Page 150 of The Champion
“Well,” he sighed too. “I think I should see an urologistor something.”
“I think you need a therapist, not an urologist.” I stoodup. “You’re being retarded.”
He did that thing that he did when he knew I was lying.You know the look, kind of like last night and I caved. I cracked under thepressure.
“Fine,” I threw my arms up in the hair. “I found a grayhair and a stretch mark yesterday.” I wailed. “the kids are driving me insaneand I might add, I think the little one has decided against toilets and uses alitter box. That’s weird, right?” His brow rose curiously and I slumped back inthe chair. “Please say something.”
He did the opposite of what I thought he would, helaughed so hard he fell out of his chair.
Stupid husband.
I kicked him on the way to the bathroom to look for moregray hairs and stretch marks. The older I got, the more I got. It was anendless cycle as time passed, and it did pass quickly.
I couldn’t understand why Jameson didn’t find this amatter of importance but then again I didn’t think him seeing a camshaft doctorwas important.
The part that was hard for me was gaining weight.
Over the years I’d gained weight. Gravity, the fuckingbitch, wasn’t helping.
With Axel I gained around thirty pounds of which tennever left.
With Arie, I gained twenty-five and again five stayed.Now with Casten, I only gained twenty but then again five became a permanentfixture.
As a result, I’d packed on a good twenty pounds thatrefused to leave but, placed in a way that I could get away with it withoutpeople saying anything. I didn’t look bad either. For someone who was alwaysfairly small, I looked healthy and still kept good muscle tone. The onlyproblem was that most of my weight gain took up residence in my ass and Ibecame a five-foot two version on Jennifer Lopez without the tan.
Jameson never complained. Hell no, he loved curves. I mayhave been tiny, in height, but I had curves that my dirty heathen loved. Aftera while, I stopped trying to lose the weight and just loved my ass. After all,it was softer to sit on. And who didn’t love a nice soft place to sit.
Not everyone adapted my theories on a softer place tosit.
Emma tried relentlessly to lose the weight she’d gainedwith the twins but she still carried a few extra pounds. She took weighttraining classes, jogged with Jameson and then when he pushed her into oncomingtraffic as she didn’t understand that jogging was his attempt at relaxing, shewas forced to just accept the fact that she had a few extra pounds.
“I just don’t see why he won’t run with me.” Emma wouldsay to me.
“It might have something to do with the fact that younever shut up.” I would tell her.
“That’s a lie. I was quiet for the first mile and afterthat, well, that’s just unheard of for me.”
Emma just didn’t get it.
“I feel bad for her.” I said to Jameson later that nightwhen I accepted my cushion.
“Why?” Jameson didn’t look up from the lap top. More thanlikely he was checking the points standing and not interested in Emma.
“She thinks she has to be a certain weight.” I came tostand behind him. My hands ran up his arms to his shoulders.
“Well that’s stupid.” He looked up at me, eyes sparklingas they always did. “She looks great the way she is.”
I smiled running my fingers through his hair. “You’re agood brother despite trying to kill her.”
“Uh, she tried first when she stabbed me.”
“Are you ever going to let her live that down?”
He looked back down at the lap top. “No, probably not.”
Later than night, Jameson showed me just how much heloved those curves and comfy seat I had when he attacked me in the kitchenafter the kids had gone to bed. He also showed me that he had no problems withhis camshaft and matching me stroke for stroke.
“Fuck honey,” his eyes darkened and I knew it was over.“get those sexy fucking legs up here.”
