Happiness! Excitement! Short Skirts!

Hi everyone!

My life has gotten so full and exciting that it has been a challenge to stay on top of the blogging!  But never you worry I am percolating on some exciting topics for you in the days to come--femdom marriage ceremonies, burlesque sexiness, kinky photo shoots and more.

I am really stepping into my dominance, thanks to my husband and my wonderful submissives, along with a few long distance admirers.  When I began this journey I very much wanted to believe that I could be beautiful, powerful, and in control--no matter my size, fears, and insecurities.  But when I began this journey, I was still very shy, tentative, and self conscious.  And today, right now at this very moment I am happy, confident, proud, excited, and very much in love with the life I am living and the people in it. And today, I am wearing a short skirt out of the house because I look hot and I feel like it!  How fun to tease all those horny and helpless boys at the grocery store! Haha!

Opening up my marriage has been one of the hardest things I've done in a long time and it requires a lot of work and self honesty, but having the freedom to explore my kinks, passions, and sexuality is truly a gift.  And I love my husband all the more for his willingness (and work) to love me as the woman I am--a woman with an insanely high libido, a kinky, dirty mind, a love of connection, and a lot of curiosity about human sexuality.  Without my beautiful and loving husband, I don't know where I'd be.  With his support, I'm in graduate school and working towards my sex educator certification (by the way, when anyone asks what I do, or what I'm studying, I reply perkily with a great big grin--I'm studying sex, isn't that awesome?), practicing and training as a dominatrix, and dancing with a local burlesque group.  For nine months of the year, I'm studying furiously, writing papers and teaching classes, and it has been a huge blessing to spend the summer getting my hands dirty as it were (if you don't know what I mean, read the previous post), and gaining the experience I need to re-enter my studies with new questions to explore.

And the biggest surprise of the summer--loving my body, just as it is!  I've never had the perfect body, and certainly becoming a mother brought with it changes, some expected and some unexpected.  The great thing about being a female dominant is that when you have a good and true slave, they adore and worship you no matter what.  It's incredibly empowering.  So even though my thighs are not perfect, my belly has stretch marks and I have a tummy that will probably never go away, it is ALL a part of who I am and my submissives worship me in my entirety.  As a dominant, it isn't about the submissives wants and needs.  If I want to dress sexy and show off my body, so be it.  And if not, that's fine too.  I can grab one of my sluts by the hair or the collar and shove his face into my cunt if I so please and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.  And you know what else I've learned?  Confidence and comfort in your own skin is sexy as fuck.  A gorgeous and perfect woman with no confidence, no personality and no fire inside of her is not hot.  A size 10 woman with stretch marks and thigh dimples who loves who she is, knows what she wants and makes it happen--now that gets a cock hard!  So, dear readers, get out there and do what you love inside of the bedroom and out, because that is what will make you feel strong and sexy--no matter your external packaging.

And on that note, here's something hot I wrote about nakedness, vulnerability and stretch marks just a few months after I gave birth.  I think I've come a long way.  Enjoy!

I'm driving myself towards loves and lusts and lives of passionate intensity and yet stopping short as I raise my hand to knock on the door. Heart pounding in my chest, I stand frozen, looking through opaque windows, unable to predict what waits within.

I am not afraid of what I might find within, but how my lover will find me. Rejection is always painful, but to be seen and potentially refused by my living dream threatens every bit of my tenderly woven being. Not wanting to leave, and afraid to enter, I am caught in my own liminal purgatory. Standing there, sweating, wanting to meet the object of my long tended desires, desperate for connection and overexcited at the thought of imagined pleasures, wetness spreads between my thighs and seeps into my jeans. I smell of fear and desire, and I blush hot, knowing that my desire and quivering frame will betray me at first glance.

I walk away, rushing down the sidewalk, cool wind rushing around and through me. I near the safety of my waiting car, and stop again, feet frozen to the pavement. Gathering every last bit of courage, I peel my shoes up from the rubber ground, sticking in the heat, and force my feet back to you. Waging an internal war, both sides losing, each step is a profound effort.

Ascending the stairs a second time, I stand upon the doormat and take a deep breath. Unwilling to wonder for the rest of my life, living but a shadow of desire, I press the little yellow button, hearing bells chime within. Hand holds hot hand, thighs tightly pressed together, nipples insinuate and breasts heave. I'm dying for you to answer the door, and desperately hoping you won't. As I turn to leave, you open the door wide.

You take one look at me, ragged and disheveled with desire, clothes damp and limp, and grab my slick hand, pulling me in. I stumble across the threshold and stare open mouthed as the door swings shut, sealing us inside. Unable to escape, eyes turn to gaze shyly on you, knowing you're unashamedly running your eyes over my dripping form. You ogle me, knowing that I want you to look, want you to see me.

Without a word, still rooted to the floor, I pull my shirt up over my head, dropping it onto the floor, revealing heavy swollen breasts cupped tightly in a black bra. Barely containing me as it is, I reach around and unhook the bra that digs into my tender flesh, leaving red marks on shoulders and back. My bra joins my shirt on the floor, and huge breasts fall free. I want you to see the way they lay on my stomach, nipples dark and eager, belying my shyness.

I let you gaze upon me, showing you my beautiful, imperfect body. I run my hands along my belly, tracing the paths of dark stretch marks, a map left of former fullness. My belly still slightly swollen and newly empty, not entirely realizing that a child has been born. Unbuttoning the top button of my jeans and fumbling with the zipper, I wiggle out of my jeans, sliding them down to my ankles. Bending over, I let you drink in the way my breasts fall forward and the curves of my ass beg for you to grab them. But you don't.

Stepping out of my jeans and leaving them in a crumpled pile upon the floor, I stand up and look back at you, eyes meeting for the first time. Heart beating frantically as I stand there, letting you see all of my vulnerability, my new body, neither mother nor girl. Breasts milky and full, both sexual and practical, I am a complicated mess of a woman.

Curves in new places, marks tattooed on flesh, muscles firm and strong from carrying a baby nine months inside and four months outside. You don't need to do anything. Just watch me.

Hands caress exposed flesh, turning that you can see me from every angle, letting you take in every dimple and fold of supple flesh. Standing before you, my nakedness is barely concealed by a pair of wet, thin panties. I gently stroke the insides of my thighs, reaching between my legs to rub the swollen wet mound within.

Sliding hands down hips and inside fabric, I touch my hot cunt while you watch. Breasts bounce and legs sway as I rub myself harder, excited beneath your curious gaze. In an instant my damp modesty lies abandoned upon the floor. I stand naked and quivering, a human goddess, Inanna* stripped and bound, waiting to be reborn.

I am no longer the woman I was. I am changed, and I am shedding my former skin for wiser, fuller flesh. I want you to witness my transformation, recording the ineffable events upon your heart. There I will grow and thrive, impervious to threats of unbelievers. This is the closest we will come to the divine.

In my vulnerability, stripped of pride and beauty, flesh unbound and skin transparent, I find ecstasy. Fingers finding exposed, erect clitoris, unashamedly taking my pleasure before you. Risks taken and pleasure sought, I press onward, no longer content with a life of mediocrity. Pulsing with life, I come to orgasm right there, knees weakening and mouth uttering screams wild and dark.

Still rubbing my clitoris, not daring to let go, I cum again and again, not caring if you like what you see, forgetting that I am made of mere flesh and blood. Dreams mingle with reality, each moment made of orgasm. We could share a cup of coffee or sit and read the newspaper, and still I'd be unfolding in ecstasy. With each spasm of my tight cunt, I approach my deepest self, and imbued with pleasure, continue upon my crooked path to the Goddess.

It's time for me to pull out my mirror again and take a look at the new cunt resting between my legs. I'm ready to open my knees and let you see what lies within. I'll show you my scars if you're willing to look. I'll get off on your perusal, letting your glance drive me towards divine ecstasy.

So read my words and learn my heart, for I live and breathe in these pages. Here I lie spread open and exposed, an ever changing woman, seeking pleasure in all its forms. I am not a goddess, but merely a woman striving ever towards union with the gyrating world.

*Inanna was the ancient Sumerian goddess of sexual love, fertility, and war. Legend has it that Inanna undertakes a journey to the underworld of spiritual and sexual initiation. In order to descend to the depths of her dark femininity, Inanna must remove each article of her clothing, one by one, until she is completely naked and vulnerable. Only then can she enter the underworld. She removes her crown, stripping herself of her divinity, her earrings and strands of beads around her neck. She unfastens her gold breastplate, engraved with the words "Come man, come," forsaking her sexual charms, abandoning her woven girdle, and finally her royal breechcloth.

Naked and mortal she descends to the realm of her infernal sister, Erishkigal, and there she is crucified by the wrath of the dark feminine. Her flesh is hung on a meat hook, and her corpse rots until her consort Dumuzi and his sister, the self-sacrificing feminine, each undertaking their own journeys to hell, to resurrect the crucified Goddess. Thus the journey to the inner, dark self of the underworld becomes a task of both the masculine and feminine. It is only when both male and female confront their sexual and personal darkness, that they are united with each other and the earth.

While we cannot control the journeys of our lovers, we can endeavor to bare our bodies and souls, knowing that until we do so there is no hope of true ecstasy.

Lessons From a Dominatrix

1. No means no.
2.  Setting boundaries is crucial.  Expect to have to reiterate them again and again.
3.  Making people wait for what they want isn't a bad thing.
4.  Do what you want not what you think you're supposed to do.
5.  Your power doesn't come from your position, your money, or your whip. It comes from within.
6.  Making them beg is a useful tool in both the bedroom and the boardroom.
7.  Use your assets to your advantage,  whether they be power,  possessions,  or a nice ass.
8.  Stop feeling guilty for being strong, powerful, sexy and assertive. Men don't have to apologize for these things so why should you?
9.  Call people on their bullshit. There's a lot of it going around.
10.  Stop apologizing all the time.
11.  No matter how old you are and no matter your size, there is always someone somewhere who will have sex with you. Remember that.
13.  Use simple commands.
14.  Give punishments and rewards appropriately. 

 

Finally, and most importantly...

15.  Be yourself. Just because the typical image of dominance often appears mean, bitchy and aggressive doesn't mean that is what works for you.  Find your power, your style, and take it all out.
16.  Have fun.
17.  Own it.

 

Love ya, and love yourself!  You're worth it!

 

Goddess Inanna

Tea, Crumpets, and Orgasms

Hello my sexy kinky pervy friends.  I apologize for the recent lag in blog posts.  Where the writing hasn’t happened, life certainly has.  It’s been a wonderful week, full of g-spot exploration and orgasms, corset fittings and photo shoots, lavender hair dye, burlesque, strap-ons and so much overall happiness.

 

I attended a lovely kinky ladies tea on Sunday with a fabulous friend of mine and had an amazing time learning all about the texture and nature of the g-spot and how to stimulate it.  A lot of the information I already knew from reading and experience, but I’d never experienced a g-spot orgasm so I was curious to see it happen right before my eyes and get super top-secret tips from gals who had their game on, if you know what I mean.  And truth be told, bisexual though I am, (shhh!  Don’t tell everyone!  *says the girl who is posting this all over the internet for anyone to read*) I’ve never been sexual with another girl, so the prospect of seeing a real life vagina in person, not to mention orgasming in my face, sounded like a pretty good way to pass an afternoon.

Other than the vagina I knew would be there, I had no idea what to expect of the tea, or the group of ladies and I was so orgasmically blown away by the sheer perfection of the tea and tea delicacies at the event.  I mean, seriously, as a recovering foodie/food addict I KNOW good food and presentation when I see it, and I had multiple mouth-gasms over the array of deliciousness provided.  There were tiny little open-faced cucumber sandwiches, little bacon and cheese pastry puffs, blue cheese and pear spread bread thingies, lavender scones with lemon glaze and little lavender bits on top, raspberry cream puffs and sugar cookie cream filled tarts with strawberries on top combined with English Breakfast tea with lemon and honey.  Oh, oh, oh! 

 

AND THEN THERE WAS A SQUIRTING VAGINA.  I know, right?  Since I’ve never actually had sex with a woman, I’m pretty much on the maturity level of a horny 14 year old boy who masturbates thinking of pussy all the time and whenever he’s around girls can’t think of much else.  Just warning you.  I suppose I’m not much more mature when it comes to penises either.  Somehow, I’m still at that level of “PENIS! VAGINA/PUSSY/CUNT, SEX….YAAAAY!” 

I was curious to see how this g-spot orgasm demo was going to happen.  I mean, was she just going to strip down and make herself cum in the juiciest way possible?  Or was the instructor going to make her cum?  That would be pretty hot. Hmmm.  It was exciting just imagining how it was going to go down. 

After we’d all gorged ourselves on tea dainties and food gasms, we all gathered around a large futon that had been placed lengthwise for the demo to lay down and spread her legs upon (giggle!  I TOLD you).    Luckily, the demo was not in the least self-conscious, so she simply peeled her long cotton dress off and stepped right out of her lacy leopard print panties.  I was impressed she was a leopard-print panty kind of girl.  Not everyone can pull that shit off.  I can’t.  I’m all silk and lace and at my most daring something red or black or thong-like.  But it takes a fierce and confident woman to pull off leopard print like she isn’t even trying.  Also, it was pretty amazing to just watch a woman take off her dress and panties, the way I had imagined that she would if I were every lucky enough to have a woman to take to bed with me. 

All clothing removed except for bra, the demo smiled and blushed charmingly, saying that she was nervous, before promptly setting herself on the provided ottoman and forthwith spreading her lovely, curvy legs.  And…vagina.  The instructor proceeded to review the anatomy of the “pussy”  alternating between her laminated hand-drawn chart and the actual vagina on display.  It was pretty great.  It was also nice to see another vagina besides my own.  For years I felt self-conscious about my cunt because once I reached puberty my inner labia increased in size and began to peek out of my labia majora.  I remember asking the gynecologist bluntly during my first pelvic exam, “Am I normal?  Are you sure I’m not weird—that’s there’s not something wrong with me….down there?”  Haha.  I’ve since learned that vaginas come in all shapes and sizes.  Some women have larger inner lips, some have larger outer ones.  Some women have large clitorises, and others are more buried in the flesh of the mons pubis.  Some women have prominent fleshly clitoral hoods, and others have none at all.  I was pleased to see the demo had a pussy much like mine, with sexy little inner lips peeking out of the swell of her outer labia and a cute button of a clit that began to swell as the afternoon wore on. 

 

After chatting about our vaginas and squirting experiences (for those that had had them), our lovely demo began to tease her cunt, playing with her inner and outer lips, rubbing her clitoris, and then darting her fingers inside her vagina, first one, then two, and finally three.  She became incredibly wet very quickly, excited and aroused by her audience, I suspect.  I noticed that she alternated between furiously rubbing her clit and vigorously thrusting her fingers inside herself with an upward motion, targeting the bumpy and swelling area of her g-spot.  It was hard not to smile at her enthusiasm, the squishing sounds of her wetness, and the slapping/fucking sound her cupped hand made on her swollen pussy as she thrust her probing fingers inside herself.  Finally, after repeating this  sequence several times to her obvious satisfaction, fucking herself with her fingers until she could stand it no longer, she quickly pulled her fingers out of her cunt and furiously rubbed her erect clitoris.  And she came.  Oh she came, arching her back and curling her toes, uttering moans of pleasure as spurts of female ejaculate rushed out of her body and down between her legs.  Utterly delicious. 

 

What was even more lovely was that she continued to play with herself and give herself orgasm after glorious g-spot orgasm.  It was a lovely erotic background to the shared advice among women and the excited whispers of endless orgasms.  I could tell we were all eager to get someplace where we could give our own vaginas a similar workout.  I know I was.

 

What an experience that combined all of the things that I love about being a woman, and made me love them more deeply.  These days with my explorations of female domination and inverted gender roles, as well as embracing masculine aspects of power, assertiveness and sexual dominance, it was refreshing and empowering to rediscover womanhood through a lovely afternoon of tea, vaginas, and wetness.

And I will tell you this.  I spent the entire next day with my legs spread and eager fingers playing my swollen clitoris and stroking my engorged g-spot, just as I had seen done by the demo at the tea party.  After seeing it done, it didn’t take me long to catch on over and over and over again.  I was able to cum about 10 times in half an hour, with little effort, and none of the exhaustion that I feel after a clitoral orgasm.  What a wonderful thing to discover about the female body!

The Aftermath

As many of you have noticed, these last few weeks have been full of revelations--deep and earth shattering on many levels.  I've shared about my body, my desires, my spirituality, and talked about things that were buried and not fully known, even to myself.  The recent discovery of my PCOS has done a lot in terms of explaining my hormone levels, long term symptoms, and even a good deal of my gendered feelings that have begun to emerge full force as I have begun to dig internally.  However, the discovery of these truths alone has not been enough to satisfy me, nor to resolve many of my internal tensions.  In many ways I have always been a conflicted woman--one who dwells within tensions and at times (okay, often) desires things sexually that conflict with my belief system intellectually.  I posted recently about my personal experience with being on the transgender spectrum (at this time I identify as genderqueer) in response to a friend's query about switching genders as a form of "opting out" and "not fighting the good fight."  I felt called to share my story as a way of putting a human face on the transgender experience, and illustrating the deep internal struggle to reconcile a body that does not match one's inner identity.  In general, I feel called to explore my deepest truths and do deep work in the areas of gender, identity, sexuality, pornography, kink, etc. and share my research, study, thoughts, and experiences in order to educate people about things of which they are unaware, or to let another struggling person know they are not alone, even though they feel lost and isolated.  I struggle with wondering whether I am being selfish and self-absorbed to spend the majority of my time looking inward, but I think to a large extent, this is the work of being a writer.  I also spend time taking classes, attending events, and teaching, in order to gain the experience and human interaction required to actually have something to say.  If I stopped everything in order to write, the well would quickly become dry.

I have been surprised at the degree of acceptance by those that read my post (posted here and on my personal Facebook page--which is a bizarre mix of liberal college and post-college friends, and highly conservative, right wing Christians that represent the folks I knew growing up.  I still love them and share many memories of my childhood with them, but that is about all.  I find it inspiring that we still are friends on Facebook, a tenuous relationship at best, but it is an exercise in acceptance of each other's vast differences).  I post about sex, STD's, female pleasure, and transgender, and whether or not they read my posts (they certainly don't "like" my posts) they are seeing them, and they choose to keep my on their friend list.  And hey, that's something.  Some of them have even messaged me in private that they learned something and their perspective was changed.  I've also been asked by a writer friend of mine to do an interview with her for her blog on what it means to be transgender/genderqueer.  I will post that on here as well in a few days, as well as a link to her blog which address some awesome feminist, legal, and otherwise quirktastic topics.

So all that is great.  But the truth is that I am still personally struggling with these issues.  Most of my life I suppressed my masculinity, my dominance, and my bitchiness.  And it came out in all sorts of unpleasant ways.  I'm really hoping that the exploration of this side of myself in the kink world--in pre-negotiated scenes with check-ins before and after play, and work with my therapist and in my writing, that I will find a way to integrate all of these different parts of myself.  These last few days have been full of ups and downs--from euphoria at having the courage to share my story and the terror that comes from realizing you just exposed your deepest self in public, and in front of a large audience.  I've felt blissful excitement over my relationships and deep terror at the unpredictable ways they are changing.  I am excited about exploring my dominant sexual side, and have enjoyed some hot sex where I was the aggressor and imagined penetrating my partner with my cock--but at the same time I was sooooo uncomfortable with it.  It's going to take some time to get used to.  And I don't have to decide today or next week, or next year, or even in the next ten years what gender I really want to be or what that looks like.  It's okay to be me and be a lot of different things at once (even though it makes me feel like I have multiple personality disorder at times.  Not really--but the transitions between my different ways of being are still pretty choppy and awkward).

I am so honored to be with partners who accept me as I am.  Both of my lovers have expressed their love and desire for me despite my admitted inner male self, facial hair, and ovarian cysts.  In fact, neither of them have seemed overly phased by it--though perhaps curious as to what it means and how to explore it with me and support me through the process.  Both of them, I believe, have know these things about me for a long time--long before I even explicitly knew them about myself.  So when I talked to T (my husband) last night about how weird it felt for me to openly acknowledge my inner man, and how lately, I can't get off unless I visualize fucking my lovers with my penis, and how I might just be a gay man in disguise (two cocks, mmmm!), he wasn't really shocked at all.  In fact, he was like, okay, let's go with that.  Why don't you be the gay man for a while?  It was me who was shocked and uncomfortable. 

So, it's going to take some time for me to get comfortable in my female skin and flesh (something that has always been a struggle--who ever completely and perfectly loves their body), and be okay with the man, or assertive woman inside me.  Here's to the journey.

Tonight I have my first dominatrix session with my mentors in their private dungeon.  I'm excited and scared.  What should I wear? ;)  I will write more soon.

How Big is Beauty?

Ever since I began my weight loss journey (I've lost 60 lbs to date, and have 40 more to go), I've been confronted with cultural and personal ideas regarding feminine beauty.  When I was a bigger girl, I knew that I was overweight and was extremely self-conscious.  I disliked my body, and as a result, I consciously chose to invest my worth and my time on other aspects of myself.  I knew that potential partners wouldn't be choosing me for my body (at the time I wasn't aware of the somewhat substantial portion of the population that is attracted to people of size, and even if I had been, I wouldn't have been okay with it, since I wasn't okay with the size of my body.  I wouldn't have wanted to be celebrated for something I so desperately despised).  I'd often surmised by frequent observation of couplings occuring in my immediate social vicinity and, of course, pop culture and celebrity culture, that if a woman was beautiful, she could get away with murder.  In other words, if she was beautiful, it seemed that her other attributes didn't matter as much--she would still recieve privilege and opportunities because of her face and body, and she didn't have to work as hard to be smart and charming.  But I knew I wasn't drop dead gorgeous, and add to that the extra weight I was carrying around and I knew that I'd have to have a killer wit, intelligence and charm, as well as a healthy dose of fucking submission to be a desirable partner.  As I write this, two rather disturbing things occur to me:

1)  I valued being a desirable partner above all else--above being a kind, ethical, and worthy person. I also did not value myself as a whole and entire being--in other words, I was (and to some extent still have a tendency to) value myself in terms of other people's (particularly sexual and romatic partners) approval.

2)  My insecurity about my apparent "valuelessness" due to my weight, combined with some heavy-handed cultural and religious indoctrination in my youth, led me to be extremely apologetic for my thoughts, feelings, and actions, especially those that were assertive, brave, or in any way went against prevalent cultural and social perspectives.  This lead me to all too frequently submit to my partner's desires and opinions and suppress my own, with a resulting great deal of resentment and a fucking huge inability to say "no."  Saying no deserves its own post, as I know I am not the first, nor will I be the last woman to struggle with this small and incredibly powerful word.

Furthermore, since I disliked my body and my appearance in general, I didn't spend too much time adorning it.  I hated clothes shopping--who likes reminders of being a size 18 or 20?  Similarly, I avoided scales at all costs, and preferred to simply clothe my body as quickly and as simply as possible.  I did spend some time on my hair, and wore lip gloss, as my lips and hair were, at that time, my favorite features.

This lack of time and money spent on beauty rituals allowed me to instead spend time reading, writing, thinking, and engaging in coversation.  I valued my personal and intellectual development above all else, and the efforts paid off.  I was proud of who I was as a person, and prided myself on being a deeper, wiser, and more compassionate woman than women who were merely externally beautiful (I realize that now, this assumption is itself, flawed, as possessing external beauty does not preclude a person from having internal beauty and depth).  This is something I did not want to recognize at the time, as I so desperately needed to believe I had value despite my more than generous curves.

Finally, one night, while talking to my partner, I broke down in sobs, confessing as I'd done many times before, that I hated my body.  I said it out loud:  "I'm fat.  I know I am.  I'm heavy, overweight, no matter how you want to put it.  It's not just that I'm insecure, though there's lots of that too.  I was heavy when I got pregnant, and then I kept on the 30 lbs I'd gained after the pregnancy.  I'm just so sick and tired of putting on all this weight.  I'm tired of carrying it all aroud--both the physical and the emotional weight of it.  I want to find out who I am underneath."

And so there it was.  For the first time, I said aloud that I was fat and wanted to lose weight.  Acknowledging it was painful, and the process of learning to control my emotional eating and get my body moving has been long and extremely challenging.  But that isn't the focus of this post.  I had the suspicion that my weight was about more than just overeating and lack of excercise.  In fact, I had the sense that some part of me had intentionally put on the pounds in order to hide who I really was.  I was so deeply afraid of being rejected by a lover, and by the world at large that I did everything I could to make myself undesirable.  I felt that I could just hide away from the world in my books and journals and learn to love myself--alone, safe, and sequestered away from all those who might hurt me, push me away, or tell me that I was fat.  Fuck them, I knew I was fat and flawed, and at least I kept to myself so no one would have to see it.  Or fuck it.

Furthermore, growing up, as I've written in other posts here, I was very volputous from the tender age of 11.  At 11 I started bleeding, and overnight I had breathtaking curves and C cup breasts.  I, of course, thought I looked absurd, but there was an instant change in the way boys and men began to look at me--and treat me.  My mother started to shame me and acted as if I was overly sexual--even though nothing about my demeanor or behavior had changed.  My father acted strange around me and stopped talking to me altogether.  Boys teased me and teachers stared.  This sort of behavior continued through middle school, and when I hit high school I started to gain weight.  I wanted to hide my breasts and hips and curves and become invisible.  There was something about me that was different, bigger, louder, and more powerful about me--and I was terrifed about it.  I just wanted to fade into the background.  And so I put on weight.  Ironically, no matter how heavy I got, my curves never went away.  My breasts just got bigger, and my hips got wider, but the hourglass figure remained.  Of course, less and less people noticed me, and when they did look,  their gaze did not linger.

And so, some part of me was afraid to allow me to be ME.  I gained weight in order to hide who I was (and am) and ate emotionally in order to avoid my passions, desires, and deepest dreams.  And over this last year and a half, the process of shedding the weight, pound by pound, has not merely been a process of diet and exercise, but rather a painstaking and excruciating process of removing all the pain and shit and dirt that I'd caked onto myself to hide my body and soul.  Peeling off all my armor, and all the flesh and skin that encased my true being has been so fucking messy and hard.  And in the last year and a half, not only have I lost 60 pounds, but I've had to take a good hard look at myself and make some tough decisions.  I, the girl who is terrified of stability and commitment, proposed to my boyfriend and married him.  I accepted a job that I knew was wrong for me, and finally gathered the courage to leave it.  I enrolled and began classses in the Women and Gender Studies Department at the local university.  I wrote about motherhood and sexuality, and wrote my first "book" project (still unpublished and unedited as yet) on sexual health and first time experiences ( a manual for the soon to be sexual) in honor of my youngest sister's graduation from high school.  I've begun stepping out into the Kink community and will be attending my first AASECT (American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors, and Therapists) conference next week--the first step in the long process of becoming a certified sexuality educator, and oh so much more.  I just don't know what yet. 

And though there is far too much to say than I can manage in this one post ( you can be assured many more on the subjects of weight, body image, health, and beauty), I have been overwhelmed by the way the world has treated me since losing so much weight.  I am no longer invisible, and that scares the shit out of me.  People STARE all the time.  I get hit on just about everywhere I go.  And to be honest, I don't really like it.  In my day-to-day life, I'm still that girl that prefers to go about her buisiness and not be noticed.  I don't need people trying to get in my pants while I'm picking up a gallon of milk in the gorcery store in my sweat drenched workout clothes.  I really fucking don't.  All this male looking at my body, and forgetting that I have a soul and a life, and an inner person really sucks.  Why is it that only fat girls are allowed to have a soul???

And finally, weight loss takes LOTS of hard work.  And so, a good deal of the time I used to spend on soul-betterment is now being spent on body-betterment.  I work out at the gym 6 days a week, for anywhere from 6-7 hours a week, not counting driving time.  I cook 90% of my meals at home, and have overall become more vain--weighing myself regularly, examing my body for changes, and taking pleasure in my appearance.  There is a certain obsessive quality that comes with the determination to lose so much weight.  Counting calories, pushing harder and harder at the gym, resisiting dessert, and so on.  I struggle with the intention behind my habits--am I losing weight becuase I HATE my body, or because I love it and want to take care of it?  I began this journey becuase I hated who I had become, but try to continue it because I love who I am--whoever that turns out to be.

Stay tuned for more. 

Lots of love,

Inanna