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Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching and for a lot of us it is a time to take a look at our lives and take extra consideration of the good things in them.  Which when you think about it suggests that for the rest of the year we really don’t take a positive look around us. It almost feels like there is a negativity epidemic that threatens to take so many good people down.

I’m going to offer myself up as an example.  In the past year, I have had a lot of negativity around me and I did my best to fight my way out of it. To not be consumed by the negative energy of my previous relationships. Misery loves company and it will cling onto you and try to prevent you from fully clearing yourself from that environment.  I recognized that and made my exit and have been focusing on following my path to bliss.

I was doing very well and then somewhere over the past couple weeks I got bit by something carrying the negativity virus.  Let me be straight. There is nothing in my life for me to be feeling negatively about right now. I have a great new job, I am healthy and for the first time in my entire life I am in a relationship with somebody who not only shares my (rather abnormal to many) values but also truly accepts and even loves the person I am. Nothing but celebration should be surrounding life at the moment.

The negativity seed was planted and I caught myself acting in ways that are just not the true person that I am.  Ways I can honestly say I have never acted before.  Through most of my life I endeavor to think the best of people unless they really give me reasons to feel to the contrary. That has seen me taken advantage of in the past but I have always said that I don’t want to have to change the person I am because of the actions of a few. Yet, there I was making character judgements on people I don’t really know. Getting consumed in the ‘he said/she said’ that the negativity virus thrives on.

I was in danger of being consumed by the virus as it made me question everything around me including my own beliefs and values that I know I hold. If I don’t I never would have fought so hard over recent years to be allowed to express them.  Then finally, I caught myself being mean and to people I love no less. Not on purpose but out of a sense of unjustified, negativity fueled fear.  None of which makes it right.  I swear to whatever deity that exists that I can not ever remember being flat out mean to anybody before. Maybe sometime in elementary school on a dare but I probably went and cried about it later. It simply is not the person I am. I felt and still do feel nothing short of shame.

This weekend I had some time to myself and I did something I haven’t done in a long time – meditate and try to center myself.  You might have to be a bit of a hippy pagan-ish leaning person such as myself to understand that but I find that sometimes I really have to go into my own head with no outside distractions and examine what is really going on. That is when I recognized this pattern of negativity that had not only infected me but many around me and possibly even society as a whole.

Interestingly, I had only just come out of my meditation with the determination to concentrate on the many good things around me, to celebrate love and friendship when two separate people in my life contacted me and talked about battling their negativity in their own lives.   One of them, with whom I share pagan leanings reminded me that the only way to bring positive energy to you is to let go of the negative energy.

Negative energy is poison. Not only does it prevent you from truly feeling how good the good stuff feels but it clouds your judgement when it comes to recognizing what is a true threat. It is contagious and there in is the real danger.

All I have to do is look around our own BBW community and I can see how the negativity virus has spread to the point where people’s default response comes from a place of negativity.  Look at any of the BBW bash themed groups and you won’t have to wait long before people that once came together to celebrate the positive aspects of being people of size and to share the joy of liberation are swarming all over each other with negative energy. We are all on the same side, it is time to shine the light of positivity on our community once again.

General society is brimming with negative energy. Magazines reporting who is fat, who is cheating, taking joy in the downfall of others.  Every time we buy into it and encourage it we are helping to spread the negativity virus.

The good news is that we can decide to change this and all it takes is committing to yourself to project as much positive energy as you can. Maybe it is indeed the hippy inside of me but I believe that positive energy is as powerful, if not more so, than negative energy. We just have to allow ourselves to fight the personal battle we need to fight to get to that point. Maybe, we can reach our hand out and try to lift another out of the negative too.

It doesn’t mean bad things won’t happen but it does mean you will gain the strength to see yourself and others through. As my Nana and many others before her have said, ‘This too shall pass’. That, is their attempt at spreading positive energy.

So, this Thanksgiving, I am going to take a look around me and count my blessings. To celebrate the love of varying forms that are in my life and to commit to being a source of positive energy in the world. To acknowledge how lucky I am to be able to ‘snap out’ of whatever it was I  was in and return to ‘me’.

I encourage all of us to do the same. If there is a rift between you and somebody you know you care about that is only there because negativity got in the way, reach out and try to mend the connection through positivity.  If you are invited into the ‘he said/she said’ trap do your best to refrain from joining in. Offer each other respect and understanding.

If we all take those steps then this time next year there will be even more to be thankful about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Blogging took a trip to the back burner for me lately. Between my move to Los Angeles, a new job and some pretty substantial personal life changes, it just kept getting put off.  Coming up with that topic that was worthy of coming back to blogging hasn’t been easy. I kept having half thoughts about what I would write but then it would pass. You would think that with so much going on, it would be easy but I didn’t think you all really wanted to hear about my struggle to not fall asleep on the sofa every night before even one episode of 30 Rock had a chance to finish.

Lately though, there has been a lot of talk in the fantastic Single White BBW Facebook group about different aspects of female sexuality. All of which got me thinking about how our bodies and what we do with them IS a woman’s issue. We should be the ones in control of it rather than shying away because men expect it to get smutty when vaginas get mentioned.

Why is it that it only becomes a ‘woman’s issue’ when it is breast cancer, birth control or abortion? Surely, the issues surrounding ‘getting down’ should be white listed topics too or we are giving all that power to men as if they control our enjoyment.

If you follow my blog then you likely know that I work on the marketing end of the adult industry. Add to that my own particularly open mind when it comes to intimacy and you would think I have no problem talking about sex. I don’t. Not at all.

However, I have been trying to make sure that Single White BBW didn’t become a place for smutty blogging. It is so difficult to find a place where women of size can talk to each other about being women without it being turned into the women using the forum to compete for the attention of men by getting increasingly pornographic. That is what I have very much wanted to avoid on this blog network. There is a time and place for everything and I want this to be where women are talking to women. If men over hear than hopefully they enjoy and learn something but I don’t want it to be FOR them. The thing is though as much as there is time and place there is also tone and I would like to think that merely speaking about female sexuality doesn’t automatically make a conversation smutty.

Female orgasm, for example, is barely ever spoken about openly, unless it is by men claiming to be the commander of all things orgasmic or jokes about women faking it. What isn’t discussed outside of jokes is the reason why women fake it.  Why is that?

When it is mentioned, it is often as a case of women being non-orgasmic.  As if it is just the way that some women are and they should accept it. Can you imagine what the world would be like if large portions of the male population were told to just accept that they are never going to have an orgasm?

I’ve been on anti depressant medication where inability to orgasm was a known side effect for women and spoken about  by doctors as if it is no big deal. I find it hard to believe it would be taken so casually as a side effect if men were unable to orgasm on it. It certainly wouldn’t be considered good for their mental health. I don’t know which women are less depressed when they can’t have an orgasm but I sure am not one of them

I wonder how things would be different if women spoke more honestly and openly about the female orgasm both to each other and to men.  Shedding the shame that is associated with exploring your own orgasm would be a step forward.  I know that I was given no concept at all about what an orgasm felt like for a woman at any stage during my sexual education. Of course I read about them but I wasn’t sexually active until I was nearly 20 and so everything was self discovery. I didn’t know that that shaking feeling was the actual orgasm until I was able to piece the puzzle together in my own head.

Maybe the secrecy of discovering orgasm is what keeps women so conditioned not to talk about them even as adults. If you can’t talk about them then how are you ever going to be able to make it known when you aren’t having them or not having the way you need to be best satisfied. Which, is just as valid a concern as not having them at all.  As women blessed to live in a, largely, liberated part of the world, surely it is as much within our relationship rights to talk about positions and methods as it is for the male.

For me, my orgasms and my ability to have them is linked to my trust levels with my partner. Though I welcome surprises, I, for the most part, know what gets me off. For me to have a full body ‘holy crap, what just happened’ orgasm then it is going to have to involve me receiving oral.  However, I don’t let just anybody down there and even if I do unless I can sink back and trust my connection with him then by brain isn’t going to let it happen then either.

If it is one of those times when it isn’t going to work, I will admit that I have not been beyond faking it and I wonder if I am doing myself and that man a disservice. I think because I have encountered so many men that really don’t care at all if there is an orgasm on my side that I don’t want the guys that at least tried to go away feeling bad.

We appear to be conditioned to think that if we say that we haven’t had an orgasm that we are insulting or criticizing our male partners. The truth is that any partner worth being with more than once is going to want his partner to be pleasured for real. Faking orgasms or telling him it doesn’t matter creates a cycle that will be much harder to break down the line. I am pretty sure than any man that has experienced a real orgasm of mine will know from that point on if I ever faked it but maybe by the time I have decided to fake it during any part of sex but especially oral then I have already decided that I am unlikely to ever really get there with him.

There is much truth in the cliche female line of ‘it felt good anyway’. Sex is not at all just about the orgasm for me. It is mostly about the connection, if even fleeting, with another person and the fun of bringing our bodies and minds together. The actual mechanics of sex feel good and the hormone rushes are unbeatable. So, sex without orgasm isn’t a write off for me but it sure is tremendously better when an orgasm has been achieved.

Men can’t be fully blamed because without us telling them what we need how will they ever really know?I say it is time for women to stop being ashamed of talking to each other about sexual health in terms that are broader than just pregnancy and STD. Television is full of commercials for products aimed at helping men with erections. Which, is a good thing but where is that sort of openness and priority for women? The truth is that just like the lack of orgasm, it comes down to us letting it happen.

 

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Early on in our marriage, my late husband Marc made one of the most insightful observations of my personality.  It was one of those moments where you realize that somebody knew an aspect of you better than you know yourself.

He said that when it came to making important life decisions, I was interesting to watch because I didn’t rush in but when I was in I was suddenly all in. He said that I will stand on the edge of a cliff and stare over it for ages, carefully considering what may happen to me if I jump or if I don’t. Then suddenly, without warning I will drop off the edge.  I have carried his observation with me throughout life since and have come to the conclusion that he was amazingly spot on.

He, of course, benefited from that personality trait of mine because it is exactly what lead me to take a leap and go meet him in London on a one way ticket at 19 years old. That turned out to be the biggest jump off a cliff of my life and it turned out pretty well. I mean, if you discount the becoming a widow at 27 bit. What came before that part was something I would never trade. He taught me what genuine love feels like.

His words have been floating around my head a lot lately because I am about to jump off yet another cliff. I was offered a job in LA. It is near enough a dream position (or at least the first step on the ladder to the ultimate dream) and I felt it would be a mistake not to try. I might fail but if I do at least I will have known I tried to reach the prize at the end of the rope (two points to anybody that can name the song reference there).

It is a risky move on several fronts.  I haven’t been at the job I am leaving very long at all. Up until the past year, I have been the kind of employee that is with a company for years upon years. Now, I risk a reputation for jumping around companies. Apart from the employment ramifications, the location of the job means that I am going to be moving to LA on my own.  I am venturing into my own apartment  in new city where I know very few people.

My big move to LA takes place at the end of this week and that means I have been packing up my stuff for the move. I hate moving. I lived in the same apartment in London for over 15 years. I moved in with Marc and stayed there not only after his death but I continued to  live there with my second husband.

Leaving my ex-husband and London was a jump off the cliff that didn’t really go to plan.  Just as fits my pattern, it took me months to decide I was going to leave. I am an until death do us part sort of person. I take commitment extremely seriously and deciding to break my vows in the face of abuse resulted in the darkest bought of depression that I have faced.

When I finally came to the decision to ask for a divorce, I didn’t just leave a little bit. Nope, I packed all my stuff up and had it shipped to the States to meet me as I took the leap into a new relationship in California.

Packing up a house after 15 years and two marriages was beyond emotional. I had to go through personal items of my first husband, our wedding things, his shirt I picked up off the floor of the hospital room in which he died and many other things that I had locked away into boxes which remained unopened for years. The wounds of his death were being ripped open at the same time I was dealing with leaving not only a marriage but escaping abuse. Packing reminds me of the most painful emotions I have felt in my life.

Memories which I have gone through time and time again over the last year and a half because the leap I took was the wrong one. Not the leap itself but the direction in which I took it. If I am honest, I should have known it wasn’t going to work and maybe he was a bit of a rebound situation for me but whatever it was on my part, I didn’t stick around when he betrayed me. Which in some odd way, I felt to be a step towards personal growth. I silently put up with emotional abuse for years. Staying and trying to defend them to the world is a default setting for me. Leaving my California boyfriend when he cheated on me (something really hard to do in a poly relationship) I took as a sign of strength.

At least that is what I like to tell myself. Is it not just another example of a failure to see things through after Marc died? Have I become a person that bounces around when I experience pain in my current situation rather than suffering through the hard times to get to the good that was one of the most basic principles of my first marriage?

Yet, another jump off a cliff looms. Preceded by yet another time I have to go through pack my belongings. Yesterday, that meant going through a box of keepsakes which in reality was just a box of memory triggers. Of all the items in the box, it was two ring boxes that caused me to examine the ‘fight or flight’ pattern that has been developing in my life.

Just as I was making the choice to move back to the UK, and before I had told anybody other than the man that would become my California boyfriend, my paternal grandmother died. Don’t think of me too badly when I say that my grandmother wasn’t the nicest of people. Even at her funeral there was a universal understanding that she was a bit of a sour faced woman. She loved me though and I loved her despite the lack of warmth that defined her personality.  Before she died, she had gone through her house and put names on various things to make sure items that were important to her went to those she wished to have them.

When her apartment was cleared out after her death, it was found that she had put my name on the box containing her engagement and wedding rings. My grandfather, who in stark contrast to Grandma was one of the most gentle and soft spoken men I have ever known, had passed several years before.  I will admit to being perplexed by her bestowment.

As far as she was aware, I was happily married to a man who she liked very much. However, my younger sister is married too. So, perhaps she was simply giving it to the oldest grandchild. Either way, it was unexpected,moving and a reminder of how others have stayed with a marriage until their partner died. Maybe, that is why she left it to me. She knew I was the only one in the family who knew that pain.

The second of the ring boxes contained my own engagement and wedding rings from my second marriage.  I don’t know why I even opened the box. I hadn’t since I took the rings off over a year ago.  Yet, I did and sat the two open boxes next to each other and just soaked in the failure of my own marriage. My inability to hunker down and just make it work.  It felt like Grandma was reminding me of the person of commitment that I used to be.

Moments where the gravity of my choices and where they have placed me have been a feature of my healing and recovery.  I feel like I haven’t really landed since I took that step off the cliff and left my marriage and London. Ever since then it feels like I have been in a constant cycle of packing and moving. I am very ready to break that cycle.

Picking myself up after the moments of doubt has also been a big part of my recovery. Learning how to dust myself off is what allows me to see all the good that could result from this move. Yes, I am frightened. I could fail at this job and leaving my best friend behind hundreds of miles away means that life as a lonely failure could be in my future.

However, the positive I can see on the horizon has to win out.  This could be the job that ‘makes’ me and there is no reason why I shouldn’t be successful. I have the skills and the determination.  There is genuine love in my life for the first time since Marc and he lives in LA.

As a pagan leaning person, I have to believe that the Universe is placing me where I need to be in order to commit to finding the happiest life for myself.  With that as a possibility, how can I not take this leap? I just hope it will finally result in a soft but firm landing.

 

 

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So, yup it was ALL hormonal. Which means I can now return you to your regularly scheduled Sarah Jayne.  As much as a major hormone hijack sucks, the silver lining is that it all happened before I headed off to Las Vegas for the various BBW events. I mean, come on, which woman wants to be stuck in that state while at a BBW party fest in THE party town. So, thank you mother nature/Goddess for getting that hormonal wave out of the way.

Now, I can move on to the whole packing process. I sort of love how it all starts with this innocent looking empty suitcase and it turns into a brick on wheels. An exercise in how much clothing I can pry into one container and still close it AND possibly lift it if I really have to do so.

 

It sure has been a long journey to get to the point of packing this case for the BBW Las Vegas Bash.  I’m not just talking the wait for this actual bash. Though, I have had my ticket purchased for many months. Nope, this has been many years in the making.

I got involved with the BBW community at about 16 years old when I stumbled into a BBW chat area on the old Prodigy network. I then became a BBS addict and got on Big Picture BBS and Rotunda BBS. I heard all about the Philly Bash but I was too young to go. Even more frustrating because I lived in a Philly burb.

When I was 18, I went to college in Boston and I did one of the dumbest things I have ever done. I was just so anxious to get into the BBW community that I had been watching from the outside.  Through my (sneaked) subscriptions to BBW Magazine, Radiance magazine and Dimensions, I had heard about BBW dance nights on the outskirts of Boston.

The very first chance I had to go to one of the parties, I decided to go. That sounds good in theory but it was indeed the OUTSKIRTS of Boston and I was 18 and without a car. So, what does the smart girl do? Yup, I get a train all the way out to the suburb, then get a bus to the hotel venue – where I don’t have a room – and go to the party.

Did I mention that I was an 18 year old virgin? SUPER smart. I don’t even really know what my plan was going to be to get home. I guess I figured that I would hang around the hotel lobby until the trains ran again in the morning or something.

At the actual event, there was some debate on if they would let me in because I was 18 and there was alcohol. Something which had never even crossed my mind. In the end they let me in but instructed me not to drink. Interestingly, the woman that sold me that ticket was Brie Brown.  Which feels awfully full circle here as I will be going to Brie’s Well Rounded event in Las Vegas.

Anyway, that night was pretty much a disaster. Not a single person asked me to dance. After all that build up of years of waiting to go be allowed into the BBW community, nobody was interested. Now, looking back, I can see that maybe the grown men were a bit afraid to approach an obviously very young person but at the time it hit me that maybe I wasn’t even attractive enough for the BBW community. It stung.

Thankfully, I was rescued from having to spend a night in the lobby by a couple that drove me back to my college dorm. That could have gone all kinds of wrong too because I remember them spending the ride talking about threeways,etc and me not really ‘getting’ that they were probably talking about me but I guess in the end they also figured I was a tad young or I wasn’t responsive.

I brushed the incident aside and went back to my virginal college life. Of course, I didn’t know that a month later I would start chatting to the man that would eventually be my first (late) husband and that would be married and living in London in just over a year. The universe works in interesting ways.

While I was living in the UK, I was involved with the BBW community there and I went to Big Girl’s Paradise in London most months for a couple years. A lot of my truly treasured friendships began as a result of an IRC channel that I can #bbwuk on Dalnet. It was a lot of fun but it did mean that things like the BBW Network Last Vegas Bash were just too much out of reach for me both geographically and financially.

So, this is my first bash.  Over 19 years in the BBW community and this is my first Las Vegas BBW Bash.  I will admit to being a bit nervous. Not about meeting people. I’ve done a lot of convention circuits for work. Many of then in Las Vegas, actually. So, I am good in that kind of environment.  Yet, there are still a few things that I have never done in the BBW world and I am interested in seeing how I will handle them.

For example, I have never done a BBW pool party.  They have been things of BBW bash folklore for me. Almost as if it is a BBW community rite of passage that, despite my years in the community, I have missed. So, I am determined to do it at the Las Vegas BBW Bashes.

I am nervous.

I know that in all sorts of theories, I shouldn’t be but I am.

First of all, there was the bathing suit buying process. I can not remember the last time I have been in a bathing suit in public. I’m not a prude  – I am a polyamorous, bisexual woman that works in the adult industry – but I am worried about showing parts of my body.  I tried on a ton of bathing suits and ended up settling on one that isn’t all that daring and I feel a bit like a size acceptance failure for not going for the bikini and letting the belly all hang out.

I’m worried about showing my legs. I have veins on my legs that freak me out. I know the other women have them much ‘worse’ than me but then still others don’t have them at all. The fact of the matter is that I am a 35 year old woman that has been fat all her life. On top of which, I lost nearly 80 pounds a couple years back. So, my legs have been through things and as a result I bare a collection of spider and varicose veins. I consider getting them fixed now and then but for now, they are part of what makes up my body and I hide them every chance I get.  When I get into the bathing suit, I will be taking the shield down on secrets like that. Which, in the end may very well be the step to just saying ‘here, this is my body..like it or don’t!’.

Interestingly, I am as or more nervous about what the other women will say or think than I am about the men. I am a tad interested in seeing how I will react if I get attention from men when I am in my bathing suit. I really am not used to men checking me out or being approached. On the other hand, I am curious to how I will feel if I don’t get any attention. What if I am 18 all over again I take this big step and I am invisible again? Wow, being a woman is hard work!

So,you know what I have decided to do? Just show the world me in my bathing suit right here and now. The older I get, the more of a ‘rip the Band Aid off all at once type of gal i have become.

Here it is world – me trying on my new bathing suit..complete with my back fat not tucked in properly and my lumpy legs. Deal.

 

There. Now, I am ready for the BBW Fanfest, Well Rounded and the BBW Vegas Bash. We leave tomorrow afternoon and we will be in Vegas for all three events. It is going to be an interesting time.

Oh, and we have something neat to show you.  One of my friends, a very talented artist – Dwayne Middleton – designed a logo for Single White BBW that looks GREAT on t-shirts. So, we got a couple Single White BBW t-shirts made up for us to wear about the BBW Vegas Bash.

What do you think?

I also got a whole bunch of stickers printed up with the logo on it.

So, if you are at Well Rounded Las Vegas or the BBW Network Las Vegas Bash and would like a Single White BBW sticker, find me and say hello!

 

 

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I am a classic over-thinker. Seriously, I have had moments where I catch myself sitting and thinking about why I think about things so much.  Over recent weeks, the topic up for introspection has been the failure of my last relationship.

The ‘could’ve, would’ve, should’ve’ games have been turning over and over in my brain. Why did the relationship fail?  Was it something I did or didn’t do? Could I have saved the relationship if I did something different at some point?

Truth be told, the bare faced answer is the he cheated on me and then blamed me for his cheating. So, no it could not be saved and ultimately the breakup wasn’t my fault.

Which, isn’t to say that lessons can’t be learned on how not to repeat my past relationship failures. When playing our romance back in my head, there is a moment that took place just as the relationship was starting to get serious that plays a recurring role in my mental replays.

We were in his hot tub and he had just asked me, once again, to move in with him. Loved up to the hilt, I looked at him and asked ‘why me?’. He couldn’t answer.

In the daze of hormones, I accepted his answer that he ‘just knew’ but it would be a lie to say that I didn’t notice that he didn’t have the answer to that question in any real detail.  On this, I am not waving a finger of blame. Both of us let this moment slip by when really it should have been a reality call. It never really left me that he couldn’t answer and I should have listened the signals my own brain was trying to send me.

No doubt love was there but perhaps more for the idea of me than the actual details of me as a person. Betraying a concept is a lot easier than betraying an actual person. Rather than wallowing in my mistake, I am deciding to take it as a life lesson.

In order for me to be happy in my commitment to somebody, they need to have specific love to me as the person I am. They need to love Sarah Jayne and not a concept.  Settling for anything else is indeed just that – settling.

Which, is likely the real life lesson I am being taught. Never again, shall I allow myself to be settled for in a relationship. As importantly,  I need to make a commitment to myself that I will never settle for anybody either. If I expect somebody to answer ‘why me?’ then I have to be as willing and able to answer ‘why them?’. If I can’t then they simply aren’t the one.

You live, you learn and progress to the relationship where you both can answer ‘why’. I can see that relationship approaching in my rear view mirror and (to labor a metaphor) I am certain it will have been worth navigating trough all the pain of previous betrayals.

 

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Of course, last night was the second episode of this season’s True Blood. I’ll fully admit that it wasn’t as enthralling as the first episode of the season. It felt like the episode was being used to move storyline chess pieces into place for the rest of the season. Which, it fine by me as long as it pays off in subsequent True Blood episodes.

It wasn’t a total loss though because the episode gave us the insanely hot (and oh so wrong) imagine of Eric sucking blood off his finger while dressed in 1900′s garb. So hot that I forgave the anachronistic set dressing so that I could drool just that little bit more.

Apparently, we are going to be learning about how Pam was turned by Eric. I have to admit now I hadn’t actually considered that we hadn’t been filled in on the details of Pam’s making. Now that she has become a maker herself it does feel like time time for us to learn how Pam came to be.

Plus, it leaves so much room for seeing Eric in different period clothing! Bring it!

 

 

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Most of us who consider ourselves to be BBWs have gone through various stages of accepting our own bodies.  Without a doubt, I know I still have my moments when I look in the mirror at my fat naked body and think ‘who on EARTH would be turned on by this!?!’. Actually, I have a lot of those days at the moment.

However, every now and then when I get to be with a true fat admirer, I get the chance to let those thoughts of self-doubt take a backseat and have the feelings that go along with having my fat body truly adored ride up front.  It is these moments that allow me to remember exactly why I have the ‘only FAs’ rule in my life these days.

One of the reasons why intimate moments with a true lover of BBW bodies is so amazing is that there are places on a fat woman’s body that ONLY a fat admirer knows how to treat in a way that lets me believe they are honestly being seen as sexy and not a flaw.

For me, my top five  ‘places only an FA goes’ (of course sung to the tune of Keane’s ‘Somewhere Only We know’)  is as follows:

Belly - For a big belly gal like me, this is always going to be the top of the list for me. My belly is by far the biggest body hangup I have had in my life. It has been with me for as long as I can remember and it was the prime object of ridicule as a kid and those taunts have never fully left my head.

Then, in the BBW world, often the guys are falling over themselves to drool over boobs and booty, leaving the belly girls like me to be a specialty taste. So, even inside the BBW world, I still am not really the most desired body shape. That is just reality.

I am very very few men’s idea of a sexy body. Yet, when I meet a belly man who I am into enough to be intimate enough – wow, just wow! Nothing at all beats having the part of your body that has been used to torment you treated as a thing of beauty and for you to believe the sincerity of the person treating it as such.

Double chin -

It is SO wonderful when a true FA kisses his way up your throat and doesn’t stop when he gets to your double chin. I will admit that at first I am likely to flinch a little bit because as a BBW, I have spent a lot of time trying to hide it.  But once they get there and start to explore it with tender kisses, I cast those emotions aside.

Under my belly – Now, this is a place that thin women don’t even have. A true FA knows just how sensitive that skin under a fat woman’s belly is to the touch. If I am going to let a man go there, then I must really trust him. Which, of course, adds to the intensity of the moment but when they are attracted enough to my body to want to explore to that length, it sure doesn’t hurt.

My underarms aka bingo wings -

Do my arms hang low, do the wobble to and fro? Yes, yes they do.

So many of us fat chicks have done the covering up of our underarms. I got past that years ago and am no longer afraid to show them in public. I let people turn their heads if they really don’t want to see them. However, that isn’t the same thing as finding them sexy but when a BBW lover touches them with fingers and lips of pure desire they suddenly feel feminine. As much as I like to say that I am not girlie, there is a certain amount of a turn on about being made to feel feminine

FUPA – Well, there is no extra tame way of describing what a FUPA is to those that don’t know. SO, I am going to do my best to keep it as clean as possible and say it is an extra meaty (aka fat) upper pubic area.  WOW, have I had a complex over this body part over the years. To the point of considering reduction surgery. Really, it had be nervous as heck to get naked in front of any new partner.  Then, I made the ‘only an FA’ rule and suddenly I don’t have any mental issues with it at all. A guy that is into fat women of my size then they KNOW and possibly even hope that this area on my body is a plus sized as the rest of me. A guy that makes me feel my belly and my FUPA are perfect for him will be the keeper.

 

 

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I have been married for a huge chunk of my life.   At 19, I married a wonderful man. He was much older than be but truly and utterly loved me and me him. It certainly wasn’t without its moments of pain and tension. We did, after all, have a marriage.

Anyway, at 2004 at the age of 27 that all changed dramatically and I became a very young widow.

I did, what I have noticed that a lot of young widows or widowers do, and fell right back into a relationship after the death of my husband. A close friend became more and within a year we were living together.  Which we did for a few years before getting married in 2009. I was used to a domestic relationship. In fact, I had really only known that kind of life.  Perhaps one day I will go into the mental abuse that came along down the line with that relationship. However, for now lets continue with the story with me leaving him in 2011.

Not just a little bit of a leave either. I left the entire country and moved back to the United States after 15 years of being in the UK. I needed that clean break or at least that was the theory.

Now, over a year later and I am just sort of starting to get out of the mind set of a ‘wife’ and realizing that I have to enter this whole world of BBW dating or I am going to be here on my own for the rest of my days.  I know I should be single for a while this time but I really don’t want to close myself off from the potential of, once again, being happily domesticated.

The problem? I don’t really want to date. I never really have dated. I did after all, get married at 19 after NEVER having dated in high school. So, I don’t even think I know HOW to date. I swear that half the reason I barely every reply to anybody on Plenty of Fish is that I don’t even know how to say yes to a date without instantly thinking how awkward it will feel to sit there trying to get to know somebody from nearly a cold start.

Then added into all of this that I am 35. So, not only am I a divorced woman starting to date again but I am a BBW single woman and mature single woman all at the same time.  It is expected of me to be well versed in the dating game when I barely know how to say yes to a date.

Ugh, dating! I was so much better at being a wife!

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I have never been very good at being a girl. Often I wonder if that is because I grew up as a fat girl. It would be true to say that I fit the stereotype of being the fat girl with extremely low self-esteem. I try to look back and say I was crazy for feeling that way but I really can see why I failed to build that self worth.

Nobody ever asked me out on a date ever at any point through school.  In fact, it took until I was 19 to have that first date, my first kiss and my first….. ;) . There was a point in my teenage years that I had convinced myself that I was so truly ugly that I was certain to die a loveless virgin. It almost made me wish that we were Catholic so I could just join a convent and pretend I was being chaste on purpose.

Safe to say, that prediction didn’t turn out to be true.  I discovered the BBW world and slowly started to believe that at least a few people out there would find me less that repulsive. I still struggle a lot with thinking I am pretty or even mildly attractive but I at least at this point I don’t think I am ugly.

Anyway, I sometimes wonder if that low worth and hiding away from society of my youth is why I never really learned how to do girly beauty routines After all, what would have been the point of getting eyebrows waxed just to have nobody ever look at my face long enough to notice?

Since the general female beauty regimes felt like things for other girls, they never became part of my life routine.  Which meant it took until my 20′s to have my first manicure.  In fact, my sister had to nearly force me to get one for my second wedding when I was already into my 30s.

Then suddenly out of nowhere something happened and now I feel dirty and unkempt if I haven’t had a manicure or a pedicure every now and then.  I don’t even settle just for the basic nail painting. I ask for the flower nail art to be painted onto my big toes. Ack, that is so very near being a girly thing to do!  Who is this Sarah Jayne and what have you done with the unworthy feeling BBW she used to be?

As I sat there in the pedicure chair, I wondered if any of the men trying to court me have any idea the time even the most average of BBW women, such as myself (I am REALLY no beauty!) spend just looking decent enough to be comfortable facing the world as a single BBW woman.

Not that I left myself uncared for when I was married but now that I am a single BBW again I certainly spend more time partaking in beauty regimes than ever before.  I like to try not to  care if anybody is attracted to me but it just feels too good to turn the head of a true BBW admirer not to try just a little bit :)

Just stop me if I ever start to fake tan. No, I mean it. Please call an intervention.

 

 

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Today is just one of those days where if I don’t get sassy back at the world it is going to eat me up. So,  screw the heck out of that! I say on those days, it is time to lift my double chin up and stick my tongue out at the world. Blow a BBW sized raspberry at the world.

I’m sick of the drama that comes with being an open minded single woman. You would think that being an open minded woman in the dating world – never mind an open minded single fat woman in the BBW dating world. I mean, you would think that a group of people that are used to what it feels like to put up with the judgmental nature of other people would try to be as drama free as possible. No chance!

Wherever a group of single people with heightened hormone resides there will be drama. It matters not at all how much you try to avoid relationship drama. If you are going to be single for more than two minutes that drama will eventually find you. Especially, in a community such as the BBW community where so many people have knocked plus sized boots with the same people.

Again, I say that the only solution is to hold your head up and metaphorically stick your tongue out at the world.  Tongues at the ready ladies!

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