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“You could leave a trail of those ravioli we made last month down your sidewalk.” He gestures, completely serious. “Then put a bowl of sauce in the middle of your living room.” I blink at the man on my screen. “I’d have to put a giant box over the bowl and prop it up with a stick. So when my dream man crawls across my floor with ravioli falling out of his pockets, I can kick the stick away and trap him.” Dad gives me a blank look. “Now you’re being ridiculous.” I crack up. “Yeah, I’m the problem.” He nods.
Society likes to make it seem as though men don’t like thick, curvy women, but that’s not true. Not for me. Not one fucking bit. I like to watch my women bounce. Like to watch my fingers indent into soft flesh. I like tits that can suffocate me.
“Ready?” Joe’s voice cuts into my fantasy. Wait, fantasy? Am I into feet?
“I like you a brownie amount.”
His eyes are full of smiles. His mouth is full of pussy.
