Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Excerpted from an entry in my super-secret ninja LJ
I wish I could stop hating my stomach. I love almost everything else about my body-the way my hair grows stick-straight but thick and tangled like prairie grass, the way my eyes always betray my feelings, the shape and colour of my lips. I love my powerful shoulders and back, my arms that are much stronger than they appear, my full breasts that have both fed my son and aroused my lovers. I'm absolutely infatuated with my own pussy, from the plush outer lips to the velvety wetness inside. I can't get enough of the way my muscular legs look and how much they do for me. Sure, there are other little details of my body that sometimes irritate me, but in truth I usually feel that they add depth and uniqueness to my beauty, like tiny inclusions in a radiant gemstone. But my stomach...it's too big, there's too much baby-fine hair on it, it bulges and rolls in places that I can't stand. There's a slight overhang where the muscles have never been the same since being severed for the c-section that brought my son into the world. It makes my pants fit poorly. Sometimes I hate it less than usual, but I never love it, and I wish I could.