I'm just a girl... With Heavyweight Curves/ or L'anatomie de convoitise

This morning, I woke from an early bed, rubbing the previous night's fatigue from my eyes. I stood, stretching languorously... stiff joints popping gratefully with each pull. I did my usual yogic postures for morning stiffness. As I raised my arms high above my head, I suddenly stopped... taking a moment to look down at myself. This sudden appreciation for my full-form rushed me like a tidal wave. It came and hit me all at once. I took renewed interest in the span of my hips... wide, round, curvaceous, and full. Hips that can sway slowly, round and about, as hypnotic as a fine dispersion of incense smoke; or as quick as a Brazilian Samba beat. An underappreciated species of hips that've carried young African babes and Zulu nations. Hips that have spawned many bouts of self-love and self-hate. A schizophrenic state of mind that will find me full of confidence one month, and empty with narrow hopes the next. Ana never an option as a friend, however. These hips that whole countries have been known to dote on. A fleshed-out, voluptuous form looked upon as a properous and fortunate one. hips that make men consider infinite possibilties and others with infinitesimal minds, to scoff at the thought. Full, firm breasts that inspire poetry rather than truth, for the truth would force lascivious and inquiring minds to answer questions they would soon not know the answers to. Truth that would cause their faces to burn hot with shame. Thighs... firm from walking miles... thick with luscious waves, strong enough to crush myths of what the female form should look like. Enough strength to lift any paramour to places far and exotic, but with the ability to crush another's ego with ferocity and cunning. My derriere, large and round. Full with the wonder that Italians call Bella Forma! with glee and gusto as they watch it stride down cobble-stoned Sicilian streets. Full of the wondernment that cause Moorish American princes to mutter "damn" as they twist their heads in purient appreciation. For they can fully appreciate it better than any other type of man. I slowly bent down... exhaling... head touching my toes, all the while noting thick calves. Easily defined with the arch of a heel. With the ability to choke the life from any cad who deems it necessary to make me second guess my esteem for myself. Like a former paramour I flung with, who remarked,"You have a sensuous look, some men may be into that, and some might not be." I scoffed at his suggestion, for it was my big secret that kept him coming, and coming, and cumming... Refusing to struggle in my web, because it was his intention to be tangled in it. Prey to the same sensuousness that he then questioned. Certain male types have never been able to discern this particular brand of feminity thus, making them nervous with every orgasmic shudder, as I received them. Me, aloof-with-a hint-of- smug, as I politely bid them farewell at the end of the night. They never forgot me. They don't forget me. Memories built on unspoken words, them realizing that full is not nearly as heavy as an empty mind. My sensuous essence haunts them, like a spicy Moroccan scent, blowing in the Mediterranean breeze. They are shocked that they're enthralled by thick, honey-like feminity, so they backpeddal like a sinner ... just saved mere moments before. These are the men who are weak and cowardly... and so they go forgotten... never to be looked upon with regard. Looked at with disdain for their perpetuation of emaciated trophies. Inhaling, I slowly come up from my toes. I touched a full, shapely belly. Ripe with soft secrets. Discovered only via seances and gentle prodding from an admiring lover. Lust ridden and wanting to taste nectar from a peach, ripe with juices as moist as a humid, summer rain. Only real Men need apply. Start the chase with ravenous flirts. Woo with high regard and appreciation for Bella Forma. I may just let you make it to the finish line.

5 comments

Anonymous said...

Quite pleased with this new French word I haven't ever used...I LIKE IT! What a wonderful realization to come to know...it's sad that we don't remember that we are beautiful and should be praised accordingly. Good or bad we are the skin we're in so why not enjoy all of it, you know?!

lovely writing, Coffey

- Cat

emeralda said...

Hey, you beautiful!
First of all: THANK YOU for this beautiful post, these beautiful words! that was nice...
Secondly: let me confess: I have always regretted (and don't think this is a reversed racisim or anything, it s just pure love for colour and form) that i am not black. when i was a kid i sometimes sat in the back of my mom's car and cried because i wanted to be black, and why the hell anyways have i been born in Germany. I really think that black skin makes you even the more beautiful, also, i think you can have no matter which form/shape, you will look automatically already better (in my humble eyes) than the girl with the same form/shape in white.
i know this must sound somewhat stupid, but yeah, i just felt like writing it.

by the way, i have also come a long way to actually appreciate my 'womanish' forms, appreciate that i am a big, strong woman and that there is nothing wrong with that.

the guys who cannot deal with me...well, unfortunately, have to be sorted out. sometimes a hurful realization but then again... thats our life

Oh yez, and to conclude this long comment: I just recently got the wonderful opportunity to fully discover and appreciate my body as a woman in sexual ways and guess what, (this didn't help me to decrease my 'positive prejudices' for afro-descendants) it was a wonderful afro-american who introduce me to the 'real' women in me.

so what ever all these clichees are about....i give a fuck how stupid this sounds, it s just worth being mentioned that there is true love for beauty!!!!!

piranha

Unknown said...

dug the piece. it was triumphant yet sensual, firm yet soft.

did it again, homie

The Humanity Critic said...

Awesome piece, excellent.

BeautyinBaltimore said...

Very nice piece.