Curvy Girl Quotes

And mostly, I’m furious that I live in a world that has the power to make me feel ugly and unlovable because of my body.

When I listen to smut, I’m no longer a plus-sized girl with a guitar-shaped figure. I’m just another curvy girl ready to lose every ounce of my feminism when the narrator growls: "Are you going to give me what I want, little girl?

I see ridiculous stories about my butt, like how it has been insured. I feel like saying, "Hey, everyone has a butt. It's not that big a deal!" But I suppose it's flattering. Personally, I've always loved the curvy look. Even when I was a little girl and all my friends would be like, "Oh, my god, your butt's so big." And I'd say, "I love it.

You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his voice husky. “And when a guy has something beautiful, he doesn’t let it go. Not when it’s easy, and definitely not when things get hard.

The reality was my life wasn't miserable because I was curvy; I was miserable because I thought I'd be happier if I were thinner.

To all the girls that think you’re ugly because you’re not a size 0, you’re the beautiful one. It’s society who’s ugly.

People aren’t just confident and then that’s it, there’s nothing that can dent that confidence. People aren’t just brave and then free from fear their entire lives. We exist in tangles of virtue and weakness simultaneously—we are the best and worst of ourselves all at the same time.

Oral sex is one of the most intimate sex acts you can take part in, and in many ways it can feel more intimate than penetrative sex. It is a vulnerable act in which you relinquish control of your most private and sensitive body part to your partner.

What if I slip and behave towards you in an unprofessional manner?” “Please do something unprofessional,

Let’s be real,” he said with a smirk. “You’ve never been the good girl.” I tried to hold back a smile and said, “Really, what kind of girl am I?” “Right now?” he asked. “Mine.

Humans are famous in the four sectors for your ability to care deeply for beings who are not of your own species.

The worst part about being a fat woman isn’t that people look at you with judgment in their eyes. It’s that most don’t look at you at all. You cease to be a person for whom they need to account. They look over your shoulder, or at the ground in front of you, or they glaze their eyes and look directly through you. It’s like being a ghost, but with none of the fun of haunting.

Yes, orgasm can be an incredible feeling that allows you to fully take advantage of your anatomy and surrender to all the joys that can lead up to your climax. But whether you orgasm at all or you have multiple orgasms during sex, it’s just part of the pleasure-filled journey—not the culmination or result.

Infatuation isn't a subtle emotion

I was very brave in theory

I wanted to go out in public and not feel like people were judging me for my size, but seeing me as a whole person.

We all have something we’re hiding, Candy. Something so deep and so personal very few people in the world know the secret we’re so desperately trying to preserve.

Continuously ask yourself, “What makes me feel confident, comfortable, grounded, joyful, connected, and mischievous?” Start noticing when you feel that way and why.

Using lube has been known to make penetrative sex last longer, and even a drop in the well of a condom can make wearing one a lot more comfy.

Sensuality is all about your own personal path to pleasure, the courage to explore it, and the confidence that comes from understanding that part of you.

I get asked this question the most: “What’s your number-one tip for improving someone’s sex life?” My answer is always “Communication.

For the curvy gal, a wand like the Original Magic Wand, is essential because of its length and strength; it can navigate over a large stomach to reach the clit with ease. Another reason a wand is a fantastic tool to keep close is that girls with big tummies can tuck the handle of the wand under their soft belly to hold it in place during missionary-style sex.

The numbers that come up when they step on a scale have nothing to do with that. And if that’s true, then it means my weight or the size of clothes I wear have no say in how worthy I am of love.

Being in better tune with our sense helps to release some of our inhibitions and embrace the more open and playful parts of ourselves. Owning your sexiness builds confidence and encourages boldness in our everyday lives. When you feel sensual, you are better able to feel sexy. And when you feel sexy, you’re feeling positive—and I think we can all agree that feeling positive makes a huge difference in our daily lives.

We should be able to time travel," he said. "Back to an age when society was kinder to the Rubenesque woman." "Hmph." I wasn't able to say much. "I'd love that. I love softness. Love curves. The more, the better." "D'you really?" "Why wouldn't I? Think of all the words associated with a bit of extra flesh. Generous. Ample. Voluptuous. Bountiful. Beautiful, sensual words. Contrast them with their opposites. Mean. Insufficient. Meager. Miserly." I snuffled into his velvet jerkin or doublet or whatever it was and looked up at him. "You should be a professional morale booster," I told him. "You're very kind to say all this but --" "Kind?" he burst out. "No, I'm not kind! I don't feel sorry for you. I want you.

Each of our bodies is unique. We may share the same basic make-up as men and women, but we certainly don't feel everything the same. What feels good on your body may not always feel good on someone else's body and that is absolutely natural.

It might surprise you to know that the missionary position is most women’s favorite position. Missionary may at first glance seem boring, but it is also one of the most versatile positions. There are endless ways to modify it and take it to new levels.

I sometimes use the word “fat,” as I consider it to be an accurate descriptor of some curvy gals, including me. I believe using “fat” in a nonpejorative way helps destigmatize and inure us to the word as the insult it’s become, and gets us used to seeing it as it was meant to be used: As a neutral descriptor. I use the words curvy, plus-size, zaftig, plump, larger, and bigger in the same spirit. Some of these words may make you bristle at first, but they are not meant negatively but solely as adjectives.

They know.” He shrugged, stepping closer again. This time, I didn’t back away. His right hand wound around my waist, pulling me ever so gently toward him. “Everyone knows, and I’m not wasting another second pretending to be the guy I was. I’m yours, Cori. Only yours.

Sure she had a little extra weight on her body, but since when does a number on the scale dictate who you are? She was a smart, fun, and good person, and that should count for something. And she was pretty, so what if she carried a few extra pounds, she was still a pretty girl,

Fantasies are an essential part of a healthy sex life. Respecting and expressing your own needs in a responsible and loving way builds your sexual confidence. Never forget that you are in charge of your own sexuality, and you deserve an exciting, sensual, and communicative sex life!

Accepting your body means accepting that sexual pleasure is not meant just for other people. Sex is a human right. Take back that right! Empower yourself as a sexy, sensual woman by discovering your likes and dislikes, turn-ons and turn-offs, and the positions that give you the most pleasure.

All my life, I was never overweight but I was also never underweight. Where other girls were toned and trim, I was softer and curvy. When my friends went to dance class, I played tennis and softball. I came out of the womb with my upper thighs touching and they’ve refused to be parted ever since.

Trailblazers in feminist Porn include female filmmakers like Tristan Taormino and Erika Lust, who make certain that their actors are treated fairly and respectfully. They create sexy, sensual visuals and storylines, and always make certain their actors have chemistry, connection, and real orgasms.

Lube helps to prevent micro-tears on the delicate skin in and on the genitals, which leave us vulnerable to sexually transmitted infections. Lube also makes the friction between your vagina (or anus) and whatever is being inserted silky and comfortable, as well as aids in smooth and nongrating hand sex.

Spooning and sideways positions can get hot and dirty but they also can be about building connection and closeness. If you want to get super intimate and close, sideways sex can get deep quick when you’re skin-to-skin against your lover and moving in rhythm together. Your bodies feel snug and more conjoined than ever.

That was what you were trained to do as a plus-size girl—cover up. Turn around. Hide. Don’t expose anyone to your body in case it made them uncomfortable. Never mind how that secrecy made you feel like your body was something to be ashamed of. According to our society, your body wasn’t for you. It was for you to show everyone else.

Knowing how you like to be touched and being able to communicate that kindly to a partner is a major component of a satisfying sex life. But how do you know what makes your body sing if you haven’t spent some time finding out? Solo sex (masturbation) is a natural way to understand what your particular body likes and how it likes to be aroused.

Now on the screen, Carson shook his head. “What’s with you girls and feeling like you have to be perfect to go out in public?” he asked. “It’s not like it’s a sale barn and they weigh you before you can go in! Just because the rest of the school acts like there’s a weight limit on hotness doesn’t mean they’re right. Or that you need to buy into it.

Mutual masturbation can be a terrific precursor to intercourse, or it can be a main event all on its own. I’m a big proponent of mutual masturbation for couples looking to reestablish intimacy in their relationship. Masturbating each other or in front of each other can build anticipation, tease each other, and serve as foreplay. There’s so much room to explore.

Daniel looked down the barrel of the shotgun al set to blow his brains out and grinned. These days, even a gun-toting, trigger-happy female was a delight to behold, and she was perfect. Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window. She all but shone with it, like an angel or a princess or something. Something a little overdue for a bath and a lot on edge, but something very good just the same. The feeling of sweet relief rushing through him nearly buckled his knees. Tall and curvy, around thirty at a guess, and uninfected, she was by far the best thing he had ever seen in jeans and a t-shirt. Not even the dried blood splattered on the wal behind her could diminish the picture she made. Sadly, his girl did not appear to share his joy

The fact of the matter is that the positions you might see porn stars doing are not positions the rest of us can do right off the bat, if at all. These actors are professionals—in fact, think of them as trained athletes. You wouldn’t expect to wake up on a Sunday morning and run a marathon without any training, would you? Athletic accomplishments, including sexual ones, take practice.

She was happy with what she saw from the front, but turning and seeing her profile in the mirror left her feeling a little self-conscious. She pulled in her stomach, and swore she’d need to start wearing shape wear soon, but this would have to do for now. At least her legs were still mostly shapely. She had thin ankles, but the closer you got to her pudgy knees, the more it became obvious she carried extra weight.

So it is with sexual pleasure. Sure, I can show you the positions that work best if you’re a plus-size woman, but none of it will help you enjoy sex if you don’t know how to perceive and extract pleasure from your own body . . . and I’m not just talking about orgasm. The first step to experiencing sexual pleasure is knowing how our bodies are built to give us pleasure so we can take advantage of all they have to offer!

Increasing Water Intake   During this time is when I really start to stress the importance of water and how it helps us regulate our bodies and keep us healthy. We are 80% water, believe it or not. Water keeps us hydrated and allows for proper nutrients to flow about our body as we need them. You can see now why it is so important. Now that you are more active, it is even more important to get your water intake levels up. Did you know that not having adequate water intake

Sexual Arousal and Foreplay: If we’re to believe that what we see in movies, our sexual rendezvous would consist of 10 seconds of kissing, 5 seconds of groping, and another 5 seconds closing the deal. A straightforward sex scene doesn’t commonly show the female arousal process, and a lot of the time, this process is key in order to have a really satisfying sexual experience. Fooling around a lot before part A goes into slot B gets the female body prepped for sex in very important way.

When I’m asked what the number-one tip for better sex is, I always say conscious breathing. By controlling your breath, you also control the oxygen in your bloodstream. Highly oxygenated blood gives our bodies more energy and helps our organs function to their highest potential. Just learning how to do one very simple specific breathing technique—like Breath of Fire or synchronized breathing with your partner—during sex and at climax can significantly improve your pleasure in the moment.

Vaginal tissue does not stretch out with use, no matter how much you use it or how large the penis or toy is that it’s used with. For comparison, think of your mouth and how it is stretched and manipulated every day, yet it retains its shape—the same goes for your vagina. But like any muscle, the PC muscles that surround the vaginal canal can get weaker with age and after giving birth. Doing Kegel exercises regularly can help keep the PC muscles from losing their grip and might make your vagina feel “tighter” around a penis if clenched during sex.

Dude, wait until you see the hot little number on there!” He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “What are you talking about? Aren’t all flight attendant’s middle-aged, blonde women?” “Not this one. She’s feisty too, kneed me right in the balls.” I smiled, and it was actually genuine. I wondered if he was fucking with me. But, it was enough to peak my curiosity. I slowly walked towards the plane wondering if it was going to be a grandma, or something. It wouldn’t be the first time. I really hoped that it wasn’t some die-hard groupie either. As soon as I reached the top of the stairs I almost tripped and fell on my face when I got my first look at her. She was gorgeous! She looked like she walked straight off of a pin-up girl calendar. She had long, black hair with strands of hot pink. I appraised my way down her body. She had a slim waist and curvy hips. She was built like an hourglass. I noticed a couple of sexy facial piercings. She had an adorable little nose and big brown eyes. Then I saw a tattoo peeking out on her shoulder. I could tell that she had a chest piece. I was instantly hard. Awesome…

When it comes to getting down, I look at sex like food, and sensuality is its flavor. Like food, sex can be satiating. It feeds our hunger and nourishes our body—you might even argue we need it to live. But if you think about it, making food delicious to eat and crave-worthy relies on flavor. Flavor is unique to the chef preparing the food and then interpreted by the palate of the taster. A food’s flavor, and thus sensuality, can be simple or it can be sweet or spicy, or it can open up a variety of senses. Everyone is his or her own chef—with diners who crave their dishes.

It starts before you can remember: you learn, as surely as you learn to walk and talk, the rules for being a girl... Put a little color on your face. Shave your legs. Don’t wear too much makeup. Don’t wear short skirts. Don’t distract the boys by wearing bodysuits or spaghetti straps or knee socks. Don’t distract the boys by having a body. Don’t distract the boys. Don’t be one of those girls who can’t eat pizza. You’re getting the milk shake too? Whoa. Have you gained weight? Don’t get so skinny your curves disappear. Don’t get so curvy you aren’t skinny. Don’t take up too much space. It’s just about your health. Be funny, but don’t hog the spotlight. Be smart, but you have a lot to learn. Don’t be a doormat, but God, don’t be bossy. Be chill. Be easygoing. Act like one of the guys. Don’t actually act like one of the guys. Be a feminist. Support the sisterhood. Wait, are you, like, gay? Maybe kiss a girl if he’s watching though—that’s hot. Put on a show. Don’t even think about putting on a show, that’s nasty. Don’t be easy. Don’t give it up. Don’t be a prude. Don’t be cold. Don’t put him in the friend zone. Don’t act desperate. Don’t let things go too far. Don’t give him the wrong idea. Don’t blame him for trying. Don’t walk alone at night. But calm down! Don’t worry so much. Smile! Remember, girl: It’s the best time in the history of the world to be you. You can do anything! You can do everything! You can be whatever you want to be! Just as long as you follow the rules.

I twirled in front of the mirror slowly, wanting to see the full effect of my new dress front and back. It was a daring little thing made of black silk, its front held by thin strings tied behind my neck and completely backless.  I did another twirl, asking out loud, “Do you think this looks good on me?” I wanted my friends’ opinions before they left to have dinner with their families and I had to leave for my second date with my week-old boyfriend. “Everything looks good on you,” Alyx said, rolling her eyes. She was on the armchair in the corner, one leg tossed carelessly over the side. Slender with boyishly cut hair, she could always be counted on to say the truth, no matter how harsh it was. Even so, I still felt insecure. I always was when it came to the boy I loved. Glancing at the other girl who made up our close-knit trio, I asked Yanna, “What do you think?” “It’s what I always think,” Yanna said simply. Petite and curvy, she was lying on her stomach on the floor, flipping through the latest issue of Teen Vogue. Seeing that I was waiting for an explanation, she laughed and elaborated obediently, “You look drop dead gorgeous.”  The words should have comforted me, but it didn’t. I knew Yanna meant what she said, and not just because she happened to be the nicest and most polite person I knew. She was also hopeless when it came to lying, and that was probably why I felt worse now. Doubt had shadowed her gaze as she uttered the compliment, and the sight made it harder for me to stay deaf to the warning inside my head.

Why this girl? Why had this girl crawled right under his skin and made an uncomfortable home there? Why did he want to make things good for her, to see her smile, to make her face and her voice make all those interesting shapes and noises? Why did he want to stay up late with her when he knew she should be sleeping, just to hear her talk about maths and politics and the state of the world? This was not Quentin. Quentin did not like skinny girls. He didn’t like serious girls. And he really hated bossy girls. Quentin loved curvy, fun, uncomplicated girls; girls who laughed at his jokes and took off their bras when they danced on tables. If they wore bras at all. Yet here he was, washing up and mopping and feeling like five kinds of an arsehole over hurting the feelings of some skinny, serious, bossy girl.

Well, well, do we have a new girl?’ I looked up to see three girls standing behind Tak. The one in the middle was tall and slim with bronzed skin and long shiny black hair and she had that air about her that the popular girls at school back home did. I was instantly wary. Those girls had never been nice to me. ‘Don’t be shy, what’s your name?’ the girl on her left said. Curly red hair framed her perfect face and she put her hands on her ample, curvy hips, waiting for me to answer. ‘Pandora,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m Arketa,’ said the slim girl. ‘And this is Filis and Kiko.’ The red-head, Kiko, cocked her head and gave me an over-the-top smile. ‘We’re Aphrodite descendants.’ That explained why they were so attractive, I thought. ‘You know, you’re not pretty enough to hang out with us but you’re better than these losers,’ Filis said. She was shorter than the other two, with rich brown hair and an exotic looking face with full pouty lips.

Simple." Braydyn took a deep breath. "Those other lasses are vases and she's a flower pot." "Dude, what the hell are you talking about? Vases and flower pots?" Mitch furrowed his brow in confusion. "Vases are usually beautiful and purely decorative. They're sleek and sometimes expensive. But they are also the place flowers go te die. They can only bring life to the flower for so long before its empty shell eventually kills it. And if they're not used te temporarily hold flowers, then they're empty and meant for nothing more than te look pretty on someone's shelf or mantel." Bradyn leaned back in his chair, placed his hands on the back on his head and smiled, before continuing. "Now, a flower pot can be bonnie, painted, or even a little fancy. They can also be chipped and round and even plain. But they're filled with rich soil and if treated right, they are the places where flowers go te grow. Payton is a flower pot. Those other lasses are vases. I have no need for a vase.

So Dad was a tedious, well-connected workaholic. But the other thing you need to understand is that Mom was a living wet dream. A former Guess model and Miller Lite girl, she was tall, curvy and gorgeous. At thirty-eight, she had somehow managed to remain ageless and maintained her killer body. She’s five-foot-nine with never-ending legs, generous breasts and full hips that scoop dramatically into her slim waist. People who say Barbie’s proportions are unrealistic obviously never met my stepmother. Her face is pretty too, with long eyelashes, sculpted cheekbones and big, blue eyes that tease and smile at the same time. Her long brown hair rests on her shoulders in thick, tousled layers like in one of those Pantene Pro-V commercials. One memory seared in to my brain from my early teenage years is of Mom parading around the house one evening in nothing but her heels and underwear. I was sitting on the couch in the living room watching TV when a flurry of long limbs and blow-dried hair burst in front of the screen. “Teddy-bear. Do you know where Silvia left the dry cleaning? I’m running late for dinner with the Blackwells and I can’t find my red cocktail dress.” Mom stood before me in matching off-white, La Perla bra and panties and Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Some subtle gold hoop earrings hung from her ears and a tiny bit of mascara on her eye lashes highlighted her sparkling, blue eyes. Aside from the missing dress, she was otherwise ready to go. “I think she left them hanging on the chair next to the other sofa,” I said, trying my best not to gape at Mom’s perfect body. Mom trotted across the room, her heels tocking on the hard wood floor. I watched her slim, sexy back as she lifted the dry cleaning onto the sofa and then bent over to sort through the garments. My eyes followed her long mane of brown hair down to her heart-shaped ass. Her panties stretched tightly across each cheek as she bent further down. “Found it!” She cried, springing back upright, causing her 35Cs to bounce up and down from the sudden motion. They were thrusting proudly off her ribcage and bulging out over the fabric of the balconette bra like two titanic eggs. Her supple skin pushed out over the silk edges. And then she was gone as quickly as she had arrived, her long legs striding back down the hallway.

It was at night,” I say. “What was?” “What happened. The car wreck. We were driving along the Storm King Highway.” “Where’s that?” “Oh, it’s one of the most scenic drives in the whole state,” I say, somewhat sarcastically. “Route 218. The road that connects West Point and Cornwall up in the Highlands on the west side of the Hudson River. It’s narrow and curvy and hangs off the cliffs on the side of Storm King Mountain. An extremely twisty two-lane road. With a lookout point and a picturesque stone wall to stop you from tumbling off into the river. Motorcycle guys love Route 218.” We stop moving forward and pause under a streetlamp. “But if you ask me, they shouldn’t let trucks use that road.” Cool Girl looks at me. “Go on, Jamie,” she says gently. And so I do. “Like I said, it was night. And it was raining. We’d gone to West Point to take the tour, have a picnic. It was a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky until the tour was over, and then it started pouring. Guess we stayed too late. Me, my mom, my dad.” Now I bite back the tears. “My little sister. Jenny. You would’ve liked Jenny. She was always happy. Always laughing. “We were on a curve. All of a sudden, this truck comes around the side of the cliff. It’s halfway in our lane and fishtailing on account of the slick road. My dad slams on the brakes. Swerves right. We smash into a stone fence and bounce off it like we’re playing wall ball. The hood of our car slides under the truck, right in front of its rear tires—tires that are smoking and screaming and trying to stop spinning.” I see it all again. In slow motion. The detail never goes away. “They all died,” I finally say. “My mother, my father, my little sister. I was the lucky one. I was the only one who survived.

Roan studied the photo in his hand. Shiloh Gallagher had to be twenty-nine years old according to what Maud had told him. Damned if she didn’t look twenty-five or so, her features unlined. She wasn’t model pretty, but she had an arresting face, with huge intelligent-looking green eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he felt himself stir. Her mouth would make any man go crazy. Her upper lip was full, but thinner than her lower one. The shape of her mouth made him feel heat in his lower body. “Is she married?” “No,” Maud said. She’s single. Never did marry. I don’t know why. Shiloh’s a beautiful girl.” She was hardly a girl, but Roan said nothing because he was fully reacting to her as a woman. He wondered if she was curvy or rail thin. He was disgruntled over his avid curiosity. “I have no problem with it. You know I get up early and come in late. She’s going to have to fend for herself. I’m not cooking for her.” “Right,” Maud agreed. “She’s pretty shaken up, Roan. You might find that stressful until, hopefully, Shiloh will start to relax.” Shrugging, he slid the photo onto the desk. “Maud, I just hope I don’t stress her out with my award-winning personality,” he said, and he cracked a small, sour grin. Maud cackled. “I think you’ll like her, Roan. She’s a very kind person. An introvert like you. Just remember, she’s trying to write. Because of the stalking, she’s suffering from writer’s block and she’s got a book due to her editor in six months. So, she’s under a lot of other stress.” “I’ll handle it, Maud. No problem.” “Good,” Maud said, relieved. She sat up in the chair. “I’ll call Shiloh back, let her know she can come, and I’ll find out what time she’s arriving tomorrow. I’d like you to pick her up at the Jackson Hole Airport. So take that photo with you.” He stood, settling the cowboy hat on his head. “Don’t need the photo.” Because her face was already stamped across his heart. Whatever that meant. “I’ll find her after she deplanes, don’t worry. Just get back to me on the time.

We dragged Linc along. His current honey is working tonight." "Still the intern?" "Yeah." Helen sat on the curvy velvet chaise, made herself at home. "I'm starting to think he's getting serious about her." "And?" "I don't know. She's a nice girl, raised well. Focused, which he could use, and independent, which I appreciate." "But he's your baby." "But he's my baby," Helen agreed. "I miss the little boy sometimes, with the scabbed knees and loose shoelaces. Still see him in that tall, gorgeous lawyer in the three-piece suit that strolls in and out of my life now. And Jesus,

It’s okay to be sensitive to something, just don’t let the feeling own you.

His eyes told her all she needed to know. He liked what he saw. As the relief washed through her, she let go of her critical side for the evening. She hated how she was harder on herself than she should be. So what if she carried a few extra pounds, she was still attractive. She wished she could hold onto that feeling more often.

Sure she got to her, broke her down, hit her vulnerability, but Becky was going to come back stronger. Push me down little bitch, but I’ll stand right back up. Fuck her. She was better than that, and she refused to let her win.

Becky went to sleep feeling one hundred times better than she’d felt earlier that evening. She fought back and won. There was no way she was going to let a bully dictate her relationship.

You’re a piece of work.” “A good piece or work, or like a slightly twisted, bent out of shape piece of work?” “Slightly? Oh, I’d say a very twisted, tangled, and a messed-up piece of work. Have I mentioned that’s my favorite kind?

Okay, so technically it was your second date, but you’d gotten together before that, and you’ve known him for a while. It’s not like he’s a total stranger. Do you love him?” “Yeah, I think I do. I mean, I guess. It feels like love, but maybe it’s just lust. But yeah, I think I’m in love with the guy.” “How do you know it’s love and not just infatuation? You were kind of blown away when he said he was interested. Maybe it’s more fascination and hero worshipping.” “Hero worshipping?  Seriously, work with me here. I mean, it feels real.” “Okay, so let’s figure this out. What kind of real is it? Like you want to have his babies real, or like if he lost a testicle, didn’t have a job, and couldn’t have sex anymore because he gained five hundred pounds and his asthma stopped him from having hot sex, you’d still be by his side real?” “What kind of question is that?” “You know what I’m saying, don’t be coy. If you just want babies, it’s still infatuation. If you’d sit by his side as he got his testicle removed and gained a bunch of weight and couldn’t find his dick to put it inside of you anymore, would you still want him?” “Sam!” “What? It’s a legitimate question. You don’t have questions like that to measure things?” “Not to that extreme.” “Seriously, there’s a method to my madness. Picture this, he can’t find his winky anymore, it’s hidden between his legs, he can’t reach, he’s out of breath when he tries, and the most you can do is blow him, like that’s it. He might diddle you time to time so you aren’t feeling too hopeless in the sex department, and he doesn’t want you straying. Would you still be there?” Becky sighed, going with the flow of the conversation. “Fine, yes, I’d still be with him. He’s more to me than some hard body to have sex with. I really like the guy. I like talking to him, laughing with him, and learning more about him.” “Nice. I think you may very well be in love, Becks. Now if you could find me a guy like that…” “The one that can’t find his wiener? Or someone to love?” “Hey, I’ll help him find his wiener if he’s awesome.

How many people bled from the cut of a sharp tongue?

I saw myself bending her over the desk, hiking up her dress, and taking her right now. And I saw her liking it. I spent a full minute on that thought before groaning inwardly. I was a dick. An unprofessional, single-minded dick and I didn’t like small, curvy girls who left their mojo all over me.

You were going to take me bikini shopping?” “Not me, dear. Patsy. I’m not interested in looking at curvy young women in bikinis. I’m deeply in love with my wife and I’m only interested in money.

He felt his mother's hand slide up his cheek. "We were very happy once. You and your sister were made with love." But they weren't raised in it.

When Bill was a fluffy white blob, the lassie rose and started to dry her thick hair, darkened to milky coffee with rain. Lyle struggled not to notice how the brisk movement of her arms jiggled her generous bosom against her thin blouse. He had a liking for small, curvy women. Or at least he did now. After draping his wet, crumpled towel over another chair, Lyle straightened and stared at his adorably disheveled companion. “Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves?” She lowered the towel from her hair and regarded him with unreadable eyes. To his complete amazement, she dropped into a curtsy. “My name is Flora, sir. I’m a housemaid here.” With difficulty, he stifled a scoffing laugh. His intelligence mustn’t have impressed her. That lie wouldn’t convince the county’s greatest blockhead. Not least because she spoke with a clipped upper-class accent and her hands, while undoubtedly competent, were as smooth and unblemished as any lady’s. “Flora…” he said in a thoughtful voice, studying the wee besom and trying to make sense of this latest twist in their interactions. “Yes, sir,” she said, dropping her gaze with unconvincing humility. What the devil was she playing at, Sir John Warren’s beautiful only child? She’d kept him guessing from the first, which promised interesting times to come. Last week in his London club, her father had offered this girl to Lyle as his bride. Intrigued and faintly annoyed that she judged him daft enough to swallow this twaddle, Lyle decided to allow her enough rope to hang herself. Plastering an ingenuous smile on his face, he stepped closer. “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Flora. My name is Smith. Ebenezer Smith.

I twisted my head to look at the girl.  With one hand she held a wide straw hat to her head.  The other held an umbrella drink in a curvy glass.  She wore big movie-star sunglasses, tall, a reddish-new tan.  White bikini bottoms.  No top.  Just boobies. “Uh . . . hi.” “Hi,” she said. Then there was this shirtless fat guy at her side.  He didn’t have a top either, but his boobies were harrier.  He was hot pink with sun burn, wore a new moustache like a smear of brown crayon.  His ball cap said Kiss the Captain.

At times I forgot the body I wore

wine me, dine me and agree with me

You can start with the whole ‘my lady’ thing,” Liv said, breaking her train of thought. “What’s the deal with that?” Kat’s face got almost as red as her hair. “It’s what they call plus-sized girls, all right? They, uh, have a thing for them. For us, I guess.” “Holy crap—Lock and Deep are curvy connoisseurs?” Liv raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” “Seriously,” Kat said gloomily. “As in, they’d rather peruse the Lane Bryant catalogue than the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue.” “But that’s great!” Sophie exclaimed, forgetting her own problems for a moment. “You’re always saying that guys in Tampa don’t appreciate curves.” “Yeah, well, neither do they want to get inside your head and never ever leave,” Kat snapped. “Talk about the first date from hell that won’t end.” “Okay,

Real quick, I just wanna tell you why I wrote this book. I wanted to write a book about fat ladies—because I am one. Not curvy, not plus-size, not big-boned, not fluffy, not phat. I’m FAT.

Everyone’s different. That doesn’t mean less.

I made art. Sometimes, the most beautiful things are broken.

We’re all about to turn thirty this year and we’re all still single. Plus, it’s so hard for black women when it comes to love. None of us are interested in thugs, but most of the black guys with any sense or class aren’t interested in dating us anymore. And guys of other races, either stick with their own or are too afraid to date or marry a black woman. We can’t catch a break to save our lives.

You do realize you’re all on a crazy train headed straight to hell, right?” Payton asked. Mia smirked, “And I’m the conductor. Choo-Choo motherfucker.

While you guys are complaining because one time back when you had only three pubes, some chick didn’t bathe well enough or had an off day with her pH, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to go down on someone ever again. Meanwhile, women have smelled musty balls, crusty balls, and cheesy balls, yet we still persevere because you guys have to get your dick wet or you’ll find someone else who will. We’ve been gagged, we’ve puked, shot in the eye with cum, and we’ve seen shit stains because you guys don’t know how to wipe your fucking asses. But yet we STILL have to get over it and suck your baby ass dicks or you whine about it like a little bitch! UGH! You all fucking suck!

Was I really letting my waistline, expanded from a medical condition not of my doing, determine how I lived my life? The reality of it made me feel more ashamed than I’d ever been of my weight.

I want to live now, have fun and do fun things now, not wait for some distant, skinnier future that may never come.

Sometimes it feels like there’s already one strike against me, that whatever happens, no matter what it is, a stranger will look at the situation and then at me and think, Oh, well, it’s because she’s overweight.

Godsblood this woman is harder te crack than a bag o’ nuts! Bradyn

Payton was actually surprised it was still intact. Considering how old she was, she’d figured that it had disintegrated years ago. Bradyn

the girls showed up with some to-go brunch, orange juice and a bottle of champagne. “It’s a celebration, bitches!” Mia exclaimed

I love you, Gentle Giant,” Payton said through a yawn. “I love ye, too, my little Coffee Bean.

Holy Obi-Wan Kenobi!

Marita Lorenz, was born on August 18, 1939, in Bremen, Germany. In January of 1960 Marita, described as an attractive “curvy, black-haired young lady was named American’s “Mata Hari” by New York Daily News reporter Paul Meskil. Having had an affair with Fidel Castro that turned sour, she now returned to Havana where she attempted to take part in an assassination attempt, supposedly orchestrated by the Mafia and the CIA. Marita brought along poison pills in her cold cream jar, which predictably melted in the tropical heat. Besides, she later said that she really did not have the stomach for killing her former lover. Apparently Castro aware of why she returned to Cuba, handed her his pistol with a dare for her to use it. Even after knowing the truth regarding her visit, he allowed her to safely leave Cuba. Returning to Miami, Marita said that Frank Sturgis, presumably a CIA operative, was involved in this attempt, however it was his close associate, Alex Rorke, who was responsible for orchestrating the plan to poison Castro. Sturgis was extremely angry when she returned and rebuked her for putting the pills into the warm cold cream, calling her stupid, over and over again. For a few years after leaving the island, Marita was looked after and protected by a mobster named Ed Levi. It was his job to protect her from, what was considered, a likely attempt on her life by “Cuban Intelligence Operatives.” In 1961, Marita met Marcos Pérez Jiménez, the former President of Venezuela, in Miami. Marcos told her that he was anxious to meet her because he knew she was “Fidel's girl." He successfully pursued Marita, and when she gave in, they had an affair that resulted in the birth of a daughter.

The BOYS sign was different from the GIRLS sign, the letters more blocky and squared-off, more masculine than the curvier almost cursive letters of the GIRLS sign. Who decides these things, I wondered… Who decides that the boy and girl signs should be different, one hypermasculine and one hyperfeminine? Jeez, even these signs tell us how to behave. Boys--stocky, blocky, solid, and firm. Girls--wavy, curvy, pretty, and flowery.

I dreamed of the day Beckett would fall for me. When he’d look at me with my wavy hair, abundance of flesh, and acne, and tell me that he liked me.

If this doesn’t do it for him, he’s gay.

Just like there are television commercials and magazine ads that try to tell girls that fat is bad, there are also messages that tell girls that they must have big breasts and curves to be real girls. Of course, you know that is ridiculous because there is no such thing as a "real" girl. If you feel like a girl, you are a girl! Your genes, which are specifically made only for you, may mean you are going to be tall and thin or short and thin. Being a girl with a thin body is just as good as being a girl with a curvy or round body. There is no such thing as a better body than any other. No matter what, your body is growing into the body it was meant to be-perfect for you!

Because dressing up, wearing makeup and feeling stunning changed you. It made you bolder, more confident.

Something not even years of therapy could teach me—something that seems painfully obvious now that I see it. People aren’t just one thing. People aren’t just confident and then that’s it, there’s nothing that can dent that confidence. People aren’t just brave and then free from fear their entire lives. We exist in tangles of virtue and weakness simultaneously—we are the best and worst of ourselves all at the same time.

before it even really began, and it was all my fault. My parents had been right about me—I hadn’t taken care of myself and had broken my heart and reopened Ray’s wounds in the process.

Your skirt is tucked up into the back of your panties.

Ooh, ooh, I’ve got it, what about burly or the always flattering bovine!

I’d never kissed a boy before Ray, and now I knew I wouldn’t again. Ray was more than some guy at school. The way he made my body come alive and fall apart in his hands was everything. No one would be able to replace this feeling, not even come close.

red, yellow and green.