Curvy Women Quotes

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Thin, thick, tall, small, slender, curvy, curly, straight, dark, light, that body, with every detail is YOURS alone, look at it with compassion.

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.

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.

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 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.

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

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…

A wicked smile spread across his usually serious face. “Hi, my name is Shane Decker. I’m not much for chatter, so I’ll get right to the point. I have some cue cards here telling me to describe my ‘type,’ but that’s not me. I respect and love women. All types of women.” His voice rang with sincerity and Cat found herself leaning forward, literally on the edge of her seat. “So if you think you’re too tall and skinny but have a smile that makes people want to smile back? You’re my type. Curvy and always trying to lose that last ten pounds, with a loud, bawdy laugh? You’re my type. A little older than me, with some lifelines that look earned and the confidence that comes with age? My type. Life is short, and I want to spend it with someone who recognizes that, and takes happiness wherever they can find it. If you think I might be your type, send a message to Shane84, and we can meet for coffee.

Why women choose to dress like this on a regular basis baffles me. It weighs so much. And then they add those high shoes? I will never understand Ladies,” Rose commented

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.

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.

Nate took the sheet. It was covered in the neat, curvy handwriting so many women mastered and men almost never did. The top half was the message, recopied in the same Cyrillic that it had been on the wall. Below it was the translation in English.

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.

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!

After they toweled her off, Emeline grudgingly let them dress her in a pale gold gown that fell to the floor. A trail of delicate poplar leaves was sewn into the bodice. The leaves, stitched in ivory thread, trailed gently along the boatneck collar, as if blown there by a breeze. They were so finely wrought, she could almost see them moving. Next, the women braided her black hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, lacing it through with sprigs of Queen Anne's lace. Last, they took her sliced palm and carefully salved it, then wrapped it tight with slender strips of gauzy white cotton, fastening it with with a golden pin. "There," said the curvy brown attendant, her voice like summer rain. A smile ghosted her soft lips as she turned Emeline to the gilt mirror. "Look." In the polished smoky surface, Emeline found a stranger staring back. Gone was the broke musician who desperately needed new jeans, who wore her grandfather's oversized cardigan to keep him close, and who rarely remembered to brush her hair. The girl standing in the mirror had stepped straight out of a story. Her black eyes were dark pools in her pale face, and her cheekbones were dusted with gold to match her dress. She looked utterly foreign and strange.

Her name is Hayden Whitmore.” “Nice name.” He smirks as he takes another sip. “Sounds like a character from a Jane Austen book.” I smirk and take a sip too. “She is.” He watches me and waits for me to elaborate. “Kind, loving, innocent, and . . .” I pause. “Different to the women I know. Curvy and sweet, intelligent and witty. She’s fucking perfect.

All women are submissive, Savannah. They just need someone to show them that submission isn’t a bad thing like they’ve been led to believe.

Skinny women have clothes and fashion that love them. Curvy women have men who lave them. It's a fair trade.

Curvy women around the world, get yourselves some men who can toss you around like a ragdoll. Hottest shit ever.

How are you enjoying your time here?” Eros asked her, his eyes full of sensuality. “Your pleasure is our priority.” Good lord, they knew just what to say. “Most men don’t say that. Especially not to big girls. On earth, curvy women are not the most wanted.

Chicken salad. Lettuce. Light mayo. Hold the onion and tomato.” I nodded. “I swear if you didn’t have an aversion to vaginas, I’d beg you to be my husband.” He smirked. “Plenty of women are beards to their fabulously gay husbands.” “Yeah, but we’d fight too much over our clothing budget. You’d shop us out of food and rent money.” “I bet you wouldn’t be complaining too much when your curvy little ass was decked out in designer duds.