Tag Archives: Enchanted Zaftig

Ceres

Here is a poem for the season ~ like a zaftig ode to Autumn: bountiful, curvaceous, round, pumpkiny. A succulent feast!  

by Lesleigh Owen  © 2006

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Autumn’s smooth, puffy bronze cheeks,
 salty sweet chin
 Gently creaking sounds of awakening,
 Bones groaning like the cracking
 of a rusty cellar door,
 Autumn, with her dusty-wheat-scented breaths,
 whose round, curving, gently drooping body
 polishes the world into
 smooth, gray contours

 Her eyes,
 like newly-discovered amber
 with never-popped air bubbles,
 warm the room like vanilla-scented candlelight
 as she envelops the world in her
 spicy rolls of flesh

 Summer’s not the time for me:
 Sunlight that casts angular shadows in wide-open mouths
 No more feeling the scrape of sand
 sloughing over my dense curves,
 trying to whittle down my folds of flesh
 into smooth, plastic expanses of cookie cutter skin
 No more poppy-scented laughs
 that chime like dissonant dinner bells
 and abrade my delicate ears

 Bright white light
 Take away my sight
 Thin, hungry, sweaty bodies,
 arms shaking, smiles flaking, biceps quaking
 Frozen in flashes of sunlight on teeth
 False idols of perfection
 that die before they can ever
 live a full-bodied life

Autumn, that sweet, round, wise, dangerous old woman
 arrives slyly in her orange, Cinderella-like pumpkin –
 as round and majestic as people –
 tossing dried, crackling, russet leaves like confetti or candy:
“Throw me something, grandmother!”

Autumn: Happy, crisp, nutmeg, rounded season
 My mouth opens and closes in happy little O’s
 over words like “orange” and “clove,”
 circular, bouncing words,
 round, rich, and warm.
 Leaves bend and snap beneath my ponderous weight
 while the scent of earth weaves like cinnamon
 through my sinuses.

 Yawning, indolent light puffs gently through
 twisted branches and desiccated leaves,
 shining golden orange
 like heaps of buttered, cinnamon-scented, steaming mashed yams
 or lightly-oiled strings of spaghetti squash

 Walking this cooling, linear stretch of sidewalk,
 I am tempted to bite into the toothy, yellow winds
 that crease around my body like well-starched sheets,
 to jump high and far,
 passing through the low-hanging laundry
 snapping in the sky,
 jump miles away from all scents of limestone and exhaust,
 to throw my gray, woolen poncho over the clouds
 and roll in the decaying scent of leaves
 that stick to my face
 like allspice on a baker’s hands

 I can finally breathe beneath this nubby grayness
 that stretches like a fluffy headscarf
 over the dome of the sky.

 Seasonal bounty,
 Harvest time, time for rest
 Shelving our immature dreams
 And discovering reverence for plenty

 At night, I eat ginger carrot soup for supper
 and slurp pumpkin custard from heirloom dishes
 My squash-shaped body, –
 honored for its softness,
 its abundance,
 its life-affirming heaviness –
 snuggles into the scratchy red blanket
 crocheted for me by my mother
 while I bounce children and tradition
 on my plump, arthritic knees
 and sip cocoa and warm candlelight.

 Fatness and autumn:
 Round, pumpkiny, bountiful:
 A sensual feast

Fatness and autumn, –
lush and earth-scented as mounds of warm flesh –
dance together in gentle spirals
 like leaves in a windstorm

 Come evening time, Autumn and I sit
 like old friends,
cackling on the front porch,
 bellies bouncing together
 while heavy, purple mugs of chamomile tea
 warm our loving, generous,
 fleshy hands.

Autumn Woman ~ Tali Marotz

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He Floats

He floats in and out

Like wings, like dreams

Brushing past my skin in tender touches

And quiet whispers

Swirling in speculation like a leaf caught in a whirlpool

Or a bird circling the clouds

The Caress ~ Jea Dovoe

With presence both tangible and elusive,

He is wrapped tightly in an illusion I cannot reach

In an existence I cannot share

Yet still I cling to the notion that one day he will return

To brush past my skin in tender touches

And quiet whispers.

©2011 Enchanted Zaftig

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Bound and Butterscotch

Contributed by guest author (anonymous)

~*~*~*~*~*~

In my own mind, I cannot remember a time that I wasn’t in my own skin, aware of myself. I thought that was natural for all women, but the older I get the more I realize that being aware of oneself is a rare gift.

Even first thing in the morning, I am totally in tune with my body. I like the way my skin feels just out of the shower, when I’ve dried my hair but that place at the nape of my neck is still damp and smells fresh like rain. I like the way my legs feel when I smooth cold lotion on them. I am crisp and clean and sexual in a decorated way. I like the line of my skirt and the gentle rustle it makes when I move. I like the feel of a camisole between my skin and my blouse.

It’s very erotic being dressed and prepared, kind of like being bound up or packaged. A gift.

Most days, I feel a certain tension, a sexual energy, like a little electric current. Part of it lies in the fact that I leave that ‘mother’ part of me behind and decorate myself as an offering. That’s what a girl is really doing when she paints and powders, you know: she is preparing herself. I am not distracted by children or dishes or laundry or unpaid bills or telemarketers. I am honed in my mind and all of the fertile thoughts inside. In the rush hour commute to work, there is ample time to let my mind wander.

By the time I hit the elevator to the sixth floor, I’m damp between the legs and my body is alive. I’m aware of my sexual power. I am always aware of my presence in a room. Feeling the response from those I interact with, I wonder if they sense it, too.

The blouse I’m wearing today is unbelievably soft. It is tight at the waist, tucked into my skirt, and my breasts look full and firm beneath the sheer material. The sleeves are pushed up on my forearms exposing all of that tender,  creamy white skin that matches my neck and that hint of cleavage that you might peek through the top two undone buttons if I move just the right way.

The black skirt I’m wearing is cut two inches below the knee. It’s lined, elegant, with a generous slit in the back that to bend over from the waist would be indiscreet, so I’m forced to kind of kneel if I want something from the lower shelf. My legs are bare and I have on my favorite pair of black sling-back shoes. Not running-in-traffic shoes. I am adorned with a simple watch, large silver hoop earrings, and my hair is up in a loose bun. My reddish-brown hair normally falls just past my shoulders, but today the little upswept French twist looks better with this blouse. To see the back of a woman’s neck is reserved yet suggestive.

There are no accidents here… I feel female and sexual and alive. I wonder to myself if he will like what I’m wearing and smile. I’m sure I’d already by half-undressed and bent backwards over this desk in a most unladylike fashion… hands greedily clutching my hips, pressed hard against the desk, his mouth hot against mine, probing, searching out my tongue. The feeling of being devoured, being consumed, one leg on the floor, the other wrapped around his thigh, greedily urging him into me… 

The phone rings. Work again.

I let the eraser of the pencil I am holding rest gently against my lips before making notes on a pad of all the things I need to accomplish before the end of the day. I’m staring out the window at the lake behind the building, watching traffic go by while I roll this and that fantasy around in my mind like a hard candy in my mouth. I feel it click against my teeth and roll it past my tongue from left to right, then back again.

Butterscotch.

My legs are crossed, and I’m bobbing one high-heeled foot up and down, the shoe dangling off the end of my toes. It’s a lazy but charged feeling. Like static electricity. I sweep tendrils of hair from my eyes and click that hard candy against my teeth once more.

And that… is how I am today.

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Apologies and the Sensuality of Water

Hello everyone ~

I have been remiss on blogging here, and I’d like to apologize for my absence. Occasionally, we have shifts in our lives that lead us in other directions and detract us from our focus. That has been my life lately!

However, I have not forgotten my mission here… nor my desire to share zaftig moments and inspirations with you.

Let’s get back into the groove with this extremely sensual, crimson-hued photograph I discovered on tumbler:

tumblr_l1ycmbzTUD1qauuoro1

Exquisite, no?
 
I love human forms immersed in water ~ especially soft, supple female forms, with curves flowing in a sensual dance beneath splendid weightlessness. The thought makes me yearn to go skinny-dipping… to experience the sensation of my breasts, hips, legs and arms floating through the soft firmness of the water. To feel the cool liquid embrace my skin and liberate my flesh.
 
Water is very sensual. 
 

Callow ~ drainoutmylungs

 
“Water is part of a broader symbol of the harmony of nature, overlapping with the graceful union of affection and sensual pleasure…”  ~ author unknown
 

“Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it.” ~ Lao Tzu

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Thanks for tuning in, my lovelies. I have another blog to post soon, regarding attending my first burlesque show ~ an eye-opening and exquisite experience. ‘Til then, be happy, and remember: you are connected to everything ~ live accordingly!

 

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Filed under Musings and Thoughts, Visual Delights

A Single Story

“She’s fat…”

“She’s lazy…”

“She should stop eating so many Twinkies…”

'Me' ~ by photolife512

A preconceived notion… A single story…

~   * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Recently, I was introduced to a video featuring Chimamanda Adichie, a Nigerian author/speaker, who presented an inspiring dialogue, The Danger of a Single Story, at a 2009 TED Talks event. Although the video is two years old, the impact of Chimamanda’s message was no less profound to me: If we choose to hear only a single story about another person or country, we risk a critical understanding. We risk not discovering the truth about who that person really is.

“The consequence of the single story is this: It robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different rather than how we are similar.”

** Click here to view the video **

For me, the idea of watching a twenty-minute video would typically not interest me much. Like so many other travelers on the information highway, I tend to crave instant gratification when surfing the internet. But something drew me into watching Chimamanda speak ~ perhaps her eloquence, her resolve, her understanding of the human condition. Needless to say, I watched the video, from beginning to end, and left with a much greater sense of enlightenment than I had had twenty minutes prior.

I was reminded of my own propensities to prematurely and incorrectly perceive people based upon their appearance, their ethnicity, their speech, despite my personal belief in being open-minded and understanding. No matter how hard we try, we are all susceptible to falling into the judgement trap.

This may very well be the single story that people who have never met me assume:

“She’s fat…”

“She’s lazy…”

“She should stop eating so many Twinkies…”

I don’t even like Twinkies®.

As with most stories, I possess many components ~ many chapters. I am complex and multi-faceted. I am not simply an overweight woman. Those who view me and judge me that way are people who don’t know that I was born with a sluggish metabolism… that I’ve attempted, and failed, at numerous diets… that I’m a health-conscious and active person… that I’m confident with who I am and content with what God’s given me.

More importantly, they don’t know the aspects which make me unique and important and an integral part of this world. By only taking into consideration my outward appearance, they don’t realize that I have a creative soul, a positive outlook, a passion for humanity, a desire to enrich people’s lives. They don’t know the struggles I’ve been through to get here, the battles I’ve had to face, or the challenges I’ve overcome.

In short, they do not realize that there is no single story for my existence.

Just as there is no single story for theirs.

* How can we truly know the integrity of a person based solely upon appearance or geography? Every life is an intricate book, full of tragedy, comedy, romance and heartache. There isn’t a long enough short story in existence that could encompass it all. * ~ EZ

I intend to consider these points the next time I assume I know what someone is all about. I may be pleasantly surprised to discover that I’m mistaken.

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Filed under A Touch of Inspiration, Musings and Thoughts

Happy 4th of July!

 ♥ ♥ LET FREEDOM RING  ♥ ♥

Enchanted Zaftig wishes you all a safe & happy holiday!

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Filed under Visual Delights

Those Reasons Aren’t My Own

Photo courtesy of Kate O’Brien

“I have always been nervous about sharing this photo. Why? Well let’s look into that. Because nudity is looked down upon, because I have been afraid someone would shame my body, because this might come back to “haunt” me. Those reasons aren’t my own, I don’t own them. Those reasons are other people’s reasons. Those things are cultural hang ups that I do not have. It’s kind of funny because this photo references Boucher’s Blond Odalisque… I shouldn’t be afraid, I want to smash this kind of subjugation. I don’t want to be a slave, and I don’t want any woman to  be a slave.” ~ Natalie Perkins

http://www.definatalie.com

www.kateobriencreative.com

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Filed under A Touch of Inspiration, Visual Delights

Visit Us On Facebook!

 

Come join our community!

Browse through zaftig art, poems, discussions, musings, humor, links to zaftig-related pages and articles… there’s much to share!

Underwater Study ~ Howard Schatz

 

Rain ~ Michale Parkes

Post your own thoughts, questions and creations ~ whatever is on your mind ~ whatever inspires you.

Interaction is welcomed and encouraged, so be sure to stop by and say hello!

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Filed under A Touch of Inspiration, About, Poetry and Prose, Visual Delights

Ample

(contributed by guest author Ramon)

Time for an admiring man to speak up,

Of the subtle beauties of the plump gal.

The woman with more, not less. What did Tom Wolfe say? (regarding architecture): “Less isn’t more, less is a bore”.

Her architecture draws me, and sets both heart and loins aflame.

The repeating curves: pleasurable to look at (and study), far more to handle and caress.

Better still, to grab, to press.   No frail petite china doll here, but robust, female and real.

Excess?  Sure, why want less

Than you can fit into a handful? (as the French say).  The efficient ‘European’ versus our American cult of More.

A famous (petite) Latina singer apologizes for her humble breasts.

I’ll take the mountain range.  A deep valley for hands, face, manhood.

By contrast, male on extreme female.  Kneel over me, ample bosom, soft and jiggly.

Anonymous turn-of-the-century Czech artist

Bigger gal with your broad magnetic hips and round bottom, sensuous and mobile. Not lazy in bed but energetic, at once hungry and generous, in line with the generosity of your body.  She gives more.

Silky contours, inside and out.  Enough to sink into, hands, teeth, and totality.  Explore it all, this vast land of love.

Not sinewy or sharp. No straight lines or angles; this is a gentle geometry of arcs.

The hesitant man’s fear: that the bigger woman needs a big man.

But she accepts her lover and is glad for his dedication. No need to fear her rejection.

She knows there are many ways to please, and be pleased.

A nibble of the toe, a kiss of the (dear!) double chin, a pluck of pink nipple.  A caress behind chubby knee, puddle on pillowy belly, the rub of plump thighs. All warmth and wetness. No need to hold back; she won’t.

A woman to be loved and cherished.  Give her all she deserves, and more.

Yes, More.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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You Don’t Have To Love Me Because I’m Fat

Something’s been nagging at me lately.

The sentiment that plus-size women should automatically be respected and adored by every person in the universe simply because they are big, bold and beautiful. 

Sound odd coming from me?

As I encounter websites, blogs and social networking groups highlighting full-figured women, I’m amazed and confused at how many seem to DEMAND this kind of attention, as though females of a plump nature are supreme beings, deserving of everyone’s exaltation.

Of course we all want to be adored. But regardless of weight, ethnicity, intelligence, sexual orientation or wealth, no one falls into a supreme being category. Part of the beautiful complexity of human nature is that we possess individual thoughts, propensities and desires ~ oftentimes quite unique from others. Where one man might feel sexual attraction towards a thin woman with small breasts, his neighbor might prefer ladies who are overweight with large breasts. To each his own.

What causes attraction cannot be placed into a single equation ~ we are all unique and driven by different factors. And although we may be influenced by our environment and our companions, who we are and what ignites our senses remains tied to the inner fabric of our individual existence.

I believe that everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion ~ so long as it’s based on intelligence, not ignorance.

Although I am happy in my own skin and relishing life as a full-figured woman, I by no means expect every person I encounter to appreciate my figure. That would be extremely presumptuous and vain of me, would it not? The challenge is ensuring that I am not negatively judged by my outward appearance ~ that I am awarded respect and the chance to express my qualities on equal ground with others. As with any human being of a different religion, ethnicity or body type, I strive for tolerance and acceptance. I strive for equality because I am no less capable.

I expect respect from others because I offer it, not because I feel I am entitled to it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Love the skin you are in. Embrace your glorious curves and know that your positive attitude will flow from your inner core like a fountain, touching others.

Sustain your integrity and graciously accept love from others.

But never DEMAND adoration, ladies. For it is a gift ~ not an obligation. ♥

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Filed under A Touch of Inspiration, Musings and Thoughts, Visual Delights