Sunday, December 30, 2007
Object of desire
This is what my body looks like. Oh, that isn't me. But it's the nearest to it that I've ever seen. (I got it from The Adipositivity Project. Awesome pictures.)
I'm not used to having my body be an object of desire. In fact, I can't think of a single time my body has been desired explicitly for itself. Which is not to say I've never been loved. Being loved and being desired are two completely different things. I have been loved, and by extention, I have been desired. Because I was loved. From the love, the desire followed. But no one has ever looked at me and thought, Yes. I want her. Or if they have, they haven't been bold enough to say so.
My head knows there are people out there who genuinely prefer women my size. I know this. I see their websites, I see their magazines, I hear there are parties for them. But I have never meet them.
When I hooked up with the Boy this year, we had sex. It was nice enough, but it wasn't earth moving. He didn't seem all that interested in touching me, or paying attention to my body too much. He wanted to fuck. Which was fine, because so did I. But at a point it seemed to me that he should have really wanted to touch me some more. Tease me some more. We were just fucking, it wasn't a relationship, but it seemed like someone I was sleeping with should be a bit more enthralled with all the parts of my body. He didn't seem too interested when I kissed about his body or touched him either, so it could have simply been a personal preference. But still.
I have always thought that I could certainly find someone who would love me, because I am a rather lovable person. I'm a good partner. I'm smart, funny, caring, loving, protective, etc. But I always thought I'd be loved in spite of my body, not because of it. That there would always be some small part of my partner that was slightly ashamed of being seen with me. That there would be judgement from their family, that I'd have to prove that I was a good match for their loved one, despite my body.
The thought that someone could want my body, could literally be attracted and aroused by it, is new to me. It feels strange. Good, but strange. The thought that I don't have to explain why I'm eating a bowl of ice cream, or a sandwich, or whatever. Even if I've not eaten anything else all day, you know, shouldn't I be working on that body? It's....odd. I like it, but I just....I don't know. I feel strange about it.
You know how sometimes you ask the Universe for things and then it delivers and you don't know what to do with it? Yeah.