Tag Archives: body image

In the bedroom – ironically, this post is the cleanest!

We were in the bedroom which is pretty big, but again not really really big. It had an en suite. I stripped to change into this red cami thing and then I saw the full length mirror and went to look at myself instead. Although I have a full-length mirror in my room, it isn’t wall-mounted so I have to stand really far away to look in it. Roland’s mirror was free-standing. I looked at myself and liked what I saw; I have a narrow waist and my broad shoulders – they’re as broad as some mens’ – and wide hips made it look even narrower. Although I used to think I had a small chest, now I don’t, and looking in the mirror I felt that, compared to my waist, my chest was large. I’m skinny* too.

Just then Roland came in and saw me looking in the mirror.He’d gone to check he’d locked the door or whatever. He made some comment at me admiring myself. I couldn’t help it, though, because seeing my whole body nude made me realise I looked good – you could see my figure and I looked better than with clothes on. And to think I sometimes wish I could lose a pound or two, that most women – even 12 year olds – do. Stupid corporations, blinding us to how fabulous we look when we’re not androgynously skeletal. I said, “It’s just that – wow, I’m gorgeous. I think I look stunning. Like no wonder someone would pay £8,000 for me. I totally get it.” Roland laughed. (Yeah, this makes me look very superficial, arrogant and shallow, but I promised to tell the truth in this blog. It’s a true story, and in real life there are few heroes and heroines, only humans with all their flaws and inadequacies. And since he’s a pervert and I’m a slut*, this isn’t exactly a values inspiration or a guide to living a fulfilling life or whatever.)

A minute later I was near Roland and he was just looking me over in the usual Roland way. He touched my front teeth, and asked whether I’d ever had braces cos they stick out (not quite the Bugs Bunny effect, but still noticeable). This was quite a powerful moment for me because at school I was laughed at and made to feel unattractive for having buck teeth; though in fairness to the bullies, they were sticking out more at that time and have become less noticeable as I’ve matured.) It was powerful because I’d proved them wrong – I am still desirable even with sticky-out teeth; I’m good enough to pay for while they’re all in dead-end jobs living together and having babies with their first or second gf/bf they got with when we were at school together. Roland made me open my mouth to check the rest of my teeth and ran his finger around all my teeth, in a coincidental imitation of a scene that didn’t make it into Kemet 1. He seemed pleasantly surprised and said that my teeth were in really good condition.

“I should’ve added a few hundred more onto the price then,” I said, and he laughed as only Roland can, sincerely and totally absorbed in the humour.

Anyway how can he criticise my teeth when his teeth look like they’re engaged in a shoving match which has resulted in the maiming of a couple of them, all the while trying to look as yellow as they possibly can?

A minute later I got to see Roland with his top off, and I was so relieved!! There weren’t any jiggling lumps of fat jostling under his skin, or an obscenely bloated belly. He was thinner less fat than I’d thought he was. I prodded him in the side. My finger met with mounded flab, but not a lot of it; underneath was hard muscle like my own body. He felt more familiar than alien.

“Wow, you’ve got a nice body,” I said, impressed.

He asked what did I think he was going to be like.

“I thought you’d be like a blancmange, wobble-wobble,” I confessed with a straight face, “But you’re gorgeous, Roland.”

(I’ve never actually seen blancmange, but I’m told it’s like jelly, only more wobbly, damp and sticky. And almost tasteless. And lumpy. But maybe blancmange isn’t wobbly so the simile might not make sense. I still don’t know if it’s that wobbly or not.)

As I prepared to get into bed, he asked if I’d ever been in bed with a guy before.

“No,” I said truthfully. “Virgin, remember?”

He chuckled and as I lay there he switched off the light. I felt him get into the bed, and realised how heavy he was – over double of my own weight. I couldn’t see him at all which was eerie because I knew he was right beside me.

“Okay, this is what happens,” he said, and slid his arm under me so it was wrapped around my shoulders. It was snuggly. We were talking a little bit. I reached out and ran my hand down his back/whatever bit of Roland it was. The skin felt as smooth as my own, and baby-soft, which surprised me as the skin on his face is rough (not dry skin, just rough). He turned over so he was on all fours over me. I knew without being able to see. He ran his hand over my thigh.Just like when I’d held the knife to his balls, the feeling of absolute rightness hit me. He kept stroking, even as he said “But we can’t do anything more, because we need to get some sleep.” I thought, Goddamn it Roland, then why are you touching my thigh?! Don’t you understand what that DOES to me? It needs to be fulfilled, you can’t start it and not finish it!! Well, maybe boys can. I wouldn’t know. I’m quite ignorant/naive when it comes to this stuff.

I actually forgot to write that when I was holding the knife to Roland’s balls, I asked him if I could slap him and I did, twice, just before snogging him.

So, we tried to sleep, but couldn’t. We had to be up at 5:45am to arrive at 9pm in Newcastle where he was doing a photoshoot. I’d asked to tag along because being dropped off in Princes Street at 6am didn’t appeal. Yeah, there’d be a bus for me at 7am so only an hour to kill, and I had my mp3. I’ve waited for 4 hours for the 7am bus before, after leaving a club once, and it honestly flew right by because I had a meal, got talking to people, including a guy who wanted me to come back to his flat and whose parting shot was, “I would love to take you back to my mattress.” He was good looking, went to engineering college, and I was considering it but went with the thumbs-down. Obviously God was saving me for £8,000 Roland. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes: that waiting an hour for the bus didn’t bother me, but it wouldn’t look plausible to arrive home that early. My mum knew the bus times, and I love sleeping in so waking up at dawn would be an implausible story- I’d have to wander till the shops opened and head for the bus at 10am or later. Roland had offered to drop me off in my area/town, but since a car would arrive much earlier than a bus, this would only seem more implausible – in fact, it would be obvious I hadn’t taken the bus, as Roland reckoned he’d drop me off at 7am, which is the time the bus would leave. Telling her that my (student) friend had a car (and more importantly, that much petrol to burn) also didn’t sound plausible, and would still mean that we had got up at dawn.

So, it made more sense for me to go to Newcastle with Roland and be dropped off on his way back, up past Edinburgh to meet some lawyers.

Anyway, we couldn’t get to sleep. For me, maybe because it was all new, having someone next to me and wrapped around me. For him, maybe because I wasn’t Magda. We tried different (sleeping, you dirty readers 🙂 ) positions. When he wasn’t holding me I felt more sleepy but still couldn’t get to sleep. I also found out that Roland snores when he’s awake, which I thought was impossible. Maybe it’s just a Roland thing. Dunno how Magda copes with it, though. Maybe she just puts him in a cage at night, or a kennel with “Roland” on it. He would make a good doggie. But I know he’s not into it.

Roland suggested we sleep separately and “since you’re comfortable here, I think it’s fair if I leave you here and sleep in another room.”

It wasn’t as snuggly with him gone, but I had a double bed to myself – it might’ve been a king-sized bed, actually – and it was fun thrashing around in it. I was asleep in about half an hour.

*Skinny in terms of a normal, healthy person…i.e. still fat if I was put in a TV ad.

*Shame-words such as ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ are always used ironically or in a non-serious way in this blog, as they are sexist and illegitimate concepts created by the patriarchy to repress women.


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Granted wishes: happiness?

In Book 4 or 5 of Christopher Pike’s Last Vampire series, vampire Alisa/Sita reflects on Krishna granting our deepest desires and the pain caused by our maya (illusions) when we discover that our greatest longings bring us the most suffering. For her, the longing/maya of having her daughter Lalita reborn meant that she was given the apparently demonic Kalika as a daughter.

For me, three of my greatest longings (apart from going to university, being successful, earning a lot of money, having a private plane and a Ferrari and having orgies in a mansion) were 1) peace/the cessation of criticism, 2) hair that is more straight and 3) to sell my virginity.

I have been granted all of these things (though not, I believe, by a higher power, but by chance, genetics, and fate respectively). However, they have turned out differently from what I thought and they have not provided me with closure, happiness or answers.

I have peace, but although I am very grateful for it, it brings me little relief. This is because I’m left with the memories and more questions than answers, as well as being unsure about what really happened and why. At least while I had no peace I knew what was going on even though I was confused. Now I think that distance from the events mean I’ll never figure out what happened or what went wrong – if anything; I might be making a big deal out of nothing. I can’t even figure out if it’s a real issue or if I’m just exaggerating it.

Since I was very young I wanted straight or wavy hair, but a couple of years ago I learned more about my hair texture and type and realized I actually have very straight hair for my ethnicity. I came to love my hair. Then it straightened, and it’s now wavy and not curly. So though finally my wish has been granted, I kind of miss my curls. I never even got to know them properly and spent my whole life fighting my texture with gels, serums and anti-frizz products, even chopping the crown and sides, leaving the back and bottom of the sides long so it would look more straight. I like having straighter hair, but I know I’ll never get my curls back; my hair has reverted almost to the straight hair I had as a baby. The same thing happened with my skin: I spent my entire life wanting to be lighter and daydreaming about skin bleach, hoping it’d be invented soon and a couple of times Googling for it. Then I saw a documentary at 19 that showed where to get skin lighteners and that they cost as little as under £5 – I’d have spent well over £100 gladly. But the documentary showed how harmful the lighteners were and how sad/pointless/self-harming the cult of being pale was, and I realized that I liked being the colour I was and that actually I was unusually light-skinned so didn’t need to be any lighter. A few months later, I got paler, the palest I’ve ever been (though I had been slowly paling since I was 16 anyway). But I didn’t enjoy it, I just thought, ‘ok’ because I no longer linked colour and beauty.

As for selling my virginity, I imagined it would be to a stunning man whom I didn’t like or connect with at all. But Roland is exactly the opposite. I also thought that it would be over in a few minutes, not long drawn out over a few days – well, weeks, as we can’t see each other that often. I also didn’t think this much art and stuff would come out of it or that I’d learn so much about myself from it. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it so much either, or that the guy would be nice like Roland is.

So, I’m not saying “be careful what you wish for”, instead I’m saying that wishes might not turn out like you expect and that can be a good thing because it shows how much you’ve matured and transcended the petty motives of your wishes (which like #2 might have been influenced by childhood experiences of prejudice, bullying, media ideals of beauty or cultural expectations). And when you realize that your wish has been granted and it means nothing to you, there is a certain feeling of power in it. And when your wish is granted differently to how you percieved it (like #3) and you feel that this is actually even better and more fun and amazing than you’d hoped for, it’s freakin’ awesome.







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