From "We Few"
by David Weber and John Ringo.
"Oh, good God."
Roger's eyes looked downwards -- once -- and then fixed resolutely on her face.
"What do you think?" Despreaux asked angrily.
She looked like she could have posed as a centerfold. Long legs were a given, too hard to change. Small hips and waist rising to… a really broad rib cage and shoulders. Slim neck, gorgeous face -- if anything, even more beautiful than she had been. Bright, nearly purple eyes. Hair that was probably better than his had been. Nice ears. And --
"Christ, those are huge," was what he blurted out.
"They're already killing my back," Despreaux told him.
"It's… as good as you were before, just entirely different…" Roger said, then paused. "Christ, those are huge."
"And all this time I thought you were a leg man," Despreaux said bitingly.
"I'm sorry. I'm trying not to look." He shook his head. "They've gotta hurt. The whole package is fantastic, though."
"You don't want me to stay this way, do you?" Despreaux said desperately.
"Errrr…" Roger had grown up with an almost passionate inability to communicate with women, which more than once had landed him in very hot water. And whatever he felt at the moment, he realized this was one of those times when he should be very careful about what he said.
"No," he said finally and firmly. "No, definitely not. For one thing, the package doesn't matter. I fell in love with you for who you are, not what you look like."
"Right." Despreaux chuckled sarcastically. "But the package wasn't bad."
"Not bad," Roger admitted. "Not bad at all. I don't think I would have been nearly as attracted if you'd been severely overweight and out of shape. But I love you for you. Whatever package you come in."
"So, you're saying I should keep this package?"
Roger started to say no, wondered if he should say yes, and then stopped, shaking his head.
"Is this a 'does this dress make me look fat' thing?"
"No," Despreaux said. "It's an honest question."
"In that case, I like them both," he confessed. "They're totally different, and I like them both. I've always been partial to brunettes, especially leggy ones, so the hair is a wash. But I like a decent-sized chest as much as any straight guy. Those are, honestly, a bit too large." Okay, so it was a little white lie. "On the other hand, whether you marry me or not, your body is your body, and I'm not going to tell you -- or ask you -- to do anything with it. Which do you prefer?"
"Which do you think?" she asked sarcastically.
"It was an honest question," Roger replied calmly.
"My real body. Of course. The thing is… I guess the question I'd ask if I were trying to trap you is: Does this body make me look fat?"
"No," Roger said, and it was his turn to chuckle. "But you know the old joke, right?"
"No," Despreaux said dangerously. "I don't know the old joke." "How do you get guys to find a kilo of fat attractive?"
he said, risking her wrath. She glared at him, and he grinned. "Put a nipple on it.
Trust me, you don't look fat. You do look damned good. I suppose I do, too, but I'll be glad to get my old body back. This one feels like I'm maneuvering a grav-tank."
"This one feels like I'm maneuvering two blimps in front of me," she said, and smiled at last. "Okay, when this is over, we go back to our own bodies."
"Agreed. And you marry me."
"No," she said. But she smiled when she said it.