Anne Whitman

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My poor regard for my own body couldn’t withstand the kind of hulking that a relationship with Toby would have required. I couldn’t be larger than a man in bed, or at the movies or at a dinner table or, honestly, even on the phone. I didn’t want to feel big and graceless and a thousand pounds of just lumbering; I didn’t want to have to contend with that every time his hand reached under my shirt.
Fleishman Is in Trouble
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