Loving my body.

I've posted my disembodied tits and cooter on this blog before, but this is a bit harder.

This (NWS) is my whole damn body. (I was born with a rare facial disorder known as mybossmightseethisosis.)

Welp. I'm fat. But is that all I am? Is my whole body, that I have to live in and work with and fuck with, described by one word? (And a fairly relative one at that; I'm nobody's skinny but I'm not exactly buying a second airplane seat.) Fuck no. Here are some others:

Strong. I lift human beings for a living. I don't have a lot of athletic ability but I can transfer 200-pound people who bear no weight fifty times a day, and I wouldn't knock that until you try it.

Resilient. That body's had bones broken, skin scraped off, a joint knocked clear out of the socket, and to look at it you wouldn't even know. It fixes itself. It's magic.

Sexual. For whatever reason I have an enormous sex drive and a big damn part of that is physical. My body loves to be touched, loves even more to touch, comes often and hard and doesn't want to stop until it hurts. If then. It can make pain into pleasure and service into joy. Not in some fuzzy psychological way. I mean that being slapped and pinched and forced down can actually, very literally, feel as good as being fucked. Maybe better.


I want to say more good things about my body but I'm not sure where the line falls between image-positivity and flat damn narcissism, and anyway the truth is that I'm not anything special to look at. Because my body wasn't built to be looked at; it was built to be lived in. It's responsive and determined and giving, and that's hard to get into JPG format but that's why I love my body. Not because of what it is but what it does. It works hard, it fucks hard, it makes me happy and keeps me alive, and I have to love it for that.

Plus it's got the cutest damn nipples.