Body Language

I want to be London Andrews. Be as comfortable in my own skin as she seems to be. Rock my curves and not bother about my wobbly bits.

I watch that How To Look Good Naked show. I hear the Fairy Gok Mother preach about loving yourself like you are, warts an’ all.

But sorry Immanuel, I Kant. (Little philosopher’s humor here for ya)

Ever since my operation, now a good seven months ago, my body has been changing. You’d think I’d be happy with a slimmer body. Fuck, you’d probably think I did this just because I wanted to be a skinny minnie. Because, apparently, skinny and perfect equals happiness. It’s the norm.

I’m not dissing on skinny ladies. I love every single body type there is. I’d even love you if you were hexagonal!

I just didn’t do it to fit any standard. I did it because I was endangering my own health.

And I changed. And it’s kinda weird.

Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office today, I noticed my legs were thinner. My arms were thinner. I can fit into a smaller size shirt. My bones are more pronounced.

And it’s freaking me out, big time.

I’ve never known myself to not be this size, or larger than the average girl. It’s hard to remember a time where I could fit into anything below a size 20.

I should be happy with this change. After all, I’m getting healthy, the strain on my joints is less…

But I don’t feel like this is my body anymore. These bones aren’t mine. This face isn’t mine.

The only thing that still feels truly mine is my cunt. When I masturbate, I feel at peace with myself and feel like a normal person. The energy, the feeling of being catapulted backwards down a rollercoaster, it’s all me. She hasn’t changed, that cunt of mine. And I like that.

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3 Comments

  1. I know what you mean. While masturbating, size and insecurities seem to float away. Got to love that feeling; it’s better than any drug.

    Reply
  2. I can really appreciate this truthful outpouring… I’m a fluffy girl, and despite being the object of a few peoples’ desires, I don’t feel comfortable with my body. One would think that kind of flattery would do a number on your self-esteem, but no… Sure, it makes me feel good – really good – but can I be happy in my own skin? I love that there’s someone out there in the sex blogging community who knows what it’s like. Thank you for this connection.

    Reply

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