Curvy Quotes

I hate that word. Straight. At the very least, those of us who are nonstraight should get called curvy. Or scenic. Actually, I like that: 'Do you think she's straight?' 'Oh no. She's scenic

You’ve never been to school, ever? If that’s true— and you’re right, I don’t think it is—what made you decide to come this year?” “You....Your eyes, Nora. Those cold, pale gray eyes are surprisingly irresistible.” He tipped his head sideways, as if to study me from a new angle. “And that killer curvy mouth.

I’d fallen captive to those expressive dark eyes again. I blamed my inappropriate behavior last night on champagne, but in the sobering light of day, I’d fallen into the same drugged stupor. She was soft. Strong. Real. And seriously curvy.

The new acts' major influences were movies and their curvy queens Brigitte Bardot and Marilyn Monroe. With their big blonde hair, ample breasts, and highly fertile hips, these bombshells inspired women everywhere to exxagerate their own voluptuousness.

I dipped into his brain. He wasn't happy that I wasn't wearing a bra, because my boobs distracted him. He was thinking I was a bit too curvy for his taste. He was thinking he'd better not think about me that way anymore. He was missing his wife.

Tatiana is a ridiculously curvy thing of dreams, with smooth succulent thighs, long strawberry blond cascading beneath a teal bandana, and a nympho sparkle in her eyes that says pick me, lick me, spank me, or I punish you. Raw innocence and mayhem at once.

Vee is my un-twin. She's green-eyed, milky blond, and a few pounds over curvy. I'm a smoky-eyed brunette with volumes of curly hair that holds its own against even the best flatiron. And I'm all legs, like a bar stool. But there is an invisible thread the ties us together; both of us swear that tie began long before birth. Both of us swear it will continue to hold for the rest of our lives.

No that I'm fat, but since the images that society forces down our throats these days tell us that if you aren't built like stick with boobs (bee sting size), then you are not skinny, but I am a healthy kind of curvy. I've always said that I was just born in the wrong century, cause back then? I would have been the shit!

I wouldna cross the road to see a scrawny woman if she was stark naked and dripping wet. ~Jamie Fraser

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.

(My momma + curvy roads= wear your seat belt.

if you ever look at your reflection & feel the desire to tell yourself you’re not good enough, beautiful enough, skinny enough, curvy enough, then i think it’s about time you smashed that mirror to bits, don’t you? - use those fragments to make stepping-stones to your own self-love.

One minute she was just this woman I worked with, the next, she was this woman I couldn't go an hour without seeing.

I'll never be the size that has single digits and my thighs will always touch when I walk but I'm ok with that.

Women are supposed to be soft and curvy and squeezable. I'm not sure when they were brainwashed into thinking otherwise.

Anyone who abandon’s their children should be hung, by their toenails while awaiting flesh eating ants or some other painful flesh eating hungry creature to consume them. Slowly and painfully…

It’s just another stop on the curvy road the final encounter for the man who has lived death is the answer.

Your body is yours. My body is mine. No one's body is up for comment. No matter how small, how large, how curvy, how flat. If you love you, then I love you.

Real women are happy, fat, skinny, healthy, unhealthy, dumb, and smart.

She wasn't much over five feet and a hundred pounds, and she looked a little scrawny around the neck and ankles. But that was all right. It was perfectly all right. The good Lord had known just where to put that flesh where it would really do some good.

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.

If someone tells you that you’re not good enough, fuck them. Seriously, fuck them. Who the fuck has the right to tell you what you’re good enough for?

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.

Her curvy hips and small waist, her perfectly sized breasts and round ass are imploring me to corrupt every inch of her. Her decadent body was built to be fucked in the most scandalous and wanton ways imaginable and I’m just the man to do it.

You are given one life. Don’t waste it. Embrace it. Love it. Live it.

My body—I do not fall to pieces and be reduced to a big pile of lovable mush over a woman, never!

The road to happiness has never been a straight one, and yet, it is the only road worth travelling, no matter how curvy or rocky it is!

My eye is on the prize, and she’s one petite, curvy redhead who owns my body, mind and soul.

I curse you! I curse you both. May you crave all that is sugary until the fates have aligned your true heart!

Is everything...?’ ‘Curvy? Twisted? My charades skills are a little rusty. How many syllables does it have?

The red lipstick? It's supposed to signal fertility and readiness to mate. Just like the swollen red butt of a baboon. That tight-fitting little dress that shows off your curves? From the standpoint of evolutionary biology, big breasts represent a healthy mate who can feed a lot of offspring. That's why men are programmed to like big tits. When you show off your curves, what you're really doing is advertising to the whole world: "Look at me! I'm a healthy female! I'd be a perfect mate! Come mount me!

I hate that would. Straight. At the very least, those of us who are nonstraight should get to be called curvy. Or scenic. Actually, I like that: 'Do you think she's straight?' 'Oh no. She's scenic.

What happens when you're seduced by two strapping and gorgeous alpha males?

a husband should treat a wife like a queen and that a wife should treat a husband like a well-loved servant.

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?

She wasn’t huge or anything, but she wasn’t one of the super slim women or the curvy ones who looked lush and beautiful. She was just sort of in between and . . . blah. “Give a mint to know what you’re thinking right now,” Steele muttered. “I’m blah,” she blurted out.

If I didn’t know my body, I’d swear I just had a small orgasm…

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.

There are no corners to by body. I am round, round, round.

Wealth announces itself with what's easy to break and impossible to clean. The chairs were all curvy works of art that turned sitting into yoga exercises.

Like, yes, Olivia is kind of curvy, and Mina didn’t say it like an insult. I know it’s not an insult. But I just hate when people talk about bodies.

Got a job for you, Seven.” “Yeah?” “I need you to find someone.” “Who?” “A woman,” I say. “About five and a half feet tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes.” “That describes half the women in New York.” “Yeah, well, the one I’m looking for is twenty-one or so,” I say. “She’s good-looking, kind of curvy for being so petite... got a red ‘S’ tattooed on her wrist...” He stares at me, like he expects more information. “What else?” I shrug, glancing at the high heels, flipping them over to look at the red soles. “She wears a size thirty-nine shoe.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he says, blinking a few times as he looks at the ground. “Only a couple million people in the city.” “That’s the spirit,” I say, slapping him on the back.

Tom couldn't take his gaze from Cassandra. Her wide, wondering eyes were like soft blue midnight, star-glittered with forgotten tears. The curves of her body looked firm and sweet, no hard angles or straight lines anywhere... nothing but inviting, sensual softness. If she were his... he might finally have the sense of ease other men had. No more spending every minute of the day striving and hungering and never feeling sated. "I'll marry you," Tom told her. "Any time. Any terms.

I hate that word. Straight. At the very least, those of us who are nonstraight should get to be called curvy. Or scenic. Actually, I like that: ‘Do you think she’s straight?’ ‘Oh no. She’s scenic.

Buoyancy also lifts the ego when other body parts start to droop. Curvy people float better than lean beans, and women more than men, because even at our slimmest, we have an extra layer of fat distributed throughout our bodies.

I write books that I want to read. I write books that feature curvy heroines because I'm a curvy woman myself and it gets tiresome to read books about skinny women all the time. There's nothing wrong with skinny women, I just don't relate to their lives, and it would be really hard for me, as a writer, to fully inhabit that character otherwise.

Mamá's headlights lit up the yellow fluorescent lines of the road. They were curvy and it seemed like they were being traced out of nothingness by the invisible hand of God - like God was bored, drawing hills and lines with a highlighter.

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.

Why have one alpha billionaire when you can have two?

Valentine’s Day.
 For a romantic like me, it should be a dream.
 Except it’s more like a nightmare.

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.

Jodi in tactical gear was something to behold. Pert, a lot shorter than I am, blond hair tucked under a helmet, cinched into body armor never intended to mold to the body of a curvy woman. Ugly but efficient attire. Someone needs to talk to armor designers about female body shapes and style.

Our Master can see it all. If you drive down a long curvy road, you don’t see the twists and turns until you are on top of them. But when you see things from a much higher perspective, you can see the whole road and the twists and the turns and the beginning and the end. In Heaven we can see where you are in relation to where you’re going and we can make things happen along the way at the intersections of life. We can create the right time and the right place and we can already see how it all ends. We can see the whole story of your life while you are living it in little bits and pieces.

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.

The woman was the kind of woman that the British find breathtakingly sexy and I could never figure out why. She had short, dark hair that was a little bit spiky on top and a curvy little body. She was cute, I supposed, but was no goddess. She wasn't worthy of him. And yet Sean looked like he wanted to eat her up.

Clicking on "send" has its limitations as a system of subtle communication. Which is why, of course, people use so many dashes and italics and capitals ("I AM joking!") to compensate. That's why they came up with the emoticon, too—the emoticon being the greatest (or most desperate, depending how you look at it) advance in punctuation since the question mark in the reign of Charlemagne. You will know all about emoticons. Emoticons are the proper name for smileys. And a smiley is, famously, this: :—) Forget the idea of selecting the right words in the right order and channelling the reader's attention by means of artful pointing. Just add the right emoticon to your email and everyone will know what self-expressive effect you thought you kind-of had in mind. Anyone interested in punctuation has a dual reason to feel aggrieved about smileys, because not only are they a paltry substitute for expressing oneself properly; they are also designed by people who evidently thought the punctuation marks on the standard keyboard cried out for an ornamental function. What's this dot-on-top-of-a-dot thing for? What earthly good is it? Well, if you look at it sideways, it could be a pair of eyes. What's this curvy thing for? It's a mouth, look! Hey, I think we're on to something. :—( Now it's sad! ;—) It looks like it's winking! :—r It looks like it's sticking its tongue out! The permutations may be endless: :~/ mixed up! <:—) dunce! :—[ pouting! :—O surprise! Well, that's enough. I've just spotted a third reason to loathe emoticons, which is that when they pass from fashion (and I do hope they already have), future generations will associate punctuation marks with an outmoded and rather primitive graphic pastime and despise them all the more. "Why do they still have all these keys with things like dots and spots and eyes and mouths and things?" they will grumble. "Nobody does smileys any more.

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.

Look. I will not be told what size to be. I do not care about anyone else’s judgment about my body. I am not interested in anyone else’s ideas of what I’m supposed to look like. I believe everyone’s body is theirs and everyone has a right to love their body in whatever size and shape and package it comes in. I will fight for anyone’s right to do so. I will kick ass and take names if I have to. Your body is yours. My body is mine. No one’s body is up for comment. No matter how small, how large, how curvy, how flat. If you love you, then I love you. But this is not about loving me. I don’t FEEL good. And while part of me means it emotionally, I mostly mean it physically. I don’t FEEL GOOD.

Hang on for a wild ride full of domineering and sexy as sin stallions! —Speedefrog

One man’s fuckup is another man’s opportunity. Write that down. That’s quotable.

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

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

You’re supposed to be curvy, there’s nothing wrong with that.’ I said, ‘No, my mom will say something to me. You just wait.

inclined my head toward said friends. One of them, a curvy redhead in a gold skirt that made her look like a disco ball, chose that moment to hop onto the table and shake her ass to the rap song blasting through the speakers. Josh snorted. “Jules? She’s a liability, not help. Stella is as trusting as Ava, and Bridget…well, she has security, but she’s not around as much.

The echoes of my knock were still ringing when the door swung open, revealing a short, cheerfully curvy woman with spiky brown hair streaked with bleach-white lines that looked more accidental than anything else. She was wearing an electric orange T-shirt that read DO NOT TAUNT THE OCTOPUS, jeans, and a lab coat, and was pointing a hunting rifle at the middle of my chest.

Society, advertising, and magazines want women to believe that thinness and perfect skin are synonymous with beauty, that it’s impossible to be attractive without these unattainable standards. But this is clearly wrong; most men love curves, stretch marks, and even your cellulitis that you abhor. So, caress them with a smile because they are the very sign of your femininity.

...Brae, this is the season on Mercinia which makes adult Ursus shifters turn to cubs. The only difference is mistakes of children can be forgotten, but mistakes of adults can lead to war...

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.

By all accounts, my left foot has something very feminine about it. It's curvy, like Suzanne. The flesh is milky, and the skin is delicate just like the skin on Suzanne's temples, with the veins clearly marked in blue. The nails are pearly, the toes long and dainty like fingers. The instep has none of the unattractiveness so evident in other parts of my body. It has an elegance shared only with Suzanne.

Female. One that is brave and strong and determined. If there’s one thing I’ve learned thee past months, it’s that I don’t need to be male to be those things. But a female is more than that. And she’s more than just a curvy figure. She’s a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife. She inspires; she loves. And she’ll do what’s right no matter what. She knows when to quit, and she is not afraid to keep trying.

The dawn had drawn an intricate ornament with golden curvy clouds, hiding the rising sun that was on its way to dry up the trails of yesterday’s storm and to warm up the upcoming day with its healing rays.

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.

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.

I want more friends, more casual impromptu hangs, more dropping by with dinner, more walking and talking and advice sessions, more kids underfoot, more asking for and saying what we need, more hands to carry heavy boxes, more laughing and cackling and snorting, more children farting at the dinner table, more of what makes life messy, less painful, more sweet. I want to give and receive, to always be swapping Tupperware and food, all of us crowded together like curvy lumpen mangoes in a baking dish.

Gli umani sono soli. Malgrado la pioggia, malgrado gli animali, malgrado i fiumi e gli alberi e il cielo e malgrado il fuoco. Gli umani sono sempre sulla soglia. Hanno avuto il dono della verticalità, e tuttavia conducono la loro esistenza curvi sotto un peso invisibile. C'è qualcosa che li schiaccia. Piove: ecco che corrono. Sperano nella venuta delle divinità, ma non vedono gli occhi degli animali che li guardano. Non sentono il nostro silenzio che li ascolta. Prigionieri della loro ragione, la maggior parte di loro non faranno mai il grande passo dell'irragionevolezza, se non al prezzo di un'illuminazione che li lascerà esangui, e folli. Sono assorbiti da ciò che hanno sottomano, e quando le loro mani sono vuote, se le portano al viso e piangono. Sono fatti così.

Aside the narrow path leading from the house entrance door to the wicket, the perennials like variegated carnations and creamy color spots of pyrethrum made a curvy line looking like a kind of flowery brook falling into the odorous ocean of phloxes at the gate.

Yes,” I whisper. “Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs, his fingers still on my cheek. “I love your curvy body.” My eyes widen. “Don’t frown.” He kisses me between my eyebrows, as if he’s smoothing the frown from my face. “I’m not so sure about my curvy body.” It’s a whispered admission that I’ve never made before, and frankly, I’ve never felt this vulnerable. His blue gaze meets mine again, and each word is staccato: “You. Are. Beautiful.” I close my eyes, but he tips my chin, forcing me to look at him again. “Thank you.” His

The road to getting present with my body through yoga didn’t start with angels singing or deep flashes of insight into the nature of reality. Instead, it started with the most fleeting, easy-to-catch moments of just feeling good: nothing more complex, or profound, than that.

Indeed, except for the very simplest physical systems, virtually everything and everybody in the world is caught up in a vast, nonlinear web of incentives and constraints and connections. The slightest change in one place causes tremors everywhere else. We can't help but disturb the universe, as T.S. Eliot almost said. The whole is almost always equal to a good deal more than the sum of its parts. And the mathematical expression of that property-to the extent that such systems can be described by mathematics at all-is a nonlinear equation: one whose graph is curvy.

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.

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.

Once upon a time, in a faraway forest, there lived a tree that was different from all the other trees in the woods. While the other trees grew perfectly straight toward the sky, this particular tree grew in loops, twists, and turns. It was known as the Curvy Tree by all who saw it, and many humans and animals came from far and wide to see its splendor. When the humans and animals were away, in a language that only could be heard by the plants of the forest, the other trees would taunt the poor Curvy Tree. ‘We hate your bark and your branches and your leaves that twist and turn! One day they will chop you into firewood and you will forever burn!’ It made the Curvy Tree very sad, and if you spoke Plant you would hear it cry itself to sleep every night. Years later, on the last day of winter before spring began, loggers traveled to the forest looking for wood, not to burn, but to build with. They cut down every tree in the woods to build houses, tables, chairs, and beds. When they finally left the forest, only one tree remained, and I bet it will come as no surprise when I tell you it was the Curvy Tree. The loggers had seen how its trunk and branches twisted and turned and they knew they could never use its wood to build with. And so the Curvy Tree was left alone to grow in peace now that all the other trees were gone. The end.

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.

Bottom line: you are beautiful.

Being confident means being you.

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

She was everything he loved about a woman wrapped up in a cute little package. Golden blonde hair was secured to the top of her head in a ponytail, he bet it would reach her waist when it was loose. Her body was curvy in all the right places, her breasts more than filled out the T-shirt she was wearing and those hips, dang he could just imagine holding onto them while she rode him, instead of Big Red.

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.

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.

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…

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.

...I don’t know why you’re sulking, I wasn’t going to give up my holiday to sit and nurse you from a break-up with a guy I told you not to deal with…He was your Gynaecologist for crying out loud. You don’t mix business with pleasure, and not with a man who knows more about your insides than you.

As females, most of us have spent a lifetime being inundated with the message that our worth is inextricably linked to our attractiveness. We are trained from our earliest years to turn a critical eye on ourselves: Are we thin enough? Too thin? Tall enough? Too tall? Athletic enough? Too athletic? Curvy enough? Too curvy? And the list goes on. The ideal of attractiveness is mercurial and capricious, ever-shifting and forever-out-of-reach. It is an impossible ideal by its very nature. And it is a lie. To walk through life with calm assurance, clothed in confidence in our femininity and self-worth, requires that we first recognize and reject the lie that our worth is tied to our attractiveness. We must learn to appreciate and accept the endless array of attributes that make each of us a wonderfully and gorgeously unique human. We must discover for ourselves the truth that our worth lies solely in our existence. That to exist is to be worthy of love and acceptance and fulfillment and companionship and tenderness and happiness. When we can see and accept that our existence is what makes us worthy, we will finally be able to accept our own worthiness, to love our female skin in all of its unique glory, and to walk confidently and comfortably in a world desperate for the love that we can now freely give.

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.

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!

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.

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.