I used to think the worst thing a man could say to me was that I was too much. Too wide. Too soft. Too heavy to want.
I was wrong.
The worst thing was hearing it while I was already on my knees, my fat ass in the air, spit running down my chin, and three rich older men looking at me like I was a meal they had already paid for.
My name is Tessa Ward. Twenty-three. Size twenty-two on a good day, twenty-four when I stop pretending the scale is broken. Thick thighs that rub when I walk. A belly that folds over my waistband. Heavy t**s that sag without a bra. An ass so big it eats the back of every pair of jeans I own. I know exactly what I look like. I’ve been told since I was sixteen.
Two weeks ago my boyfriend of three years f****d my roommate on our couch and then told me, while she was
