I’m a BBW.
A big black woman.
Doesn’t this description make you want my onlyfans link? Someone referred to me this way recently and I really cackled. It reminded me of a porn category!
I am 5’1″ and 74 kgs. By all accounts, I am a fat girl. I have the rolls on my back, the dimples on my thighs and the tummy to prove it.
And yet, I have never felt more sexy, more desirable, than I am now.
My girlfriend made a comment about how conscious an effort loving your body in your 30s is. I think a big part of it is the conditioning that as a woman, the sell-by date for sexiness is 30 years old. That one begins to depreciate in value as soon as they hit this sometimes dreaded age. Patriarchy 1 – Femininity 0. Women live well into their 70s in a lot of cases. Imagine spending more than half your life hating the body you’re in. The one that takes care of you. Phew! A colossal mind fuck!
It’s also a full scam. The sexual desire in women is on full gear in the 30s and even worse in the 40s. I’ve said before that even the wind turns me on now. I am having the best sex of my life. Yet, I am supposed to be less desirable now? Make it make sense please!
In 2018, I came across an Instagram account, @queendom.blog. I was so fascinated by the art she posted. Photos of fat girls and sometimes boys. I like that she posts boys because I honestly think the male body is so beautiful. Child!! Showing thighs and stomach and stretch marks and breasts. I was so intrigued. And as I continued to follow her I started to question my own socialisation on what bodies deserve to be photographed, to be desired, to be put on display.
It changed my entire life.
Do you have a mirror? A handheld one will do, but a full-length one is better. Stand in front of it. Take off your clothes. Look at yourself. Really, really look at yourself. Take in the face, the gorgeous curious eyes, the full lips. Touch the neck, admire the shoulders. The ones that carry all the worry. The ones that look beautiful in that shirt. Lift your hands, touch your breasts. The ones that have given life to your children. The ones that are starting to fall. The ones with the stretchmarks.
Touch your stomach. The one that tightens when your lover touches the junction of your thighs. The one that warns you when someone is on some bullshit.
Admire your thighs. The ones that can break necks. The ones that are strong enough to deadlift 100kgs. The ones between which are the keys to heaven.
Take in your toes. The ones that leave imprints wherever you walk. Aren’t you a gorgeous creature?! My word! Look at you!
My favourite (I think it’s OK to have favourites!) lover refers to me as ‘a work of art’ and goddamnit, I am practically a goddess.