She's 157 cm tall.
Next to me, with my 171, it always used to seem cute.
Delicate. Almost fragile.
I liked that contrast.
But since we started with OF, she talks differently about "contrasts."
She says people want extremes.
She says size sells.
She says if we really want to stand out, it can't be average.
The other day, she sat next to me on the couch, scrolling through profiles, and suddenly stopped.
"See that?" she asked.
"That's exactly what I mean."
She wasn't talking about muscles.
Not about the face.
Just about dimension.
About something that's so obviously bigger that it almost seems absurd.
That it looks like proof next to her tiny body.
A statement.
She laughed and said that with her size, it would just look different. More dramatic. More impressive.
"People love this difference," she said.
Then she got quieter.
"If I'm honest... I want to know what that feels like."
Not out of love.
Not out of curiosity about a person.
But about size itself.
About the extreme.
About this feeling of being completely filled and overwhelmed.
And then she looked at me.
Not angry.
Not mocking.
Almost matter-of-factly.
"You want us to be successful too, right?"
I nodded.
Today she told me she's writing to him tomorrow.
And I don't know if she's really just doing it for the content.
FUCK MY WIFE!
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