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!
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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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…
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…