Read The Johnson Sisters for Free Online Page B

favor,” he said.
    â€œMe!”
    â€œYes, you. I mean, look at you. Who wants to sleep with somebody who looks like you?” he said rudely, scowling at me.
    â€œYou, that’s who! How many times have you begged to get all up in this?” I retorted, pointing between my legs. “I know this is good for you to keep coming back for more,” I fired back.
    â€œPlease. I didn’t have another honey to get with tonight, so I decided to slum with you,” he dissed.
    â€œThis coming from the man who is the biggest whore around. You sleeping with sluts was the demise of our relationship, but I’m the one slumming. If I am, it’s because I’m dealing with your trifling ass.”
    â€œYour weight was the reason I went out and got other pussy. I got tired of you squishing me when you got on top,” Eric said.
    â€œAs hard as you’re trying to make this out to be about my weight, I know it’s about you being a damn dog. I let you mentally abuse me for months, but now I know better,” I lied. His words did cut me to the core, but I wouldn’t let him get the satisfaction of knowing it. I told him, “You miss me.”
    â€œLike hell I do.”
    â€œThen why be mad at all? If I were nothing to you, then you wouldn’t be mad. You could leave here and get a nut elsewhere.”
    â€œAnd I am,” he said, sitting on the side of my bed after searching on his hands and knees for his shoes. He looked up at me.
    I knew I touched a nerve. Little did he know he had touched several in me months ago, making me second-guess the person I thought I was; and here he was trying to do it to me again.
    â€œYou know what, Eric? This is the last time I submit myself to you. As much as I loved you, having you come in and out of my life isn’t worth it, so hurry up, get your shit, and get the hell out my damn house.” I pointed to my bedroom door.
    He stood, straightening his jeans. He reached down in his pockets and felt for his keys, but they weren’t there. He patted both front and back pockets, and still there were no keys. I pointed at my dresser where they sat. He glared at me before walking over and snatching them off.
    â€œGood luck with your weight,” he snarled.
    â€œAnd good luck with your blue balls,” I retorted, watching Eric walk out of my life again.
    The confidence I tried to maintain while he was there instantly diminished like someone letting air out of a balloon. His words had deflated me yet again.
    Yes, I’m what you would call voluptuous, or at least that’s what I call myself instead of fat, obese, or just plain huge. Voluptuous sounds so much better, and I see that word as sexy. I’m that, too. I feel that most days, and today was one of them. Skinny skanks might not think so, but that’s okay. They ain’t supposed to think it, because I don’t like holes. I like my poles. They’re jealous of me anyway. They wouldn’t worry about me if they didn’t see me as a threat. I may be five feet five inches, 223 pounds, but I carry it very well. A hundred pounds of that weight is in my breasts, thighs, and behind. My stomach isn’t as flat as I would like, but a few sit-ups would help that.
    For the most part of my life, I considered myself to be a confident woman. I didn’t care what people thought of me. I was skinny, about fifteen years ago, weighing 124 pounds; and no, I’m not carrying baby weight. This is the weight of life’s stress, which ended up being diagnosed as depression. Food became my peace, and that peace accumulated onto my body.
    It has taken me a long while to accept I have depression. I thought any medication being taken for something mental made you crazy, especially in my family. They drown their issues in food, alcohol, weed, and sex. I have members in my family whose medicine are all four of those things. Yet, when I say I take medication for depression, they