Life Lesson: Circling the Beauty

Boudoir Beauty

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A friend of mine had boudoir pictures done. She’d had a difficult few years, including a double mastectomy because of breast cancer. It took every ounce of (emotional) strength to agree to the photo shoot, wanting it as a surprise to her several-decade-long partner. When the proofs came, she was shyly pleased at how she looked. Most were fairly modest, but others did show her precious scars that saved her life.

Timidly, she showed her husband.

His response was: Nice lighting.

Broken-hearted and filled with unnecessary shame, she came into our secret group and shared a couple of the more modest photos asking if they were that bad that he didn’t even comment on what she looked like.

My friend’s pictures are stunning. When I opened the first one, I had shivers from the beauty of seeing this woman, literally, laying bare the fears she’s harbored for so, so long. (As many of us in this society do.) Of course we all held her close and loved on her, and told her what a doofus he was for not “seeing” her, but all of our approval was a drop compared to what she’d needed from him.

I’ve thought of this for several days now, asking the couple of guys in my life why a husband would do that? Why he couldn’t even muster a “You’re beautiful,” even if was fake. My male friends said about the same thing: Men suck.

Ye Olde Body Image

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We women struggle with our body images, many of us since childhood.

I remember when I first began having sex, I never wanted to get on top because my breasts drooped off my chest, not remaining in pretty round orbs like the girls in Playboy. Then after having one giant baby after another, I didn’t want to get on top because my entire mid-section sagged down with gravity. Suddenly, my breasts were the least of the flopping about.

Just sitting here writing this, I remember the shame acutely. I have tears dripping from the corner of my eyes because I find myself so repulsively ugly. I feign not being embarrassed at all these doctor appointments, but the reality is I cringe every time someone needs to touch my body.

Sexy Shame

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When I go to Sex Parties, there is no shame from anyone. Bodies are bodies are bodies. Most of us there are old enough to know life before Internet porn, so, I believe, have a more realistic view of growing-older bodies and sex. Besides under the covers, the only place I am free to be naked is with my kinky and swinging friends. (Even still, I am always nervous about taking my clothes off at the beginning of the evening. NO ONE EVEN CARES! Yet, I still do.)

Our Bodies Turning On Us

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Fat, folds, scars, sags, creases, hair where we don’t want it, no hair where we do want it, adult acne (what the fuck are we doing still getting acne in our 60’s?!), leaking when we sneeze, farting at inopportune times… belching, using your inhaler before having sex, having not one, but two pillboxes to fill every week… having to eat by the clock so your blood glucose doesn’t go too high, or goddess forbid, too low! (One of the not-so-funny funny things is you have to shoot insulin into a roll of fat. Every. Single. Time I have to give myself a shot, I roll my eyes at the luck of so many gooshie sites to choose from.)

And let’s not even begin in the genital area.

“Rejuvenation”

People with means might be thinking, “Not me!” and so many begin having plastic/reconstructive surgeries as early as 16. That girls under 20 are asking for labiaplasty because they think their vulvas are ugly makes my heart hurt. Can an entire generation of women feel even more body shame than I have about mine? It seems so.

It’s sad to me that so many girls and women… and men! think our bodies should be porn-perfect or fantasy-ready.

I have no easy answers.

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Fat Girl Stories: The Sybian

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I went to a Sex Party recently and one of the guys brought a Sybian for anyone who wanted to use it.

Sybian.

Sounds so… benign, doesn’t it?

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It even looks pretty harmless… with the exception of the erect plastic piece there in the pic.

I’m here to tell you it is, most assuredly, not benign. It is the most delicious, marvelous and preternatural machine I’ve ever encountered.

Settin’ Up

I yanked my black silk pants off and tossed ’em on the bed above the pillow. While I haven’t ever seen anyone on the mechanical toy (even in porn), I’d heard it was a wild ride; I wanted to be ready.

Then a terrifying thought crossed my mind. “What if I am too fat for it?” I asked, several times, if fat people could sit on it safely. He reassured me at least 3 times that I was not the fattest person to ever ride it. (I was still nervous.)

The man who owned it climbed onto the bed with it, saying, “Now, only 50% of people who try it actually enjoy it.” My pussy-friend from earlier loudly says, “I hated the fucking thing!” Now I was worried. 50/50 shot. Crap.

But, as I watched the man squishing on the bed, putting the Sybian in the middle of the mattress, I grew even more concerned than about achieving an orgasm.

“Can’t we put it on the floor?” I asked.

My mind was beginning this whirring inside: You are never going to get on that thing… you are going to fall off and fall off the side of the bed and end up in the hospital.

He said in a sure voice, “Oh, no! This is the best place. Your knees hurt when you’re on the floor. I use it on the bed all the time.”

I was dubious.

The nice man patted the bed, inviting me up while he took a life-like dildo and inserted it onto the top of the Sybian.

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He slid a condom over it and said, “You’re good to go!” (I felt like I was an astronaut waiting for lift-off.)

Fat & Squishy

I got up on the bed (luckily it wasn’t as tall as the 4-poster bed in the other room) and crawled over to the Sybian on my knees.

Where I stayed.

Pondering.

My head tilted from side to side as I tried to figure out how the holy fuck I was going to climb onto this thing and get the dick inside my cunt. My knees had pretty much sunk into the mattress, so I was even lower than if I was 100 pounds lighter.

There were a dozen or so folks watching as I struggled to come up with a workable plan to get on, get fucked and go for a ride.

A man next to the bed suggested putting pillows on either side of the machine and that seemed like trying at least; it would raise me higher. People grabbed pillows and piled them next to the Sybian. I put one knee on one side… the pillows slid and squished down.

Fuck me. (I was getting frustrated and embarrassed because I was taking so bloody long and monopolizing a bed.)

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I remained unable to find a solution. (The pillows were not it.)

Solid & Hard

The pillow-suggestion man said, “Maybe we should put it on the floor?” “Yeah!” several people said. I rolled my eyes and mumbled under my breath, “I already said that.” (As usual, a man has to say something before it’s heard. Ugh.)

So the entire production team moved the Sybian, readjusting the cord, putting the pillows back in their proper place on the bed… and hungry fuckers jumping where my knees had just been, laying down and gettin’ into it.

I tried not to be frustrated and embarrassed, still facing the Mounting of the Sybian. I needed to keep my composure.

I knelt down and already felt enormous relief at the stability of the floor. “Your knees are going to hurt,” the man repeated. I looked at him and said, “Hon, I go to Glory Holes. My knees will be just fine.” People laughed.

(Why Do I Always Need Help?)

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God, here I was again, needing to hike my leg up and over. Sometimes I feel so fucking fat it’s annoying. It’s these simple things people can do that present a challenge and remind me of my size.

Someone handed me a bottle of coconut oil to lube myself and I squirted it on my right hand, then smooshing it into my cunt, some on the inside, too. They handed me a towel to dry my hand.

Then it was time.

I took a deep breath and went up as high as I could on my knees and tried to go over the top, but knew there was no way in hell the dildo was going to find its way in at this bizarre angle. I wanted to cry.

The Sybian man gently said, “Let me help.”

In retrospect, it was only me who was frustrated with my predicament. None of those around me exhibited any impatience whatsoever. No one sighed. No one left the room, bored. As I remember this, I am so grateful for everyone’s kindness in helping me do this incredibly shocking (to me) hurdle. It has soothed my fat Self remembering.

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Artist, Elisabeth Alden

One man held my waist to balance me while the Sybian man helped lift my leg higher so I could not only get on the machine, but high enough to insert the dildo. It went fast, but seemed to take forever. He hovered me over the right place and said, “Go ahead and sit.” I was still scared the cock would be in the wrong place, but I was straddling the fucking thing, might as well see where it went.

Finally!

In slid the plastic phallus. I hollered, “Yes!” and the room laughed with me.

There’s this thing that happens when you’re really fat. You think you’re going to break everything you sit on. Perhaps we’ve already broken a chair (yes, more than once) or a toilet seat (yes)… couldn’t fit in a tight seat and ripped our dress or pants (yes, several times). Really couldn’t fit in a tight seat (Cirque du Soleil theater here in Orlando) and had to sit on a (way too flimsy) folding chair in the handicapped section. I wince getting into elevators, even alone, thinking I will weigh so much I will make it plunge into the earth below. It is far worse when there are others in there. I can see their calculators going in their heads, adding up the number of people’s weights and then, terrifyingly, guessing mine. It is horrifying when the elevator shifts slightly whenever I get on. Skinny people swear to me it does that to them, too, sometimes. I think they lie to make me feel better.

So, even though I was on the Sybian, I hovered, cock in my vagina, staying slightly lifted onto my knees. It was completely subconscious. The Sybian man gently touched my naked bottom and said softly, “Go ahead and sit.” I did, very slowly, waiting for the enormous metal box to crumble under my weight. It did not.

Control. What Control?!?

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Good lord was I stressed by this point. The guy asks if I am ready and, in the rush of getting on, I barely got acclimated before he turned the machine on.

I sat analyzing what was going on inside me. The cock was rotating. I blinked and asked, “Is that it?” He laughed and said it was not… not by a long shot. I asked if we could turn that rotation shit off; it was less than pleasant. I asked what it was supposed to be doing and someone said, “Hitting your G-Spot!” I laughed and said my G-Spot is further up and back under my pubic bone and it would take a lot more than a spinning dildo to hit it.

I said, “Next!” and the Sybian man did some maneuvering with the controls, turning off the rotating cock and then turning on some fucking delicious vibrations. Ohhhh, yeah. This was much more like it!

“More!”

I don’t know what he did, but suddenly I was riding a jackhammer and screamed, “TURN IT DOWN!” Fuck that hurt.

I asked if we couldn’t raise the vibrations a tad slower this time and he said that would be no problem.

Starting low on the vibration scale, I closed my eyes, feeling the luscious reverberations from inner thighs, up to above my clit. That dildo, boring with rotation, became a lightning rod of rapturous sensation with the vibrations.

Holy crap was it nice.

“More,” I directed. The vibe “volume” went up some. “More.” Up a little more. (We were getting close.) “A little more, please?”

The Sweet Spot

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Every single one of those expletives/exclamations and a dozen more in two languages flew out of my mouth like bats out of a cave when the dial hit that sweet spot.

I closed my eyes and quickly “fell” into an absolutely self-absorbed space (that tends to happen when masturbating, but that’s not usually in front of a dozen people). The vibrations swirled around and inside my genitals. I rocked on the machine, pressing my clit on it in a pumping rhythm, feeling the pressure of the cock inside me, knowing the orgasm was seconds away if I didn’t slow it down some. Press, release. Press, release.

Fuuuucccckkkk, this was amazing.

I heard someone on the bed next to (and above) me cumming over and over. It was my pussy-friend from dinner. Her hand dangled off the bed and I reached over and grabbed it. We locked eyes for a moment and then both fell back into our individual ecstasy.

I heard her near-screams, so much more than even joyful hollerin’… pure pleasure soaring through the room. I smiled, knowing my friend was having some big fun, too.

Then it dawned on me that it was my voice I was hearing making those siren songs.

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I heard someone say, “God, everyone’s in here watching these two!” I peeked for a second and was shocked to see how many were stuffed into the room… easily 30-35 people… many of the men stroking as they observed our pleasure. I slammed my eyes shut again and slipped back to being nothing but a clitoris/cunt experiencing rolling orgasms.

Orgasms aren’t the easiest for me to experience, often needing some intense Hitachi action. The Sybian surpassed the Magic Wand 100-fold.

Just as one orgasm subsided, another was beginning to replace it.

Over and over, quaking spasms pulled me like ocean waves: the trough… moving to ripples… then swells… soaring to the crest… then breaking as I fell over the top, heading back to the resting-trough.

I had become the undulating sets.

Wave

Satiation

I have no idea how long I was on the Sybian… never dawned on me to look or ask. But, there came a point where I hit the orgasm wall and screamed (really loud): GET ME OFF THIS THING! The room erupted in laughter and my Sybian controller turned off the entire mechanism, moving to help me disembark. Pillows appeared out of nowhere, being laid under my head and someone gently laid me on my side.

It took some minutes to consciously slow my breathing; my cunt was still dancing. Apparently she needed to chill, too. I could not believe how awesome I felt. That thing was amazing. Really, quite exquisite.

Interestingly, once I did settle down onto it, I never gave another thought to my size. I am so glad I was able to let go of all that bullshit fat-hating socialization I still struggle with… and just Be…

…One with my Orgasm.

Fat Girl Stories: Sex Parties

 (My) Kids, this means YOU!

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I love sex. A lot. I have gone to Sex Parties and Play Parties (where there is not always sex) since Gerald introduced me to the BDSM Scene in 1995. Zack and I went to some, including a couple of Dungeons when we ended up on the news because people were sneaking video. We were poly as well, having another lover for a couple of years once. Now that I am single again, there is a renewed sense of delight in my sexuality.

(An aside: I identify as a femme Dyke even when I suck cock or eat cum… or even get fucked by a penis. Don’t even dare ask, “But, aren’t you bisexual?” The answer is a rabid, “NO!” I see dicks as toys to play with… a sort of living dildo, if you will. I know, a head game I play with myself. But I can do that. It’s my mind to fuck with.)

Fat Shame

And then there is that fat shame I have carried (a fucking heavy load of it) my entire life. I wax and wane with self-confidence, no rhyme or reason ever seeming clear why things ebb and flow.

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Sex in public has been, alternately, emotionally fantastic or excruciating… rarely middle of the road.

I’ve been to a few Sex Parties since returning home to Orlando 2+ years ago. The first couple of them, I struggled with participating, being much more of a voyeur than exhibitionist. I’d find myself sitting (naked) on the couch, yacking with the men and women who were taking a breather. I’d wished I had a blanket with which to cover myself.

It’s important to know that the majority of the 40-50 people at parties are “overweight.” The average age is around 50 (if I had to guess), so bodies look lived in and well-used. I’ve always been the fattest there, but no one did (or said) anything specifically to make me feel bad. I just did.

The party I went to recently was the polar opposite of that nervous voyeur on the couch.

Turning the Corner (again)

So, I’m in love with this wonderful man (my fawn)… younger than my youngest child (who is 30)… and on the Internet, to boot. But I am alive with passion and sexual desire and as the Play Party date came up, I jumped at the opportunity to play. And suck. And fuck. And lick.

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For whatever reason, that night, I just felt completely slutty… and flew with it. I made out with a woman at dinner, promising to eat her pussy as soon as things got under way.

When it was time to “dress down” (get into sexy lingerie or nude), I took my top off, but had my black silk pants on as I wandered around. The woman from dinner grabbed my hand and we were off to find a space, landing on the 4-poster bed, she on the bed, me on the floor leaning over.

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Fuck, I feasted. It had been so so so long since I’d had my face in a cunt.

Moving On

After several minutes, a man whose wife, also on the bed, though blindfolded, tapped my shoulder and said his wife had never been kissed by a woman… would I be interested in remedying that? I asked, “Which lips?” He laughed and said, “Either one!”

I went up and kissed my dinner-friend and moved over to the other side of the bed.

The woman was being fucked and her husband nudged the guy aside and said thanks, but he had someone for her now. It’s completely normal to shift folks around like that, body parts being shared for minutes and then moving on to the next body part.

(And yes, I know… that does sound like I am reducing a person to their outer sexual organs… even objectifying or fetishizing them… but we are at a Sex Party and genital sex is [almost] the entire purpose. It’s an unwritten consent to be seen for one’s dick or cunt.)

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Artist: Claire Chapman

Fat Accommodations

The blindfolded woman had her head at the top of the bed. I walked around and leaned over, licking her lips with my tongue, pushing it through, finding her tongue and kissing her deeply. It was delicious that she had no idea who was kissing her. After a few moments, I was eager to take care of that lesbian virginity.

Because she was up near the top of the bed, her cunt was in the middle. I stood there, strategizing how to get onto this extremely tall bed. I hiked one leg up and didn’t get anywhere near the top of the mattress. I tried leaning on it and pulling my leg up again. Nope. Now I was kind of embarrassed because I couldn’t get my (fat) ass (yes, that was exactly what was in my head) up to eat this chick’s pussy.

Her husband saw my distress and inability to climb up and, as kind and non-judgmental as possible, said, “Here, let me help,” and grabbed his wife by the ankles and yanked her down to the bottom of the bed. I laughed, thanked him while hugging him, and then leaned over, reaching her cunt easily. I felt so good that no one made fun of me for not being able to get on the bed. She got some good lovin’ on that pussy of hers.

She came in my mouth.

I was happy.

There’s more to this specific Sex Party and I’ll start working on the next piece now.

Hint: Fat Girl Stories: Riding the Sybian

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