Saucy cow!

Natasha’s sex life dwin­dled as her waist­line bal­looned. It seemed her love of a bit of sauce would ketchup with her in the end…

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Ketchup ru­ined my sex life

My 36DD bra whizzed across the liv­ing room.

It was soon joined by a lacy size 12 pair of un­der­crack­ers. ‘I’ve been think­ing about this all day,’ I smiled, sex­ily strut­ting up to my boyfriend.

In a tan­gle of limbs, we got down to it right there on the liv­ing room floor.

Since meet­ing through friends back in 2011, sparks had well and truly flown be­tween me and my hunky elec­tri­cal en­gi­neer. It wasn’t hard to see why. Tanned skin, shaved head, strong mus­cly arms adorned with a sleeve of tat­toos… Yup.

Martin Johnson, 27, was sex on legs. And he thought the same about me.

‘You’re beau­ti­ful,’ he’d smile ev­ery morn­ing as I got ready for my job as a mar­ket­ing man­ager.

Even with half my face on and a towel plonked on my head, he made me feel sexy.

We’d moved in to­gether af­ter just a cou­ple of months, mean­ing we could take full ad­van­tage of the hon­ey­moon pe­riod.

And yet a year into our re­la­tion­ship, I was still all over Martin like a dog on heat!

I could have eaten him all up. The is­sue was, I soon looked like I was eat­ing ev­ery­thing else, too.

I’d al­ways been curvy, hov­er­ing be­tween 11st and 12st.

When Martin and me had been to­gether just 18 months, though, I no­ticed my clothes pinch­ing.

‘I’ve put on a bit,’ I grum­bled, ap­prais­ing my chub­bier chops in the mir­ror.

At just 5ft 4in, a few ex­tra pounds had nowhere to hide.

But I just couldn’t work it out.

It wasn’t like I was greedy, or stuff­ing my­self with cakes ev­ery minute. I rarely snacked or ate choco­late and sweets.

I’d of­ten skip break­fast and just pick at a small lunch.

Sure, since get­ting com­fort­able with Martin we’d slipped into the habit of get­ting fast food a cou­ple of nights a week. But who doesn’t? And even then I’d stick to half a pizza rather than a whole one, or a medium Big Mac Meal.

So why was I so large… and grow­ing by the day?!

Con­fused and cross, I com­forted my­self with a cheeky ke­bab.

Well, if I was go­ing to be fat, I might as well eat enough to de­serve it!

‘Gar­lic sauce, and chilli,’ I smiled to the bloke be­hind the counter. ‘Oh, and ketchup on the chips.’

He duly squirted the sauces all over my grub.

‘Bit more ketchup,’ I said. ‘Un­til you can’t see the spuds.’ I’ve al­ways loved sauce.

Dry food just wasn’t for me. My sand­wiches were sop­ping with mayo, sal­ads weren’t com­plete with­out a coat­ing of salad cream and my roasts were al­ways swim­ming in a pool of gravy.

Even my healthy home cook­ing was mostly out of a bot­tle. I’d use a jar of Dolmio in my spag bol and a whole bot­tle of sweet chilli sauce on my salmon stir fries.

If I wasn’t eat­ing from a bot­tle, I was drink­ing out of one. I’d been do­ing more of that, too.

I’d guz­zle up to two to three litres of full-fat cola a day.

So I sup­pose I had slacked off on the healthy liv­ing a tad…

But, look­ing at my tum, I was con­vinced it still didn’t make sense. How could I be wob­bling with enough in­su­la­tion to keep a fam­ily of Eski­mos warm when I ate pretty well? ‘I just don’t get it,’ I raged to Martin.

‘You’re still gor­geous,’ he’d in­sist. But I didn’t feel it.

Fi­nally, in early 2015, I de­cided enough was enough.

By then, I’d crept up to a size 16. ‘I think there’s some­thing wrong with me,’ I ex­plained to my doc­tor. ‘I’m get­ting fat but not eat­ing that much.’

He ran tests for my thy­roid be­fore con­clud­ing noth­ing was wrong with me phys­i­cally.

‘Why not look at diet and ex­er­cise?’ he sug­gested gen­tly. I left in a huff.

He prob­a­bly thought I just couldn’t face the tubby truth. But I could see how big I was get­ting.

In fact, it was all I could see. Mor­ti­fied, I took to hiding away.

‘Can’t tonight, I’ve got plans,’

I’d lie if friends in­vited me out. Re­ally I just didn’t want any­one to see how fat I’d be­come.

When I did ven­ture out, I felt like ev­ery­one was look­ing at me and laugh­ing.

‘They prob­a­bly think I’m gross,’ I’d cringe, think­ing I saw the cashier judg­ing me when I went to top up my Tommy K sup­plies.

Crip­plingly in­se­cure, I started cover­ing up in baggy clothes and sleep­ing in PJS.

My sexy un­der­wear, now far too

I looked like a bouncy ball

small, was shoved to the back of the drawer.

In­stead I stocked up on granny pants and ugly bras.

‘I don’t care what size you are, babe,’ Martin would re­as­sure me.

Of­ten at night he’d give me ‘that look’ as his hands snaked to­wards me un­der the du­vet.

His ‘let’s get it on’ look had once made my tummy flip. Now it made it churn.

‘I’m tired,’ I’d whis­per as I hefted my bulk to turn away like a tsunami rolling un­der the du­vet.

I still fan­cied him rot­ten, but sex dwin­dled from a few times a week to once a month. Then less reg­u­lar still. When we did do it, I fought to suck in my belly. ‘I’m dis­gust­ing,’ I’d think, far too pre­oc­cu­pied to re­ally get in the mood.

Once, we were row­ing about some­thing silly and Martin’s face grew sad.

‘You don’t touch me any more,’ he winced. It broke my heart.

But I couldn’t find the words to ex­plain it wasn’t that I didn’t love him. I didn’t love me any more!

By the time we landed in Las Ve­gas for Martin’s 30th birthday in Fe­bru­ary 2016, we hadn’t had sex for more than six months.

My suit­case was full of shape­less size 18 cardi­gans and jumpers to hide my bingo wings.

Some girls look good at a size 18, curvy and lus­cious.

Me? I looked like a bouncy ball with a face. Still, I plas­tered on a smile as we walked into the lux­ury ho­tel suite.

‘Happy birthday, babe,’ I smiled. It was an in­cred­i­ble week on the streets. But not be­tween the sheets.

At 16st, I didn’t want Martin any­where near me.

Climb­ing the stairs left me sweaty and out of breath. What state would I be in af­ter a bonk?!

We didn’t touch each other all week. In­stead, we gam­bled, ate and had fun.

On the last day of our hol­i­day, I went to up­load some pic­tures to my Face­book.

Smil­ing im­ages of Martin flicked up on my screen.

Fol­lowed by… ‘Oh, God,’ I gasped. Me!

I was huge, dwarf­ing him like a dou­ble-decker bus next to a Mini.

In that instant I knew some­thing had to change.

And, for once, it wasn’t go­ing to be the size of my togs.

Two days af­ter we got back from Ve­gas, I signed up for the Cam­bridge Weight Plan.

Af­ter one whole day of sur­viv­ing on just three lit­tle sa­chets of milk­shakes and packet meals, I went to bed starv­ing. The sec­ond my eyes opened the fol­low­ing morn­ing, I was al­ready mis­er­able.

I could prac­ti­cally see a pile of ketchup­coated chips float­ing be­fore my eyes.

Hop­ping on the scales, I was look­ing for an ex­cuse to quit.

In­stead, my mouth dropped open. And, for once, it wasn’t be­cause I was stuff­ing some­thing into it.

‘3lb down!’ I gasped.

That feel­ing of smug sat­is­fac­tion was all I needed to plough on.

By the time I’d reached the end of a week on the diet, and lost 7lb, my stom­ach seemed to have shrunk.

I stopped feel­ing con­stantly hun­gry, too.

Well, for food that is. When I lost 3st, my ap­petite for Martin reap­peared overnight.

‘Come here,’ I growled one night, pulling him into the bed­room as soon as he walked in.

Af­ter that, ev­ery pound that I lost we cel­e­brated with a good, err… pound­ing!

‘It’s good ex­er­cise,’ I laughed, pounc­ing on Martin ev­ery spare mo­ment. It was like be­ing in a new re­la­tion­ship again. And I felt like a whole new me. By Septem­ber, just seven months into my diet, I’d lost more than 5st.

‘I can’t be­lieve I thought I was be­ing healthy,’ I re­alised, mor­ti­fied as I ac­tu­ally read the back of the bot­tles. Su­gar, fat, salt. All the sauces I ate were brim­ming with it. One bot­tle of sweet chilli sauce that I’d douse my salmon fil­lets in had the same calo­ries as a Big Mac and small fries! I phased in proper meals slowly, this time leav­ing out the sug­ary sauces and soft drinks. Now, me and Martin are en­joy­ing plenty of sex-er­cise four times a week!

It’s even helped me drop a fur­ther half a stone.

I’m now down to a svelte 10st 5lb and a size 10.

I love go­ing out and show­ing off my new body. Hon­estly, life is bet­ter than ever. And Martin en­joys my new bod just as much as I do.

He’s even pro­posed, and we’re due to be mar­ried next July. We can’t wait for our hon­ey­moon.

I may have ditched the ketchup, but my saucy side is right back on track! Natasha Freed, 28, Milton Keynes, Bucks

My love of sauces saw me pile on the pounds

Now, me and my fella Martin can’t keep our hands of­feach other

I was so big you could barely see Martin in our hol­i­day snaps

Af­ter los­ing more than 5st, I’m feel­ing happier, and sex­ier, than ever!

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