[Author's Note: A popular male model finds out that his girlfriend is an FFA. He wants to please her in the bedroom, but she is reluctant to let him risk damaging his career. Mad science provides a solution to their dilemma, but help won't come without a price from their unscrupulous chemist...
So this is an old story that I had posted on ffambrosia, and I thought I would share here. I hope you enjoy!]
Jude Veronski had been discovered two years ago at the tender age of seventeen, at a community center where he would've attended an assertiveness seminar. Instead, he spent that afternoon signing his first modeling contract, and in the two years since then, he had risen to be one of the most celebrated models ever to step foot on a runway. His sharp, devilish features, striking gaze, and sly smile made everything and everyone within a city block of him pale in comparison. His lean, impossibly narrow figure looked like it had been sculpted by God's hands as a divine gift to the mass media. Armani, Versace, and Hugo Boss were all lined up at his door, begging him to represent their brands. And while looks got him that far, it was his easygoing manner and playful, charismatic air that ensnared the heart of every woman (and a few of the men) lucky enough to stumble into his presence.
But Jude only ever had eyes for one.
Adela Green was a design student in her senior year at Berkley University, apprenticing in her spare time for an up-and-coming fashion designer whose work was only recently gaining notice on the runway. Jude never could remember the name of the designer, but from the moment he met Adela at a fashion show, he'd found her absolutely unforgettable.
It wasn't that she stood out in any particular way, but the mere authenticity of her character melted him like nothing and no one had ever been able to do. In an industry full of ever-more-flamboyant folks all racing to be the first to reach originality's newest extreme, it was nigh impossible to find a shred of anything genuine. Jude had found it in Adela, and he clung to it.
He loved her like Gatsby loved Daisy, like Romeo loved Juliet. He loved how cuddly she was at three in the morning in front of the TV while infomercials rolled.
He loved how she drove by his studio some mornings and sent him off to work with cupcakes--which he regrettably trashed at work minutes later. One had to watch one's figure in the industry. But what Adela didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?
He loved how she always held the door for the person behind her. He loved the way she did her makeup: she made it look like that was just the way her face looked naturally. He loved kissing her tired eyes after she'd pulled an all-nighter sewing. He loved coming over to watch her sew, and he loved everything else she could do with those skillful fingers of hers. He especially loved the cute way her voice would squeak up a note as she said, 'I'm sorry,' even though he wished she wouldn't say it so often.
People were always asking him what he was doing with "that plain-jane girl," but they just didn't understand. He wouldn't have traded Adela for anybody, and he knew she had a bigger heart than any manic-pixie movie fantasy he could pull off the runway.
And he was about to find out that perhaps she wasn't so ordinary after all at the Gucci spring fashion show in San Diego.
It was always a challenge picking Adela out of a crowd at the after-party. Dressed in the season's hottest trends, she disappeared easily into an amorphous blob of couture and champagne. But eventually, Jude managed to pick out of the sea of caramel heads the set of caramel curls that belonged to his girlfriend. He came up behind her at the bar, where she was standing and drinking, laughing along with a few of his colleagues. She hadn't noticed him yet, and he didn't want to interrupt the conversation she was having, so he stood back and listened…
And got more surprised by the second.
Adela had just finished telling a joke about a Marxist and an Anarchocapitalist walking into a bar when Ashely Cevasco, one of the models Jude knew, handed her empty glass to her boyfriend and said, "Ryan, would you get me a refill?"
As Ryan took the glass and turned to oblige his lover, Jude threw Ashley a smile, but she didn't catch it. She and Adela were too caught up in each other. It was nice, seeing them so friendly nowadays. Ashley used to be so madly in love with Jude, it was a problem. The first time she met Adela, she'd thrown her drink on her. Jude had tried to say something, but Adela had crumbled and apologized for the mere crime of standing in the trajectory of the splash, and after that the point was kind of moot.
Eventually, Ashley got over Jude, and nowadays, she was happily dating a mild-mannered magazine editor. She and Adela had fixed things up--always so forgiving, that Adela--and lately, the two of them gravitated towards each other like magnets and drank until they were leaning on each other at all of Jude's events.
"Ashley," came the nasal drawl of Gretchen Carmichael, another one of the models Jude worked with. "You should really tell your boyfriend to lose some weight." She made a conspicuous nod to the backside of him before he disappeared into the crowd. "I mean, it's just not healthy!"
"He's trying, Gretchen, give him a break," said Ashley. "This new promotion's been really stressful for him."
"I think he carries it well," Adela slurred. She was swaying where she stood, and Jude's first instinct was to step up to her and put an arm around her waist in case she stumbled, but she kept talking and he wound up just standing there, leaving his presence unannounced so he could continue eavesdropping.
"Fact, tell y'a secret," Adela went on, still swilling on her champagne, "and you HAVE to keep this a secret. I love Jude. I love 'im so much."
About then was when Ashley noticed Jude standing at the edge of the crowd. "Um, Adela," she tried to interrupt, but Adela remained oblivious and just kept drinking and talking.
"He's so nice…and so funny…and so smart…and don' get me wrong, he is very, very pretty in the face department."
"Um, Adela…"
"But ever since I c'n merember--" Remember, Jude guessed she meant, "I've always been into guys that are, y'know, chunkier. I'll admit, it kinda bums me out sleeping next to a bunch of bones every night."
"Um, Adela…"
"The only time I ever have a orgasm in bed with him is when I pretend, like, in my mind, that I just fed him a whole bunch of food and he's fixing to put on a lot of weight for me soon."
"Um, Adela…"
"And not like a whole lot of weight. Like, I don't need them super huge or anything, though I wouldn' complain. If Jude put on like three hundred pounds tonight I wouldn't complain. But all I'd need to really be happy is like, what is he, six foot four? Let's say, forty pounds for starts?"
"JESUS CHRIST, ADELA!" Ashley blurted, and then, finally, finally, finally, Adela turned around.
Shock flooded her features. "Oh, my god," she murmured, "oh my god, oh my god, oh…" In true Adela Green fashion, she managed to get out a half-breathless "I'm sorr--," before turning on one pin-thin stiletto heel and bolting from the crowd.
"Adela, wait!"
She didn't make it far with all the alcohol she had in her system, and Jude was in hot pursuit, but the designer suit he'd worn to the party was constraining, and he didn't catch up with her in time to save her from stumbling drunkenly and collapsing in a stairwell. She let out a shriek as she tumbled down the last few steps and onto the landing.
"Adela, are you alright?" Jude knelt down next to her and helped her up, and the minute she could breathe again, she got right back to, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She said it over and over, her voice growing shakier the whole while. Jude lost track of how many times she repeated it. He wrapped both arms around her and held her in a desperate attempt to calm her down. "I'm sorry I told Ashley an' the girls an' not you…I'm sorry I never told you, I just…we go together so well, and I didn't want to make you feel bad. And I'm sorry I'm like this! I wish I wasn' like this. And I'm just really, really…"
She went quiet in his arms. Hers wrapped around his waist and she hugged him back, sobbing into his chest. Her mascara was smudging his crisp white shirt, but the shirt wasn't exactly his number-one priority right now. "Adela, don't cry…"
She was silent for a bit longer, and then, like a broken record, she picked up where she'd left off: "Really, really, really in love with you."
So this is an old story that I had posted on ffambrosia, and I thought I would share here. I hope you enjoy!]
Pound of Flesh
by stevita
by stevita
Jude Veronski had been discovered two years ago at the tender age of seventeen, at a community center where he would've attended an assertiveness seminar. Instead, he spent that afternoon signing his first modeling contract, and in the two years since then, he had risen to be one of the most celebrated models ever to step foot on a runway. His sharp, devilish features, striking gaze, and sly smile made everything and everyone within a city block of him pale in comparison. His lean, impossibly narrow figure looked like it had been sculpted by God's hands as a divine gift to the mass media. Armani, Versace, and Hugo Boss were all lined up at his door, begging him to represent their brands. And while looks got him that far, it was his easygoing manner and playful, charismatic air that ensnared the heart of every woman (and a few of the men) lucky enough to stumble into his presence.
But Jude only ever had eyes for one.
Adela Green was a design student in her senior year at Berkley University, apprenticing in her spare time for an up-and-coming fashion designer whose work was only recently gaining notice on the runway. Jude never could remember the name of the designer, but from the moment he met Adela at a fashion show, he'd found her absolutely unforgettable.
It wasn't that she stood out in any particular way, but the mere authenticity of her character melted him like nothing and no one had ever been able to do. In an industry full of ever-more-flamboyant folks all racing to be the first to reach originality's newest extreme, it was nigh impossible to find a shred of anything genuine. Jude had found it in Adela, and he clung to it.
He loved her like Gatsby loved Daisy, like Romeo loved Juliet. He loved how cuddly she was at three in the morning in front of the TV while infomercials rolled.
He loved how she drove by his studio some mornings and sent him off to work with cupcakes--which he regrettably trashed at work minutes later. One had to watch one's figure in the industry. But what Adela didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?
He loved how she always held the door for the person behind her. He loved the way she did her makeup: she made it look like that was just the way her face looked naturally. He loved kissing her tired eyes after she'd pulled an all-nighter sewing. He loved coming over to watch her sew, and he loved everything else she could do with those skillful fingers of hers. He especially loved the cute way her voice would squeak up a note as she said, 'I'm sorry,' even though he wished she wouldn't say it so often.
People were always asking him what he was doing with "that plain-jane girl," but they just didn't understand. He wouldn't have traded Adela for anybody, and he knew she had a bigger heart than any manic-pixie movie fantasy he could pull off the runway.
And he was about to find out that perhaps she wasn't so ordinary after all at the Gucci spring fashion show in San Diego.
It was always a challenge picking Adela out of a crowd at the after-party. Dressed in the season's hottest trends, she disappeared easily into an amorphous blob of couture and champagne. But eventually, Jude managed to pick out of the sea of caramel heads the set of caramel curls that belonged to his girlfriend. He came up behind her at the bar, where she was standing and drinking, laughing along with a few of his colleagues. She hadn't noticed him yet, and he didn't want to interrupt the conversation she was having, so he stood back and listened…
And got more surprised by the second.
Adela had just finished telling a joke about a Marxist and an Anarchocapitalist walking into a bar when Ashely Cevasco, one of the models Jude knew, handed her empty glass to her boyfriend and said, "Ryan, would you get me a refill?"
As Ryan took the glass and turned to oblige his lover, Jude threw Ashley a smile, but she didn't catch it. She and Adela were too caught up in each other. It was nice, seeing them so friendly nowadays. Ashley used to be so madly in love with Jude, it was a problem. The first time she met Adela, she'd thrown her drink on her. Jude had tried to say something, but Adela had crumbled and apologized for the mere crime of standing in the trajectory of the splash, and after that the point was kind of moot.
Eventually, Ashley got over Jude, and nowadays, she was happily dating a mild-mannered magazine editor. She and Adela had fixed things up--always so forgiving, that Adela--and lately, the two of them gravitated towards each other like magnets and drank until they were leaning on each other at all of Jude's events.
"Ashley," came the nasal drawl of Gretchen Carmichael, another one of the models Jude worked with. "You should really tell your boyfriend to lose some weight." She made a conspicuous nod to the backside of him before he disappeared into the crowd. "I mean, it's just not healthy!"
"He's trying, Gretchen, give him a break," said Ashley. "This new promotion's been really stressful for him."
"I think he carries it well," Adela slurred. She was swaying where she stood, and Jude's first instinct was to step up to her and put an arm around her waist in case she stumbled, but she kept talking and he wound up just standing there, leaving his presence unannounced so he could continue eavesdropping.
"Fact, tell y'a secret," Adela went on, still swilling on her champagne, "and you HAVE to keep this a secret. I love Jude. I love 'im so much."
About then was when Ashley noticed Jude standing at the edge of the crowd. "Um, Adela," she tried to interrupt, but Adela remained oblivious and just kept drinking and talking.
"He's so nice…and so funny…and so smart…and don' get me wrong, he is very, very pretty in the face department."
"Um, Adela…"
"But ever since I c'n merember--" Remember, Jude guessed she meant, "I've always been into guys that are, y'know, chunkier. I'll admit, it kinda bums me out sleeping next to a bunch of bones every night."
"Um, Adela…"
"The only time I ever have a orgasm in bed with him is when I pretend, like, in my mind, that I just fed him a whole bunch of food and he's fixing to put on a lot of weight for me soon."
"Um, Adela…"
"And not like a whole lot of weight. Like, I don't need them super huge or anything, though I wouldn' complain. If Jude put on like three hundred pounds tonight I wouldn't complain. But all I'd need to really be happy is like, what is he, six foot four? Let's say, forty pounds for starts?"
"JESUS CHRIST, ADELA!" Ashley blurted, and then, finally, finally, finally, Adela turned around.
Shock flooded her features. "Oh, my god," she murmured, "oh my god, oh my god, oh…" In true Adela Green fashion, she managed to get out a half-breathless "I'm sorr--," before turning on one pin-thin stiletto heel and bolting from the crowd.
"Adela, wait!"
She didn't make it far with all the alcohol she had in her system, and Jude was in hot pursuit, but the designer suit he'd worn to the party was constraining, and he didn't catch up with her in time to save her from stumbling drunkenly and collapsing in a stairwell. She let out a shriek as she tumbled down the last few steps and onto the landing.
"Adela, are you alright?" Jude knelt down next to her and helped her up, and the minute she could breathe again, she got right back to, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She said it over and over, her voice growing shakier the whole while. Jude lost track of how many times she repeated it. He wrapped both arms around her and held her in a desperate attempt to calm her down. "I'm sorry I told Ashley an' the girls an' not you…I'm sorry I never told you, I just…we go together so well, and I didn't want to make you feel bad. And I'm sorry I'm like this! I wish I wasn' like this. And I'm just really, really…"
She went quiet in his arms. Hers wrapped around his waist and she hugged him back, sobbing into his chest. Her mascara was smudging his crisp white shirt, but the shirt wasn't exactly his number-one priority right now. "Adela, don't cry…"
She was silent for a bit longer, and then, like a broken record, she picked up where she'd left off: "Really, really, really in love with you."
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