Tag Archives: Sensuality

I Am Not Fat, I Am Me

Call me delusional, or call me in denial, but I do not think of myself as fat.

Of course, I AM fat. I wear a dress size that can’t be found in most specialty boutiques or clothing stores. I have folds of flesh that encircle my body – a mid-section that’s hefty, breasts that are heavy, arms that are flabby, hips that are beefy. I have flesh-colored stretch marks that arc across my belly and ripples of cellulite that dimple my thighs and buttocks. I sport a double-chin and chubby cheeks and a body shaped like an apple. When I bend over to pull weeds or work on something at ground-level, I often find it difficult to breathe because my belly pushes up against my breasts, which push against my diaphragm, which cuts off my oxygen intake. Sometimes, my back hurts. Sometimes, the pain is in my feet or my ankles or my hips. I’m not always 100% comfortable, even in my sleep. Although this can be attributed to my weight, it can also be attributed to physical exertion and the slow aging of my body, which is inevitably creeping up on me.

But still, I do not think of myself as fat. Let me rephrase: I do not think of myself as ONLY fat.

festival1

In my every day life, being overweight is irrelevant. I am an active, involved, fully capable woman who chooses activity over laziness (except for those moments when I’m feeling lazy, and then I indulge in that laziness, because I can, and I have a right to.) I work full-time at a rather demanding job, raise a teenage son, tend to a house and a yard, go to arts and cultural events, find interest in the creative endeavors of others, participate in social gatherings, visit with friends, explore the city where I live and get involved in the community when I can. I also spend quality time nurturing and caring for my interpersonal relationships and showering my partner with lots of love and sex.

Recently, I overheard a woman at work complaining about her personal weight gain and how life has become more difficult and uncomfortable for her, because she can’t find any clothes that fit right in her closet, and drinking a beverage while sitting in a recliner is even a challenge now because her breasts get in the way. In her griping, she said, “I don’t know how Holly does it.” Meaning, me.

My immediate, though unspoken, response was: “I just do it.”

No one can call me a couch potato. It’s rare that you’ll even find the television on in my house. Yet strangely, I experience frequent twinges of guilt when I do sit quietly with a notebook or my computer, because I feel that I should be up and about, cleaning, gardening, walking, being productive in a more physical, tangible way. As a result, I don’t write or post blogs often enough, and my creativity suffers. For instance, right now, as I type this, my mind is thinking of a dozen other things I should be attending to – a dozen other things more important than this, which is false.

So, you see, I don’t think of myself as fat. I am much more than that. I am the woman with a body and a mind that allow her to  accomplish tremendous feats, even in the everyday – planting perennials, visiting galleries, writing poetry, taking walks, cooking meals, indulging in sensual pleasures.

My daily mantra has always been this:

“to live an extraordinary life, even through ordinary circumstances” 

So you see… I don’t have time to ponder my weight.

How would I get anything done?

 

gardentools

 

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Filed under A Touch of Inspiration

On Becoming A Pin-Up Girl

This past weekend, I peeled off the last vestiges of my timidity and revealed myself in a whole new light: I took part in an intimate boudoir photography session.

BOUDOIR
: a woman’s dressing room, bedroom, or private sitting room
 

After seeing zaftig women on the internet photographed in beautiful and sensuous ways, and after a local coupon for a boudoir photo shoot was brought to my attention by a girlfriend, I felt inspired to overcome my trepidations and join the zaftig community of pin-up dolls. Afterall, I love to tell you ladies to go out there and get ’em, release your fears, embrace your curves and live life to the fullest, so what better way to set an example than to bare some serious skin and become a contortionist in front of the camera?

The coupon I purchased was good for a one-hour session and included four outfit changes. For an extra fee, someone could do my hair and makeup. A male friend of mine graciously contributed to the “Make Her Beautiful” fund, which was a relief, as a big fancy hairdo and the fine art of makeup application has never been my forte. 

Prior to the appointment, I spent a great deal of time trying to decide what on earth my four outfits were going to be. Corsets? Bra and panties? Sexy clothing? How does one determine such important factors? I tried on many items within the course of a few days… with jewelry, with hair accessories, with gloves, with stockings. I figured if I was going to do this, I was going to do it RIGHT (including indulging in a pedicure and manicure the night before, because one can’t very well walk into a photography studio without pretty nails!)  

Admittedly, the morning of the shoot, my nerves were a bit frazzled ~ I’ve never been in a photography session, and the thought was, well, a bit daunting. Afterall, I would soon be strutting my scantily clad self in front of perfect strangers, allowing them to take snapshots of me while I struggled to “act natural” in front of the camera. Kind of like sending a bull into a china shop.  I ended up shoving an assortment of corsets, bras and panties, along with a plethora of accessories, into a big shopping bag and figured I would just wing the costume changes once I got there.

When I arrived at the private residence which housed deBoudoir, I was greeted at the door by a very charming young woman named Carmela, who welcomed me in with a smile and immediately took care of me, giving me paperwork to fill out before ushering me downstairs to start in on my hair and makeup. Following behind her, I glanced at the many photographs adorning the walls which showcased a multitude of women in lingerie and decadent poses. They were all very lovely. And all perfectly thin.

Had this company never photographed a plump woman before? Or had they simply chosen not to showcase her? What a shame not to include this body type in their display! Surely, this would make a zaftig woman feel a little more at ease when visiting the studio. I shall make mention of this when I return to review the photos… 

Standing in the makeup room, Carmela asked what look I was interested in achieving, and I heartily replied, “Pin-up girl!” to which she clapped in delight. Typically, she said, clients request smoky, bedroom eyes with very neutral tones and nude lipstick. Carmela preferred dolling the ladies up more, and was excited to give me the “Marilyn Monroe” look.

We spent the next hour chatting incessantly while she proceeded to mold me into a pin-up girl ~ cat eyes, bright red lipstick and deliciously curly hair. We discussed my inspiration to be there, and I explained my blog to her and also the fact that after my divorce, I’ve been continuing to venture outside of my comfort zone and find ways to blossom further as a zaftig woman. Being a tad plump herself (but hardly!) Carmela said that she could relate to my thoughts and was quite interested and excited about the blog. We shared the philosophy that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes.

After meticulous preparation, I was finally given the opportunity to glance at my reflection in the mirror. I was stunned at the woman looking back at me.  Who in the world was that?! I appeared nothing like myself. And yet, I did ~ an accentuated, vibrant version of myself. The inner sex kitten had surfaced! Pleased at the transformation, I gave Carmela a hug and thanked her for her expertise.

When it came time for my outfit changes to commence, I stepped into a very pretty little restroom complete with scented candles burning and pulled out Outfit #1: a classy, sexy, satin bustier with black lace trim and a satin ribbon. I added black ruffled panties, a few pieces of jewelry, elbow-length velvet gloves and a pair of very high-heeled black shoes that somehow, miraculously, I could stand in. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and entered into the studio on wobbly, but stable, feet. 

Carmela took one look at me and  shrieked her approval. The photographer, Julie, added her own exuberant response and helped me tie the satin ribbon around my bustier. As I stood there, heavy cleavage and thick, cellulite-laden curves exposed to the world, I knew that there was no going back. I was fully committed and ready to grab the opportunity with both hands  to make it the best experience I could possibly make it. 

And under the warmth of the studio lights and the tutelage of a well-seasoned photographer, my fears began to slowly melt away. I found myself pleasantly immersed in the challenge of becoming a pin-up girl…

 

(Stay tuned for further thoughts on this subject, as well as… PHOTOS!)
 

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Filed under A Touch of Inspiration, Musings and Thoughts

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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Filed under Guest Contributors

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

On The Cool Shore Of The Lake

Damp ground, leaves, gentle lapping of the water

A chill in the air awakens her, causing her to shiver

She pulls the blanket tighter around her naked skin

And nestles ever closer against her lover’s chin

He seems so peaceful laying there, his breath slow and deep

His eyelids fluttering slightly with a dream-enriched sleep

Perhaps he’s reminiscing about their lust-filled afternoon

Envisioning continuation long after the rising moon

She’d been on fire beneath his touch on that cool shore of the lake

Basking in sensations he’d offered her to partake

He’d lifted her to heights she’d never dreamed existed

Leaving her wondering how she could ever have resisted

His touch, his kiss, his attentive admiration

The words he’d whispered to her with such utter adoration

Languidly, she wraps her leg around his lower waist

And presses lips against his chest, relishing the taste

He rouses from his sleep beneath her gentle caress

Moves a hand to trace a line along the curve of her breast

Sensually, he whispers serenades of continuing desire

And with a touch manages to lift her arousal even higher

Until they are once more enveloped in a loving give-and-take

Rolling together beneath the blanket on that cool shore of the lake

©2011 Enchanted Zaftig

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Filed under Poetry and Prose, Sensual Servings

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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Filed under Guest Contributors

And Now For Something Naughty…

Fervid

Sprawled across the bed, surrounded by satin sheets and soft pillows cool against her warm skin, she rolled over onto her back, hair settling in pools around her face and neck and bounteous breasts. She slithered forward to rest her neck on the edge of the bed and dangled her head down until the room changed, becoming a kaleidoscope of flickering candlelight ~ distorted, upside-down, serene. Her hair cascaded, reaching for the floor.
 
Focusing on the shadows of the room, she watched his languid approach: body vivid, taut, masculine. His fist lightly stroked his sizeable, hardening cock, and as he moved closer she could see an almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as he studied her ~ obviously enjoying the moment, enjoying the way she was splayed out on the bed waiting for him.

With each step he took, she could feel the sexual energy emanating from him ~ an aura so intense her body shook with anticipation and desire. Breath arrested within her throat in a momentary choking sensation. Moistness welled up between her thighs like a puddle of fire, warming an already sweltering atmosphere.

As he stood before her, near enough so that she could feel the electricity of his presence, she noticed one lone drop of precum poised at the tip of his cock, glistening in the candlelight, ready to fall. Never to waste, she reached out to wipe the viscous liquid away and slid the sweet nectar over her lips and tongue. Taste buds ignited in her mouth. 
 
Stretching her arms out, she lightly ran fingernails across his bare thighs, enticing him closer. No words were spoken, no words were necessary. As he took one last step forward, she willingly opened her mouth to receive him. 
 
He offered only the tip of his member initially, as if teasing, as if purposely holding back. She flicked her tongue around the bulbous head, her fingers exploring between his legs to grasp the heavy sac which contained within its confines the ultimate gift.

He moaned and inched forward until more of his hardened member entered her mouth. She opened wide, inviting the entrance, wanting to take him in as far as he wanted to go. His strong, masculine scent surrounded her, filled her senses like an aphrodisiac traveling through her veins. She ran her tongue against the taut skin of his rigid cock as he slowly began to slide in and out of her mouth. 
 
He pushed himself in deeper each time, holding steady, sliding out, entering in again. Repeating, repeating. Each time the  swollen head of his cock hit the back of her throat, she struggled to hold him all in. But that, in itself, was arousing. Slithering fingers down her belly to the moistness between her legs, she rubbed herself to a wet ecstasy while her other hand grabbed his thigh, earnestly coaxing him on.

She wanted it to last, until he was ready, until he was prepared to explode within her. The intensity of his orgasm always seemed so much more colossal when he prolonged the release.

But perhaps, this time, he would decide not to explode within her but rather pull out and cover her in his hot, pulsating cum, prompting the thick liquid to hit her lips, her eyelashes, her cheeks, sliding down her neck to collect in her long, pale hair…

Sometimes, the anticipation of his ultimate gift was just as titillating as the actual receipt of it.

Ever patient, she waited, waited ~ mouth ready, body alive, tongue continuing to work its magic on the upperside of his member as he pushed it between her lips. His breath increased, accompanied by a light staccato of moaning, and she knew that his release was imminent. Closing her eyes, she heard a sweet tune swirl through her head, pulling her towards her own fervid orgasm, in perfect harmony with his…

©2011 Enchanted Zaftig

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Filed under Poetry and Prose, Sensual Servings, Visual Delights