I used to have it all. “Kid Wonder,” they called me. Six figures, corner office, company car, the works. But one time I tell a cashier she’s ringing me up too slow, and she goes ahead and runs off with my body, steals my entire life. Being honest, can’t say I’m taking the actual “being a girl now” thing very well. Damn girl hormones making me so raw emotionally, and there are a lot of customers at work who seem to like pushing those buttons. Going from an alpha male to crying like a little bitch at any moment, what a mess. I’m also not the GREATEST at “relieving the pressure” when shift’s done. Sure,  exes had said I was selfish in bed, but I figured I was at least able to get them off, from time to time. Now.. not so sure. And don’t get me started on the beauty standards! I considered myself well-groomed before, but now it literally takes me TWICE as long to get ready in the morning, and I STILL have people taking potshots at how I look.
…
Okay, fine, I’ll admit it: most of those comments are about the weight, okay? I could blame it on not being used to having a girl’s metabolism, but truth is I was just eating my feelings, being a foot shorter but eating twice as much as I used to. If there was a chance for that bitch swappin’ us back, sure as hell not getting the opportunity now, with the way I’ve been treating her body. *Sigh* I don’t know if she was trying to teach me a lesson, or of the whole thing was an excuse to steal my life, but either way, I’VE BEEN HUMBLED, is that what you wanna hear? I could’ve just had a bad day when I yelled at her, so it’s absolute bullshit that I got shafted with her hairy cunt, but whatever. 
 
It’s not all bad, though: if it wasn’t for all this weight, I wouldn’t’ve met Val. Hey, don’t look at me like that! I might not have a firm grasp on the new plumbing, but I still have needs! What she’s able to do with a finger is ten times as insane as what I could accomplish with my old dick and the hottest supermodels my money attracted, AND she doesn’t stop it there, having her way with me for hours on end, and that’s on a slow night. It’s just… no, no, it’s good, it’s just that… Val’s been taking the whole “bread-winner” thing to heart, because every day she comes home with literal pounds of food, just for me, and won’t let me be until I gobble down every crumb on the plate. Don’t get me wrong, we made a real connection, and she knows how to treat me right, but there hasn’t been a night where my belly’s not taut and sticking out, or lightly pink from how much she rubs it. Can’t even wear clothes around the house half the time, gets in the way of “the goods,” she says. Val’s always says big girls have higher sensitivity, and is all too keen to prove her hypothesis at every opportunity. We go at it so often, it’s a wonder I’m not slimming down from all the burned calories, but I suspect Val does her best to make sure that won’t happen.