I’ve literally just finished reading an article on XOJane.com and I HAD to share it! I would normally just post the link but it hit me so hard I simply have to share the whole thing. It’s an article about an email from a man to his girlfriend after her body issues had an impact on one of their sexual encounters. I want to share it wherever I can and scream from the rooftops: Don’t let your own insecurities get in the way of the abundance of pleasure you can get from letting go and letting someone love you and your body the way you deserve.
I’ve always had insecurities in the throws of passion and for the most part, I try to ignore them and have fun in the moment. I lead a generally healthy life in the bedroom and don’t often let my issues get the better of me. Unless, of course, I’m with someone that for some reason I feel I’m unworthy to enjoy. And when that happens I focus almost entirely on my partner. That way, I’m busy with his body so he needn’t be busy with mine (unless he’s so inclined). What I’m really doing here, is forcing them focus on their pleasure in an effort to compensate them for having to be with someone like me. I mean, nobody wants to fuck a fat chick right? Well, that’s wrong. Just, wrong. It’s self deprecating, destructive and just plain damaging to your self esteem.
Here’s one perspective and what it’s like to be with a big chick. Read it all. It’s worth it:
“I wrote this earlier today, about a half-an-hour after talking to you on the phone. I wasn’t sure if I should send it but I am going to anyway.
You are a woman of size.
As I’ve stated before, your body—its size and shape—is something I find attractive. Last night I found it attractive in this way:
I had a great hard-on and desire to fuck you.
You lay on my bed, your soft, copious and aroused shape beneath me, its feel on my lips, soft and tender, but buzzing, and breathing—smaller girls being less of an asset here because there is so much less to taste and feel. You kiss a smaller woman’s skin from shoulder to breast and you are there in seconds, but with you there is much more to explore, the width of your chest, the length of your stomach allowing me more time in all honesty to build myself up, to feed, to touch and turn myself on, than with a small girl’s body.
This is a turn-on because I get off on feeding, on sucking in and bringing out my lover. I imagine in the night my cock slowly slipping into your mouth and me, facing downward, kissing you from your breasts to your cunt, your lavishness, sweet long and soft belly, bringing you up and out, pushing through your insecurities about your waist, lighting you up, and tugging an orgasm from your clit like a snake quietly and steadily wrapping itself around its prey. I like to take my time, like an addict smokes his opium. And small girls just do not have enough drugs on their bones for me.
This, in your case, is an asset, an arousal, that I am finding true—as true as I suspected—that as a woman of size, as someone who is physically larger than me, I can feel like the parasite, the lovely disease, invading warmly and honestly the body of its prey. But just to be clear, just in case this sets off some alarms and self-doubt, I am a complete snob when it comes to my drugs. I do not eat poor meat.
My mind and body associates your sexuality, your very sexuality, your lust for sex, your lust for me, with your size. I see your body, your hips, your “thunder thighs,” not as mutated and enormous obstacles surrounding an otherwise ought-to-be lithe and perfect interior shape, but as the lusty physical expression of a true physical desire.
When I am on top of you, when I drag my tongue across your warm waist, when you fuck me from on top and your squishy (yes, squishy) legs push down on me, I am tasting and encountering the desire of a full and curvaceous, truly horny woman’s body and soul, a need that pours out onto me, that expresses wildly and severely and sweetly the need of you to fuck me, or to just fuck. I see your shape—I have always seen your shape (yours, you) –as the expression of a woman whose flesh has its own way and will and character.
And this is very important to state: when I am trying to fuck and taste you, when my lips are against the white and soft and squishy parts, those parts do not react like a hidden, obscured and submerged body within a trap of flesh. They react, as your voice reacts, as a hot and active and salty broad flint, as a whole and active ass and large and squirming set of legs in the throws of sex, like something alive and pulling me in, pulling me in and wanting me to turn on and take you to the moon. They behave like a real body. There is no separation to me. I do not need to overcome something. I want to bury myself into you.
Yes, you have a stalwart body, but you also have a feminine body, a vulnerable body, that I can push into, not just against. There are soft spots, secretive spots, folds and active exposed spaces. You have delicate, aroused and pointed flesh, places to grab and press into, to pinch and pull and scrape and bite. Like that first night when I grabbed you and pulled you in—I love that feeling—that feeling, like my hand on your breast, that there is so much more than I can contain. So I must make love to it, I must pour myself out to you and enter you. To find the secrets. And grab on so tightly that the blood is squeezed to the surface. I don’t just want a brick to throw myself against (I do want that sometimes, of course, as I long to feel that power, that body’s full measure and lust to throw itself again me). What I also want is a world to explore.
So, yes, I am smaller than you. And I like that advantage we both have. As a top, I like the challenge of pushing you down. But I also like the sight of this gorgeous and voluptuous woman submitting to my body, my work, my cock, and feeling my ass because she wants to.
I feel like a sinister and devious burglar, breaking into something truly beautiful, crawling in beneath the beautifully scented and inhabitable flesh, (the curve of your sides making me want to tear you open and go in and go deeper and deeper) showing a true woman (god I’m a cheeseball) what an extraordinary cock I have, what excellent and devilish fuck skills are inside me.
Your lust is as your size is—big and overwhelming and womanly and oh, so fully developed. You are a fully sized and fully developed woman to me. You have always been. A rich and curvy and plush and bursting, devious, sweet cunt machine. I can’t help it, as I said before, there is so much beautiful, female, fuckable and enterable body to you, a body that is the perfect fit to your personality, just as mine, I suspect, is to mine.
And I love to slide on top of you, to push into you, and feel your body react. It is an animated and rich body, like biting into flesh and tasting fruit, tasting a strawberry, tasting blood. Your skin is so beautiful, and the flesh beneath it so rich and deep.”
To say I’m moved it a complete understatement. There are literally tears streaming down my face while I sit here in awe at the eloquence with which this man communicated his love/lust for his very own plus-size princess. It was steamy and sexy and overflowing with desire. It’s exactly what every rubenesque woman needs to believe their partner is feeling. Because they do. They want you. Every fat fucking inch of you! So, let go of your demons, get in the groove and ride that stallion til you’re both breathless, red in the face and satisfied. You might just see yourself through their eyes and from what you’ve just seen, it’s a (big) beautiful view.
First off, I just need to take some time to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to watch my first video blog post! To those who sent me their words of encouragement, advice and support, I can’t tell you how much it means to me!
On that note, I had a few questions come out of the last post so I’ve addressed them in my second video blog! Yep, I did it. I went and posted another one. I suspect it helps that I’m already wearing makeup and have my hair done so I really didn’t have an excuse to hide…Anyway, here it is!
There’s a bit about the Disappearing American, a bit about mortgages and my attention span and a little bit about courage, as inspired by Dr Brene Brown’s TedTalk on Vulnerability. I encourage all of you to watch it, she’s a very engaging speaker with some strong messages that just might inspire you to do something that scares you, show others your vulnerable side and become a stronger more courageous person in your own life.
As always, I welcome your comments and feedback. Thanks for watching!
One thing I’ve always known but have tried my best to change about myself is that I’m not much of a snuggler. I do, however, love me a great big bear hug and I am indeed partial to enthusiastic bursts of affection towards friends and loved ones (and the occasional invasion of their personal space). I’m also quite fond of a nice fumb-I mean, cuddle on the couch. By all means hunny, please wrap me in your great big guns (or average size guns, depending on the fella)and let me nestle into that safe spot under your arm where I belong. But I am absolutely NOT the kind of gal that needs constant coddling. In fact, I find it a total turn-off.
Gentlemen please, please don’t hug me like you hug your Mom. Maybe it’s because I’m a comforting person. Maybe it’s because I give the impression that I genuinely care about the problems of others (which I do!). Or maybe it’s just my big giant boobs and my oh so squishy physique. But boys, I’m not your Mom and I don’t want you laying your noggin’ down on my shoulders or my girls on the first date. “Put your head on my shoulder” was sung by a man to a woman and NOT the other way around. Unless, of course, you’re suffering from some terrible trauma whereby you’ve lost the will to live and all you need is some love, kindness and support. Then, and only then, please consider my breasts/shoulders to be your personal pillows.
I also do not need to you to spoon me at night. I do not need you blowing your hot air directly at my eardrum (I would sleep in a wind tunnel if whistling put me to sleep). I do not need you drooling in my hair (I don’t like to wash it every day, you know!). Nor do I need your paws cupping my breasts while you smile yourself to sleep (I know that’s not the only place you can find a spot for your hands!). There are two sides to a bed for a reason. One for you and one for me. In fact, you should treat the invisible line down the middle of the bed as lava. Because baby, if you touch it and/or cross it, you’re out of the game.
I’ve tried to change. I’ve even gone through phases of an intense desire to be as close as is physically possible to a man without actually having sex with him. But dispite my best efforts to let a man spoon me to sleep, it ultimately results in forking anyway cause your sexy bits are just too close to my sexy bits.
This post was featured in my stalkbook newsfeed today and I just had to share. I’ve been harsh on myself at times but generally speaking I agree with this sentiment: “When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a fat bird, I see me. I probably see myself smaller than I actually am” and this one, “I may be fat, but I’m fucking pretty!”
Truer words were never spoken. Sometimes I wish I hated myself as much as society says I should. But I don’t. There’s always been things I wanted to change (I mean, I wouldn’t have spent $16K on a Slimband if I didn’t!) but it’s not a result of self loathing. So, I just wanted to remind us all to celebrate the fat girls because even though “we have tits and hips and curvy, wobbly bits” you know you boys effing love us just the same even if you think you need to keep it a secret (you know who you are)!
I discovered something this week. Im plus size, yup Im fat… No I haven’t suddenly gained a load of weight, I just realised that it is how other people see me.
I was a skinny kid, my grandfather used to call me a skeleton with a fringe. I was a skinny teenager, I used to be a size 6 – 8, then at 19 I had my first child and went from a 6 to a 16, it hit me hard, along with a good dose of post natal depression. But I threw myself into being a mum and put my weight out of my mind, after all I had a loving partner and a gorgeous baby son. Two years later I had my daughter and two years after that I had my third child, our youngest son. Each time I got pregnant I gained a little more and a little…
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Whilst scrolling through my StalkBook timeline yesterday, I stumbled across an article featured in Oprah Magazine that I thought I should share. The article is a feature written about self-portrait photog Jen Davis who has spent the last 10 years of her life taking perfect pictures of her 269-pound self and has recently undergone lap-band surgery. I so admire her courage and creativity that I wanted to share it with some of my Bandster followers.
The article spells out Davis’s journey from the refuge of life behind the lens to the full disclosure of the physical attributes that she felt kept her there. She did this by turning the camera on herself in an effort to overcome the insecurities she felt were her obstacle to having a healthy romantic relationship. Man, can I relate to that!!
Like Davis, I too found a creative outlet for my insecurities at an early age. As an adolescent I’d wile away the hours writing in black leather bound journals I’d stuff in my drawers filled with tales of a fitter, more desirable me. I wanted to be so much less so I could be so much more. Only I could never share my stories for fear of someone seeing into my soul and realising that the fat popular chick is a wannabe just like the rest of us. Reading this should tell you, I’ve moved from an intense fear of sharing my feelings, to displaying them proudly on my sleeve.
Like Davis, I too have spent my romantic life on the periphery because of my own personal issues with my fatter form. At 33, I’ve only really had two ‘healthy, loving relationships’. I’ve had other (mis)adventures but I often found solace in their lack of commitment and potential for a future. I honestly didn’t think I deserved it and truly believed I didn’t want it. Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure I’m as evolved there as I’d like to be.
Like Davis, I too have a lap-band. Although my rate of success isn’t quite as significant and Davis’, my band has helped me in various ways – including shrinking my stature by a fairly sizeable 45ish pounds. It’s certainly boosted my confidence. I’ve even shared a few sexy snaps of myself recently which I previously wouldn’t, no could’t, have even considered 2 years ago. The romantic side of things may indeed remain a work-in-progress but I’m working through it in my own way, just like Davis.
So, I’m curious to know how lap-band weight loss has affected some of my readers’ romantic relationships. Please leave your comments below.
I’m happy. You heard it right, I’m genuinely happy! I’m back in Ottawa, close to the people I love, doing a job I love, in an apartment I love, with lots of potential for fun in the future. AND I’ve even started losing weight again. I guess the whole ‘healthy mind, healthy body’ thing has some truth to it. Things really are GRRRREAT!
The only thing that seems to be missing is a +1 in all of this. In the past, I’ve spent a lot of time focusing on how much I don’t want to date. Generally speaking, I’m confident in my day-to-day life but being a fat chick occasionally has an impact on the ol’ psyche and where it hits hardest for me is about dating. I’d much rather focus on my physical needs than let myself get emotionally involved with someone. But honestly, I don’t even do that.
You see I don’t date because I don’t want to fall in love and risk a man leaving me one day. Since, you know, every man I’ve ever loved has left eventually…And I don’t date because I think that every man who’s attracted to me must have something wrong with them. I mean, why would any man be attracted to fat chick, right?
My brother recently asked me what I’m so afraid of when it comes to dating. He summed it up best with a Dinner for Schmucks analogy and he was oh so right: To my very core, I’m terrified that any man I might be interested in is only interested in me to take advantage of my perceived low self esteem, humiliate me and/or make me the butt of some elaborate joke about fat chicks. Don’t worry, I know how irrational it sounds – but that, my friends, is my biggest fear. You can see how that might make it difficult for me to date, yes?
It’s messed up in my pretty little head but I’m working on it…
A couple of years ago, I (half) made a decision to start dating again. When I made that decision, I made it thinking I was ready to invite someone into my life. I was looking for a connection – mental or physical – I didn’t care which at that point. The truth is that I just wanted to feel SOMETHING.
So, I started chatting with a potential suitor from an online dating site. We spent some time getting to know each other virtually but despite his best efforts, I could never commit to meeting him in person. It was safer that way – if he couldn’t see me, he couldn’t reject me. Even though we clicked in a few very important ways, I was just too scared to take the risk.
We’ve kept in touch over the years. As it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy who I’ve enjoyed chatting with on a number of occasions. Sometimes about things I’ve never spoken to anyone about before. We’ve developed a rapport. I trust him. And I’ve always enjoyed the attention.
That said, at some point along the way his pursuits (d)evolved somewhat in that he shifted his strategy from dating to something a little more mechanical. This in and of itself made the situation more appealing to me. It made me feel attractive and desirable for the first time in a long time. So, after some lengthy discussions and 3 years of his ever so patient pursuits, I finally managed to convince myself that I could give his proposal a shot. And what happened next, you say? Well, just when I’d resigned and chose to accept his advances, he tells me that he’s started seeing a lovely gal he’s been keen on for some time. Ain’t that a bitch?
I don’t have many regrets in life. But I can honestly say that not giving this guy a real chance during his nearly 3-year endeavour to meet me has certainly turned out to be one of them. The timing just wasn’t right and I don’t know what would have happened between us.
Truth be told, we were both pretty messed up on the relationship front so it most likely would have been purely physical. There’s something still lingering between us though so I’m doing my best to keep my distance. He seems to be doing much better now though. I guess I’ll just have to adjust the settings on the greenhouse window that is StalkBook so I don’t have to continue watching their relationship blossom.
Getting out of my own head will certainly help me with my dating dilemma. So that’s what I’m gonna do. I’ve said it before but this time I mean it…really. I think…
“Would you still sleep with him if you knew he’d never call you again?” That was the question on my new roommate’s mind the morning after her housewarming party the night before. Despite the sting of her enquiry and that she was so quick to put me in my place, it didn’t quite come as a surprise to me that she’d popped that particular question. You see, the night before I’d found myself in a lip-lock with her rather charming stand-up comic-slash-actor-slash-electrician friend and she was concerned that I might have fallen for the funny guy and that perhaps I might think that I’m special to him.
Wow. If I hadn’t sized him up the moment he walked in the door I might have been hurt by what I’m sure she thought was a helpful hint. What she didn’t know is that I knew the second I’d seen him that he and I would be having some alone time later. I just had to play my cards right.
I learned quite quickly that he’d previously been an electrical engineer who happened to work with robots. So, a bit of a geek, then. I also learned that he’s a stand-up comic/actor. So, a bit of a show-off, then. The result of this combination is a late-blooming, yet attractive, charismatic man who’s eager for attention, praise and approval and all the while he’s humble in his pursuit. Putty in my hands!
Winning over this kind of man is as easy as winning over this kind of woman – The Game. Show him just enough attention that he’d think I could be interested then address his personal attributes in a backhanded way (ie You’re alright. You’re not the least attractive/funny/entertaining guy in the place). I think that’s actually what won him over. I simply didn’t swoon all over him. And in turn he was charming in his efforts to welcome me into their group. He was humble when his friends felt the need to share his filmography, he was sweet-funny not stand-up funny and it was very clear to me that flattering women isn’t something he struggles with.
In fact, before the lip-lock I’d watched him make his rounds sweet-talking several of the other lovely ladies at the party, then circling back to me and occasionally following me from room to room. I knew he wasn’t just interested in me, he was interested in any of the women in the room he hadn’t yet shagged. Since I definitely did (and still do) fall into that category and well, he wasn’t the least attractive/funny/entertaining single guy in the room, I didn’t really mind the attention.
So, when we stepped out onto the back patio, I knew what we were there for. We talked, we kissed and went back inside to the party. When it came time for the awkward goodnight, I took a beat in the basement and let him and is homies head home without a word. There was no need to make it more than it was. I didn’t and don’t need to know if he’s all that into me cause frankly, I just wasn’t that into him. I’d had a few hours of fun and that’s all I was after.
Here’s to a few more minutes of fun with some other hot TO totties!
I hate dating. I am absolutely open to an arranged marriage as long as he looks like Channing Tatum and treats me like Ryan Gosling treats Emma Stone in Crazy, Stupid Love. Seriously, is that too much to ask for a fierce female like me?! I blame rom-coms for all my relationship woes. Hmph.
Love this fabulous letter to the man who actually makes me swoon. STOP BEING SO PERFECT RYAN GOSLING!
I do love the fellas. I especially love the hot fellas that happen to be my friends from back home. And when I say hot, I mean smokin’ hot guys that have abs for days and guns I just want wrapped around me for the rest of my life. They would most certainly give The Situation and his ab-tastic physique a run for his money. And unlike The Situation, they’re not meatheads and they’re super nice guys so of course its always been a pleasure to be one of their friends.
It’s probably the most fun I’ve had in quite some time. Over the course of a couple days I did a lot of thinking. I thought a lot about how much fun it is to hang with a group of male friends. I’ve always had lots of ‘em (junior high, high school, university, Munich and London). Some of my best friends have been/are guys. It’s been great. Sadly, I’m lacking a pack here in O-Town.
For the better part of my life, I’ve had purely platonic but fairly intimate friendships with quite a few attractive guys. They’ve inadvertently acted as a boyfriend substitute and allowed me to avoid taking A LOT of relationship risks. They filled the void and didn’t even know it.
Substitutes like this make it oh so easy to be single. Why, when I’m surrounded by super hot, super nice guys would I want to take any risks and ruin it by hitting on one of them? I mean, I’ve always wanted a relationship but I wasn’t ever really willing to give up anything to get one. Be that friendship, time, space or pride.
And I guess I’m lying a little. Some of my platonic relationships with men have started off with me having a crush on them. And instead of going for it, I take us to the friend-zone and bury any chance of a romantic relationship. I do this because this way, they can’t reject me on the basis of my over-sized lady lumps, I won’t get hurt and I still get to have them in my life.
Despite my physical and mental transformation over the last 14 months, I’m still repeating the same mistakes I did before. I’m getting what seems like a bit more attention from the fellas (or maybe I’m just more aware of it?) but I’d still rather be just friends with lots of hot guys, rather than let any of them know I might actually be a bit more attracted to or care a bit more about them than I let on.
I’m consistently aloof and internally continue to focus on the Curse of Curves. Frankly, I still believe it to be true. Why would guys like them, ever consider someone like me…Even if I did sacrifice my pride and crawl out on that limb to reach for the relationship I really want, I still can’t believe it’s worth the risk of them rejecting me and disappearing from my life.
It’s so frustrating and absolutely paralyzing to know full well that I’m the reason I’m in this position – single, lonely and wishing I had more male friends to act as crutches in my life. I know how pathetic it is to wish for a crutch rather than wish for a relationship. But to get myself to the point where I could even consider that I’m worthy has been and will continue to be my biggest challenge in my weight loss journey.
At this point, I feel it’s very important to note that I have a beautiful group of girlfriends here in Ottawa that love me and try to change my mind about my aversion to dating on a fairly regular basis. But I just need some boy time now and then and if friendship is how I’m gonna get it, I’ll take what I can get.
See, I’m a girls’ girl and a guy’s best friend. And it has its pros and cons. But really, I deserve more than that. I deserve to be more than just a really great friend. I deserve to have someone love me for me and I deserve to have them treat me as well as I treat my friends. I just need to get out of my own way to have it and be confident enough to put myself out there. So, I’m working on it. I’m going to try to be a bit more clear about my intentions. I’ll keep you posted.
I had a conversation with my aunt today about a boy I knew in high school. She said something that really struck a nerve and I have to get it off my chest.
We’d had a somewhat special relationship and I was filling her in. She was curious about why we’d never dated and she asked me how I thought he felt about my weight. It never seemed to be an issue. Then she said the one thing I always fear when it comes to guys I care about:
“Well, he would care if you were dating. It doesn’t matter how big you are when you’re friends but when you’re dating it always matters,” she said.
Ouch. Straight to the jugular. I sat in stunned silence thinking about what she’d just said. It’s quite possibly my biggest insecurity knowing that there’s plenty of potential partners in my world who fancy the pants of me but wish I was a more socially acceptable size…the Curse of Curves I call it.
See, this friend and I were great friends when we were young, quite close and spent a whole lot of time together. We’d go to parties and sporting events and hang out on school nights ‘watching movies’. We were pretty great at ‘watching movies’ together and frequently did so until he moved away. We never officially dated and our real relationship wasn’t public. (Although I was the victim of the odd cougar joke since we spent so much time together at school.)
At the time, I would have said the secrecy was down to the fact that I was a senior and he was a freshman and I didn’t want anyone to know I was a cradle robber. He was my ‘fun friend’ and it was just between us.
But, I’m not entirely sure he would have wanted many people to know either. I mean, I wasn’t special, he had movie nights with other girls (and I hasten to add that it certainly never seemed to bother him what size any of his other girls were). I knew about them and it never bothered me. I had other ‘movie nights’ myself. So, I never drew any boundaries or put any pressure on him for anything other than fun. Neither did he. We were young. We never even talked about it.
I’d like to say that if I’d wanted more I would have asked for it but sadly, that’s not entirely true. I’d recently been burned by a boyfriend that seemed to be ashamed to date me in public so I really would never have pushed it if I’d thought it meant I wouldn’t get to spend time with him anymore. But I also had an issue with his age that I couldn’t get over. Then he moved away. Thinking about it now, I know our relationship was never any more or less than either of us wanted but that doesn’t mean it was all that healthy.
I still see him occasionally. We’re still great friends and I feel safe and happy when we’re together. I wish I had the courage to talk to him about it but since he’d never intentionally hurt me, I couldn’t be sure he’d tell me the truth anyway.
So, the curse remains intact. For now…
Curtis Stone, you filthy tease!! You are so right, sir. And with people like you pimping food to the world, I’m fixin’ to be stuffing my face very soon.
I don’t care what he’s cooking, but I’m eating it. Bandster friendly or not! Good things he’s a healthy food philosopher.
I HEART you Curtis Stone, you sexy sweet ass, you!
Well, a lot sometimes. It’s been a pretty busy couple days for me and it’s absolutely sweltering. Of all the times in my life that I feel fat, hot days are the worst. There are few things more unattractive to me on a hot day than my sweating self in the sunshine. My hair gets all frizzy, my face gets shiny and my makeup starts melting. Not a pretty picture.
Yesterday I decided to embrace the scorcher and went out in the evening to enjoy the weather with my cuz. After visiting his trio of tiny terrors (whom I love dearly!), we decided to hit the Royal Oak at Bank and McLaren and met up with a couple of old friends from my youth. One of these was a person, the other was a tall glass of very cold Boddington’s bitter. Cue ominous music here.
I know, we’re not supposed to drink beer. I’ve heard it many times. I’ve even felt the affects of why we shouldn’t drink beer. But like every bandster I’m testing my boundaries. I haven’t had a fill yet so I should technically be able to handle a brew or two until then anyway. And besides, Boddington’s is a bitter so there’s a heck of a lot less fizz to bother the band.
It was so great to catch up! It’s hard getting back in touch with old friends sometimes. The continuity isn’t there so it’s easy to lose the familiarity and intimacy of the friendship perviously shared and things can get awkward. But both of these friends were as charming and enjoyable as ever so I had no trouble catching up with the boy or enjoying the the beer (slowly!).
Old friends, great weather and a cold bitter in the pub are three great reasons to be living back in Canada.
I’ve always had a thing for vampires. They’re beautiful, desirable, seductive, alluring. Perfect. The list goes on. But everything about them is attractive. I’m honestly not even close to deterred by the bloodlust.
Back in the day I was a big Anne Rice fan. With her dreamy duo of The Vampire Lestat and his dear companion Louis. They kept me enthralled with their tortured existence of love for blood and each other.
Then, when Stephanie Meyer‘s Twilight came into my life it became my bloodline to a romantic tale of young love like I haven’t seen since Romeo & Juliet.
Most recently I found L.J. Smith’s The Vampire Diaries.
In each of these realities there’s always a love so intense it seems impossible that it even exists. I’ve been in love before and each of these authors does a different yet equally delicious job at describing the kind of love I have indeed felt.
But they also describe desire in a way I’ve never experienced: pure, unadulterated, all-consuming passion for the hero/ine. Granted the desire for their lovers is fueled by a nearly uncontrollable urge to kill them, it’s still a desire I’ve never had inflicted upon me. I’ve felt it for someone else but never felt it directed at me.
The more I think about my future life and my significantly smaller self, the more I realise I really just want someone to want me THAT much. I mean, I certainly don’t want anyone to want to kill me or stalk me or actually be obsessed with me. But I do want someone to desire me as much as Edward and Jacob, Stephan and Damon desire Bella and Elena respectively.
But then again, I’m not sure I’ve ever been willing to let someone feel that way about me. It’s almost like I’ve never felt I deserved it. Not consciously, of course but on reflection there’s been a few self-sabotaging situations that could have resulted in something great. I guess it’s all part of the growth.
Since I’m someone that’s never been anyone’s first choice, it would be nice to have my own vampire-style love affair BEFORE I make my transformation. I’m sure it sounds shallow to want to be wanted that bad. But honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s most fat girls’ fantasy…without the vampires and the killing, of course.