Sunday, August 27, 2006

fat = No Lingerie?



I'm reposting this from the post I made at curvychick because it's sort of relevant. I've noticed I've been tossing out my underwear lately, that it's old and tattered and not me at all. It's boring and plain. In fact, it's what I started buying when I met C. and he stated that he didn't like lacy/see-through lingerie. And what's left after he laughed at me when I first tried to wear lingerie for him. And I started buying what he wanted. And I didnt' bother to fight because, well, I'm fat. And who could blame him for laughing, right?

Anyway, here's the post:

I was responding to a post about bras, and ended up thinking about my own love/hate relationship with lingerie.

I've learned to wear clothes as a shield: to cloak myself behind what I put on. But in lingerie, it's just not possible to hide.
And as a would-have-been sex goddess, it stands to reason that I have what must be the most schizophrenic lingerie chest in the world.In fact, have an entire piece of furniture devoted to the stuff, 99% of which I won't/can't wear.

Demi-cup bras, frayed-and-grayed sports bras, plain cotton bras, satin slips, granny panties, lace-top stockings, garter belts, opaque tights, cable tights (you wouldn't believe how comfy they are)...all co-existing in a hodgepodge of frustrated sensuality and cold reality.

Mainly, that lingerie does not look on me like it does the waifs in the catalogues, ads, or pictures. The last time I wore lingerie for my husband, I was laughed at. (he swears I just "took him by surprise and he wasn't expecting it.").

I suspect differently and dress appropriately. The full-cut granny briefs? The greyish white bra with the serviceable wide straps? They're for me.

But occasionally I find myself buying for that would-be sexpot that doesn't exist. Maybe if I got back to a size 12, or weren't so sure I'd feel not only ridiculous, but embarassed, I'd wear the lacy black bra and matching boyshorts. Or buy that pretty purple demi-cup bra with pink edging.

Lingerie is, after all, intensely personal and yes, sensual. For me, it's a matter of do I deserve to be seen this way? Will I be accepted this way?

Maybe this is an inappropriate question, but is it possible to really see oneself as a sexy person out of (or mostly out of ) one's clothes as it is in them?

The girls over at curvychick (who are much more accepting of anyone over size 2 than at MUA), all agree that husband be damned, I should be buying nicer stuff. That I should be encasing myself in silk and lace and mesh and whatever else I feel is appropriate. But here's the kicker:

I hear C.'s laughter and my own deriding voice in my head every time I think about pretty bras and stuff: "Just who the hell are you trying to kid?"

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Eff "health". I wanna be sexy. And other musings.

So is it wrong that every reason I can suddenly come up with to lose weight is seuxal? I want to lose weight so I can have more men that want to fuck me. I want to lose weight so I can look like someone men would like to fuck. I want to lose weight so I can feel sexier when I masturbate. I want to lose weight so I can entice my husband. I want to lose weight so I can entice men who are not my husband. I want to lose weight so I can have the mind-blowing orgasms I had before I was fat.

Eff health. I want to be a sex goddess. Who needs to be a sex goddess who dies at a ripe old age? There are no sex goddesses past 40. I have 8 years.

Speaking of years...It was a little over 5 years ago that I lost my virginity. Seems like ages. And it also seems that since then, I haven't written a decent piece of erotica.

I mulled long and hard (heh) over that decidedly one-sided conversation with Anubis. Why is it that a man saying he would give up his own orgasm for mine gets me so hot? Why is it that him saying that he could just make me come for hours, on and on.....Why is it that I couldn't stop coming, even with just him saying it?

Because I know better. It's the ultimate fantasy for me. A woman who's sexual education differed so much from her fantasy is bound to want to belive the fantasy part: that sex is a give-and-take on both sides, not just I give and he takes. All my erotica has an exchange of pleasure: both parties are involved in what the other wants, feels, desires.

Whereas in the real world, lovers simply take without thought to what the other wants.

Is it any wonder that I can no longer even imagine a world where men lave at their partners' fingers, nipples, pussy....where they can touch skin with only their fingertips, and tease their partners to orgasm? It seems laughable to even think it. Ludicrous. No man exists.

Perhaps that is why my own husband wont' read my work - - he knows it for what it is: damning of him and impossible to live up to. And that is why I can no longer write: I have no inspiration; my muse died the night I let a man take from me without giving.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Reasons....



I've just eaten an Entire Medium Thin Crust Pizza. I feel nauseous, but not enough to throw up (and trying to make myself do so is merely painful and nothing comes up -- yes, I've tried).

This shameful behaviour has to be predicated on something:

  1. When I phoned Pizza Hut, I had just left my mother's house after spending over TWO HOURS of her typical haranguing, deconstructive criticism, and the new fastball: "You disappoint me." No shit, mom.
  2. I was hungry, although I shouldn't have been: I had broiled scallops and salad for lunch. Nicole Richie could eat for days off that alone, nibbling at one scallop at a time. (Is it wrong that I find her absolutely adorable in her dad's video?)
  3. I forgot to call my husband, telling him I would be captive with my mother for the remainder of the afternoon.
  4. All I wanted to do was go home today and read another M.J. Rose book. Instead, I had to give my dad some money (which required an extra 35 minutes of traffic), rescue my husband, whose truck broke down, give up my car to him so he could go to work, and ask my mother to pick me up (she took full advantage of the opportunity, too).

So now I'm just sitting here, thinking ofa ll teh pretty clothes I can't wear and all the pizza I just ate and how Heidi said the loser's dress made her look "Like a Plus Model!" ("Plus model" being sneered as if it were "Seal-Hater!" or "Nazi" or "A Cockroach!" ), and how Heidi wouldn't even say 'auf' to me because I'm FAT and I brought this on MYSELF and when, when , WHEN will I ever be thin and gorgeous and in control?!

What do skinny people do when their mothers harangue them? WHen they don't feel good enough? Or do they always feel good enough? they are, after all, thin.

Must be nice.