W00t.

My body and I have had our differences*, but I do love my genetics/metabolism.

I am 6′ tall. My weight, for most of my adult life, has hovered around 160-165lbs.

Recently, I realized I’d crept up to 185lbs without noticing. I did not like this. First off, my art modelling career sometimes involves costumes and I can’t afford to grow out of mine. Secondly, I prefer the way I look when I’m a bit thinner. Thirdly, this weight gain puts me squarely in the space between regular and plus sizes, which makes finding clothes (for my bottom half, anyway) really difficult and frustrating if I do decide I can afford to buy some.

But even twenty pounds over my “normal” weight (which wasn’t super skinny to begin with) I was still basically hourglass-shaped, just a little thicker. And it’s pretty easy for me to lose weight**: I stopped keeping mayonnaise in the house a couple of weeks ago, and generally tried to be more conscientious of my fat intake, and my waist and hips are down an inch already. I was meaning to exercise more, too, but haven’t been feeling up to it lately. So it was just the dietary change that did it. I don’t eat less than before, and I still mostly eat the same things. Just no mayo and limited salad dressing.

Now, you have to understand that I chunked up in the first place because my eating habits had gotten craaaaaaazy. I have this chicken soup thing I make in the slow cooker and I’d been in the habit of making it into a “cream soup” by stirring about two tablespoons of mayo into every bowl I ate. And I’ll usually eat almost nothing but soup all day if there’s some available, because I’ve been feeling too low-energy to cook/prepare something every single time I wanna eat, so I was probably adding an extra hundred grams of fat/thousand calories a day to my diet some days. Easily.

Still. My body’s natural “levelling off” point of 165lbs looks socially-acceptably-thin on me, and when I eat too much crap and gain weight I still look socially-acceptably-thin because the fat mostly lands on my hips/thighs/ass and my waist stays comparatively narrow. And I can shed extra weight almost effortlessly. Some people aren’t so lucky, on any of those fronts.

I’m not sure if this makes up for the bad things my body does to me. But it’s something.

*Thanks a lot for the food sensitivities, OCD, anxiety, and depression, asshole!

**Up to a point. I would imagine if I wanted to be lighter than 160lbs that would take a lot of work.

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Progress

My headmistress (the word makes me picture the principal of a stuffy English boarding school, but it’s apparently also what you call a woman who runs a dungeon) sent me what she considers to be the best promotional pics from our shoot, for my approval. I learned at the shoot that Headmistress is not a photographer – just an average schmoe with a digital camera. I guess she wanted to take the pics herself to save money. Which is understandable but I was worried that between her lack of technical skill and my weird-ass face, none of the pics would look any good.

But no, there were many that were at least serviceable and a couple that I really liked. I’m sure a professional photographer would find issues with them all, but they show my personality and play up my physical assets and that’s the main thing.

If I do a few sessions and decide I definitely like this gig, I’ll probably see about getting some professional pics taken. The Veteran and The Bunny both know good photographers who might help me out for cheap or free.

In other news, the Celexa I’m on for anxiety seems to be making me super hungry. I think I probably have been kinda depressed without realizing it and it was killing my appetite (par for the course with me). I thought maybe my attention span was getting better since going on the pills, but now I’m not sure. And I’ve suddenly been feeling really low-energy and needing to sleep a crazy amount but I think actually I may be coming down with a cold and that’s why. I know this sounds whackadoo but I get a weird smell inside my head when I’m getting sick (when I was little I called it “the flu smell” and my mom thought I was nuts). I can smell traces of the flu smell sometimes lately, and if I pay really close attention my head feels kinda “off,” too. Spacey, or something. So yeah.

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Doing all the things.

There’s a guy I’ve been talking to on FetLife, and tried to meet up with a few times. He had to cancel twice, for perfectly reasonable reasons. Then there were two times when he was like “Soooo, when can we reschedule?” and I was like “Um I have a lot of stuff going on, please bear with me.”

Which probably sounds like a cheap excuse, to him. But the first time around, I had a costume to sew for an art modelling job and I’d put it off til the last minute, and then it was Pride weekend and The Veteran and I were going to try our hand at street vending our artsy wares there, so there was a bunch of preparation. And I was going to physiotherapy for my fucked up arm. So that week was pretty used up.

And now I just got a new kitten, just got prescribed antidepressants (and also therapy, so multiple appointments with various professionals) and I’m in the process of becoming a pro domme.

So yeah. This is not your garden variety postponement. I got shit goin’ on, yo.

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Here we go.

Had my pro-domme promotional photos taken today. Wrote my profile text yesterday. I’m actually doing this.

*Eeeeep*

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Deja vu all over again

Finally went to the doctor about my anxiety issues. I thought that anti anxiety meds were a different thing from antidepressants (which I’ve been on in the past and did not want to go on again) but apparently I was misinformed. The doctor prescribed me some fucking antidepressants. And I’m going to take them because I can’t pull myself up out of this on my own.

And, in a hilarious twist, I got her to prescribe me some new drug because I didn’t want to go back on something I’d tried before (one of the things I hated about antidepressants is that every single one I ever tried ultimately stopped working). When I went to get the prescription filled, the pharmacist said there was a much cheaper drug that worked in a very similar way and did I want that instead. Saving money is good. I said yes. And it turns out the cheaper drug he switched me to is Celexa – which I have been on before. He’d been referring to it by its generic name so I didn’t catch on.

My friend Kaija told me (and my doctor agreed) that my body chemistry may have changed, and a drug might not have the same effect on me now as it did 15-odd years ago when I first took it. But still. I’m pretty much anticipating history to repeat itself.

A month’s supply of Celexa is only $18 though so at least I’m not paying an arm and a leg for the privilege. Some of the shit I used to take was like $200/month.

Also, the doctor is gonna hook me up with some cognitive behavioural therapy and a psychiatrist (who can prescribe me a more fine-tuned cocktail of drugs if I need it). So if the Celexa does that same old thing of working at first and then petering out, I’ll probably have a backup plan in place by then.

And in addition to the antidepressants, my doctor prescribed me some sleeping pills and ordered some blood tests to make sure it’s not actually some other issue fucking me up. I like this: I like that she’s given me antidepressants right away without making me wait, I like that she’s double-checking my blood just in case, and I like that she’s given me sleeping pills to help level me out while I wait for the antidepressants to kick in (the anxiety makes it hard for me to fall asleep and when I haven’t slept I get even more anxious and paranoid, so things kinda snowball).

Even if the Celexa does the exact same thing to me that it did the first time, it might be worth it just to have that brief reprieve from the shit going on in my head. Too bad I’ll also likely have a reprieve from being capable of orgasm (which is the other issue I had with Celexa and every other SSRI I tried).

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Achievement unlocked: threesome

The Bunny and I went to a sex club last night (this was the thing where he originally asked if I’d “lend him out” and I was like FUCK NO”). He since changed his tune and said the night would be all about me – all the pettings I wanted, and if I found a second boy for MOAR PETS that would be okay, too.

I think the other time that we went to this place was a student-oriented event or something; that time there were mostly young folks there, whereas last night it was mostly middle aged guys, and most of them were naked. Seeing this wide variety of older bodies is good practice for my pro domme career, actually. I only found a vanishingly small number of these older dudes attractive, but the bodies of the others mostly didn’t repulse me. They were just “meh.” I tried to imagine tying up and hurting these bodies in various ways, or making them kneel before me. I think I can make that work, and even get some genuine (if nonsexual) enjoyment out of it.

Anyway, I’d had high hopes of picking up a second guy to give me some kind of minor attention (at least) in conjunction with The Bunny, but the odds seemed disheartening. I think there were maybe five guys at the club who were young and (therefore?) cute, and at least two of those were wearing collars and thus presumably unavailable. Another one was, I think, someone from FetLife who’d made some gross posts and I did not deem him worthy of access to my body.

A few of the older guys were sort of appealing, at least body-wise – there were some nice, beefy round asses. But this becomes a philosophical argument in my head: is it gonna be better in the long run to make my fantasy happen with someone who’s just okay, or to hold out for a third whom I think is fucking crazy hot, but possibly never find one?

In the end I hit on the remaining young’un – the one who was neither taken nor possibly someone I’d seen online and disliked. He was cute; his body wasn’t OMG HOT to me right up front, but (like The Bunny’s or The Pedant’s) fell well within the range of types I could find super hot if I grew to like the guy. I peeled off from The Bunny’s side to go over and tell this boy he was “really rocking that outfit” (the outfit being nudity. GET IT? :P). We made some small talk and I fairly quickly brought up the fact that I was there with my boy and hoping to find a second person to pay attention to me at the same time. And (amazingly) he was totally game, provided he didn’t have to do any gay stuff.

And so the three of us ended up in the curtained little nook in which The Bunny and I had fucked last time around. They were both naked, I was still in my light summer dress. The second boy (we’ll call him The Chef because that’s what he does for a living) had said that he’s good at giving massages except he’s kinda grossed out by feet, so I sat with my legs stretched out and had him get behind me and massage my shoulders (and holy shit he wasn’t kidding about being good at that!) while The Bunny sat at the other end of me and caressed my feet and legs. 

The two boys made small talk with me and with each other, which was absolutely surreal to me, but lovely. I’m so accustomed to guys being jumpy and homophobic with each other. I remember one time my fuckbuddy Link was in town at a time when I had a guy friend staying with me; Link came over and we had a bunch of sex, but he was kind of cold and hostile toward my friend and could barely even make eye contact with him. So having two naked boys chatting politely with each other while making me squirm and moan was quite a lovely change.

At length, I asked The Chef if he was amenable to making out (I’d only really talked about massages and caresses before so I thought it best to ask). He was good with it. We started kissing, but he was still sitting behind me and my head was all twisted up and around so we quickly decided to change position. I lay down and got the boys to sandwich me, which is precisely how things always go in my fantasies about threesomes. 

The Chef’s one major misstep was to presume to a) pull my dress down on one side and b) suck hard on my nipple. I hate nipple stimulation, and immediately yanked his head off me by the hair and said “no.” We discussed the fact that I hate nipple stuff, he apologized, and everything was good again. He didn’t bypass my clothing again so I didn’t bother explaining to him the finer points of sexual negotiation.

And so I got to lie back and be caressed by two cute guys, and take turns kissing them. A hand started stroking my crotch through my boxers – The Chef’s. I had not specifically anticipated taking things to that directly sexual of a place, but what he was doing felt good so I went with it. Although I didn’t orgasm.

After a while I pointed out that it was getting late – both guys had mentioned having to work the next morning – and said we should probably wind things up. We all sat up and composed ourselves somewhat. The ensuing small talk was adorable…I remember two things in particular.

1) We all bitched about the number of times some idiot opened the curtains on us – wtf did they think we’d drawn them shut for?!?!? And I said the three of us should totally smuggle a Scrabble game into the nook sometime so that whenever someone peeked through the curtains hoping for a glimpse of something juicy, we’d just be calmly playing a board game. The Bunny and The Chef both thought that would be hilarious. My other idea was for someone to wear a scary clown mask and try to scare the shit out of people who opened or peeked through the curtain. The Chef said he should also put a very small clown mask on the end of his penis. I like him.

2) I made some crack about The Bunny pressing his dick against a window, which in turn reminded me of a movie where a woman presses her tits against the glass partition while visiting her boyfriend in prison. I was like “Ohhhh what’s that movie about drug smuggling…Something Express”…both guys simultaneously said “Pineapple Express.” I laughed and rolled my eyes and said “You guys. I am old. You have to think back further. I was thinking of, um…Midnight Express.”

I got pretty lucky with The Chef – I’d taken him on with pretty minimal talking, but once we were actually in the room doing stuff and more talking happened, I realized he’s actually really funny and personable and articulate. We exchanged info at the end of the night and will likely see each other again. And The Bunny shook his hand and said it was nice meeting him before we left, which I thought was super classy.

My various ups and downs with The Bunny had kinda depleted my feelings for him for a while, but his act of generosity last night has endeared me to him again. Maybe not love, but close to it. He really did make the night all about me.

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“Hot” is not a number.

Shopping for domme clothes (which should ideally be close-fitting and therefore I can’t fudge the fit) made me feel…angry? Insecure? Erased?

Because here’s the thing: my bottom half is an extra large. Actually, maybe 2XL or 3XL because I’ve gained some weight recently and most of it landed on my hips. American Apparel and the sex store didn’t even go that high in the vast majority of their clothing items. But I’m pretty sure I’m not quiiiiite big enough to be able to go to a fat chick store (and even if I were, I doubt the clothes would be made for someone with my shape). So as far as clothing companies are concerned, I just don’t exist.

And I suspect these stores don’t carry extra large sizes because they don’t want “fat chicks” wearing their stuff. Which is a shitty attitude anyway and they shouldn’t be like that, but also? I’M NOT FAT. At 6′ tall, even having gained 20lbs, I still have a 30″ waist and hourglass figure. I’m not eye-catchingly OMG-thin like I have been at some points in my life*, but I’m still not what any reasonable person would call fat. 

The problem, I think, is that people are fucking stupid and can’t conceive of the idea that a tall person will tend to have bigger dimensions overall than a short person (if I were fifty feet tall they would understand that I couldn’t possibly take a size 6 dress, but as it stands…). Most people see someone like me and think “Oh, she’s thin and well-built. That means her measurements are 36-24-36.” Or, y’know, whatever measurements they equate with “thin and hot.” Some guy was street-harassing me the other day, commenting on my “bangin'” body, and said “Man, what are your hips, like 38 inches, or something?”  I was looking extremely hourglassy that day, you see, and in his mind 38″ is the Official Circumference of Wide Hips. Perhaps because he read the stats of some curvy 5’2″ actress and she had 38″ hips. Mine, though, are currently 46″.

So when I went clothes shopping with The Veteran, she and various sales associates kept being like “There’s no extra large, but here’s a large – try that!” and handing me garments that, when I held them up to my hips, left a hand’s breadth of my body showing on either side (I think American Apparel’s clothes run unusually small btw). And I just get so tired of it. I get tired of the implication that they’ve dredged up the most enormous clothing item in the entire store so surely it must be able to fit me. I get tired of the condescending attitude that they know my body size better than I do. I’m tired of trying on clothes that, even if I can physically get them onto my body, make me look awkward and slablike when my actual figure is totally CATWOMAN KAPOW**.

And so I increasingly find myself acting sulky and apologetic in clothing stores, and I hate it, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s just so disheartening the way store clerks’ eyes go all startled when I ask for my proper size, like “Oh holy shit I’ve never had to deal with anyone this huge before.” I feel the need to pre-empt their shock “Yes, yes, I have wide hips. I know. Do you have anything at all that can accommodate them?

I’m only insecure when clothes shopping, dammit. When I wear something that actually fits, or when I’m wearing something I sewed myself, or when I’m naked, I feel hot as fuck.

 

*And even at my very thinnest, when I had a 28″ waist and sixpack abs, my hips were 42″ by the way.

**Dresses usually hug my hips and breasts but not the curve of my waist, giving the illusion that my body is much more straight-up-and-down than it actually is. Because, you know…it was made for someone built pretty straight-up-and-down.

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