked it up my behavior to the transition period all aged newlyweds went through.
Then one day, I realized it had been almost a year since Sabrina and I had made love.
Sometimes she’d say, “I really think things would be better for us if we could just be intimate again.” Or she’d decide to turn-off the television earlier than usual in the evening on the pretext of going to bed, and then come into the living room with a couple glasses of fine red wine and a book of poetry wearing one of the hot lingerie items I’d purchased for her many pounds ago. In the past, this was our classic recipe for seduction. But now, just the thought of touching her Cottage Cheese thighs or food crumb-encrusted belly rolls looking like a Walrus tangled in a mesh of Fishing Net made me recoil.
“Maybe I’m just not a sexual person anymore,” I told her. The truth was I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. It wasn’t that she’d changed on the inside. Sabrina still had the same sense of humor, kind heart, and sharp intellect that had literally made me fall in love when I first met her. But in my heart and my head, I’d neutralized her as a sexual being.
I wanted to be overwhelmed by the sheer power of her femininity in the bedroom, but instead I felt like the dumpster diver in our relationship. After all the main point of marriage was being so attracted to the sexy figure of my wife’s keeping that it’s all I can do not to rip-off her clothes, making hot, steamy, passionate love with a physically sexy attractive slender woman.
Eventually, we went to see a therapist.
“Don’t you think I resent you for how easy it is for you to stay thin?” Sabrina asked me during one session. “You have these great genes, and I’m home like a slave, running errands, taking care of your shit, and you can’t even spare me five minutes of sex at the end of the day.”
She said that she was angry with me for always staying out late and partying with slender models, and angry with me for not being turned-on by her on anymore. She said she didn’t appreciate being treated like a nanny-housekeeper, fat disgusting crap to be ignored in favor of nude photographs.
I had ever so gently suggested I would feel better and our marriage would be happier if she lost the weight she had gained and slimmed back down to the hot trophy wife I knew when I first fell in love with her and married her, but instead all she did was get fatter.
Eventually the Therapist felt a need to step into the fray of our heated discussion, believing there was no healthy outcome the way we were talking.
“For some Egotists,” she said, “a Trophy Wife who lets her-self go, resulting in a significant weight gain is tantamount to a betrayal of marriage and grounds for divorce.
“Unfortunately there are still a lot of narrow minded people who choose to believe in negative stereotypes about women who gain weight. The moment a woman gains a few extra pounds, she’s supposed to feel less sexy as well as experience a loss in confidence and self-esteem....self-loathing due to the excess weight. We’re prompted to believe this will lead to a woman shying away from sexual activity, believing ‘Who would want to bang a Fat Whale’, causing her sex life to greatly diminish.
“The Multi-Billion-Dollar Diet & Exercise Industry would have us believe the only way a woman can demonstrate dedication, self-pride and self-respect is to be fit and healthy by taking care of their body through the daily ritual of exercise work-outs....to continue striving to improve everyday to show their man he made the right decision in marrying them. Popular Magazines stress that the way a woman presents her-self is a reflection on her partner. If a woman isn’t concerned, she should realize there’s always going to be some other woman thinner, prettier and smarter than they are to snatch-up their man.”
“The fact is counselor; my husband has always felt embarrassed and guilty by all his preconditions for me that I haven’t ever been capable of living up to them!” Sabrina said.
Needless to say, Sabrina and I had reached an impasse, leading to permanent separation several months later.
In retrospect, I realized Sabrina was right, I had this preconceived idea of what a sexy, attractive woman should be like. I imagined being married forever to a good-looking, thin wife with a perpetual shapely hourglass figure.....someone, whose attractive womanly physique would always look pleasant to other people as well as to me. She would always be capable of turning heads, while routinely walking out our front door with a sexy dress on, high heels, and a tight ass.
As it turned out, I was the real loser in our marriage. Word got around the company where I worked that Sabrina had petitioned for divorce on the grounds of intentional mental cruelty and alienation of affection. Unbeknownst to me, one of my other bosses turned out to be a Fat Admirer with a unique preference for Super-Sized Big Beautiful Women. Within months, he sought Sabrina out, courted her with fine wine & dining and married her.
They’re now living in the Million-Dollar House that I’m still obligated to make mortgage payments. While she’s become as ‘Big as a House’, she’s well-loved, pampered like a Princess and happy a Clam. I often run into her at company banquets, parties and BBQs dressed in skin-tight revealing Haute Couture Cocktail Dresses and six-inch stiletto heels, all the dress trappings and appearance one associates with Trophy Wives a third her size.
As for me, well, none of the relationships I’ve been pursuing have lasted longer than a few short months. I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like I can never be quite satisfied with any of the women I become intimate with......
