Ravishingly Rubenesque


... so this is what I've been talking about. My tummy does this - folds in, sags over a bit. When I look this photo, I barely even notice that, because there's so much gorgeousness to see (and even when I do notice, it's just 'oh, look, a stomach' ... when I look at myself, ALL I see is my stupid fucking stomach and how ugly I think it is.

What is WRONG with us?
 
... so this is what I've been talking about. My tummy does this - folds in, sags over a bit. When I look this photo, I barely even notice that, because there's so much gorgeousness to see (and even when I do notice, it's just 'oh, look, a stomach' ... when I look at myself, ALL I see is my stupid fucking stomach and how ugly I think it is.

What is WRONG with us?

All I can say... is I 100% understand. <<hugs>>
 
... so this is what I've been talking about. My tummy does this - folds in, sags over a bit. When I look this photo, I barely even notice that, because there's so much gorgeousness to see (and even when I do notice, it's just 'oh, look, a stomach' ... when I look at myself, ALL I see is my stupid fucking stomach and how ugly I think it is.

What is WRONG with us?
Can I try to explain it from the D side?

One of my favourite books since university is The House On The Strand by Daphne du Maurier. My copy has a misprint in it, because its a 1980s cheap paperback I bought second hand. Do I notice the misprint? Yes, every time. Does it affect my enjoyment of the story? No. Would I swap the experience of reading it, and watching reality and history and fantasy blur into an intoxicating and seductive cocktail, for reading a perfectly printed copy of Topsy And Tim Go Shopping? No.

I don't mean to trivialise the very complex relationship between people and their bodies. But I want to try to explain why, if I like someone inside and out, I am not going to give a fuck if they don't have a tummy I can use for xylophone practice. I don't regard stomach curvature as a criterion for the mental and psychological connection that makes S&M work. I have the rest of you for that.
 
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Can I try to explain it from the D side?

One of my favourite books since university is The House On The Strand by Daphne du Maurier. My copy has a misprint in it, because its a 1980s cheap paperback I bought second hand. Do I notice the misprint? Yes, every time. Does it affect my enjoyment of the story? No. Would I swap the experience of reading it, and watching reality and history and fantasy blur into an intoxicating and seductive cocktail, for reading a perfectly printed copy of Topsy And Tim Go Shopping? No.

I don't mean to trivialise the very complex relationship between people and their bodies. But I want to try to explain why, if I like someone inside and out, I am not going to give a fuck if they don't have a tummy I can use for xylophone practice. I don't regard stomach curvature as a criterion for the mental and psychological connection that makes S&M work. I have the rest of you for that.

You're so lucky I'm not the world famous author of Topsy & Tim Go Shopping.

But yes, my sensible head knows you're entirely right (and it's a lovely analogy).
I think we just all go through slumps, and it's easy to project all the self doubt we have onto bits of us that are visible.
 
I don't mean to trivialise the very complex relationship between people and their bodies. But I want to try to explain why, if I like someone inside and out, I am not going to give a fuck if they don't have a tummy I can use for xylophone practice. I don't regard stomach curvature as a criterion for the mental and psychological connection that makes S&M work. I have the rest of you for that.

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https://66.media.tumblr.com/a93a27612dcf2d4297d62a0c00e34e83/3d18d3c57ed6a14d-83/s2048x3072/621bc629eb3c64fcdc8ea86e781e4d38fe9ab043.jpg

... so this is what I've been talking about. My tummy does this - folds in, sags over a bit. When I look this photo, I barely even notice that, because there's so much gorgeousness to see (and even when I do notice, it's just 'oh, look, a stomach' ... when I look at myself, ALL I see is my stupid fucking stomach and how ugly I think it is.

What is WRONG with us?

All I can say... is I 100% understand. <<hugs>>

Can I try to explain it from the D side?

One of my favourite books since university is The House On The Strand by Daphne du Maurier. My copy has a misprint in it, because its a 1980s cheap paperback I bought second hand. Do I notice the misprint? Yes, every time. Does it affect my enjoyment of the story? No. Would I swap the experience of reading it, and watching reality and history and fantasy blur into an intoxicating and seductive cocktail, for reading a perfectly printed copy of Topsy And Tim Go Shopping? No.

I don't mean to trivialise the very complex relationship between people and their bodies. But I want to try to explain why, if I like someone inside and out, I am not going to give a fuck if they don't have a tummy I can use for xylophone practice. I don't regard stomach curvature as a criterion for the mental and psychological connection that makes S&M work. I have the rest of you for that.

The response was already forming in my mind, and then I saw it written so much better than I could have. Perfect Mei5ter.

Women don't understand what men like. The pic in question is of a very pretty woman with a smoking hot body, great taste in lingerie, some nice ink, well manicure nails, and an obvious sexy attitude to go with it. And a tummy roll and a small scar and chubby thighs. I would be pleased to kiss the tummy roll, caress the scar and part those delicious thighs so I can carry on...Uh, give me a minute...

And yeah, I have a friend who I believe would settle for nothing less than a Supermodel. He's in his mid-forties and single, and frankly, I'd be surprised if he's had sex in 2020.
 
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