In all honesty I never in my life believed that I would be writing what I am about to write. It is with more than a little sadness and an amazing amount of bittersweet tears that I write this post. Contained within the pages of this blog you will find the chronicle of my life with The Knight. From the very first few weeks to this very last one, they’re all there, my heart and soul, naked and yearning for his attention. Well, the attention didn’t come from him, and in our last times together many promises were made but not kept.

I am back in the town where I was born trying desperately to rebuild a life around cancer and children who scream at me how they hate me. Maybe I deserve it for giving The Knight a second chance (a second chance he didn’t deserve in hindsight, but I thought marriage was forever, so…). Maybe I don’t. One day maybe they will know that I love them but until then I will continue to repeat it on the phone and (if I have to) in cards and letters.

Just some final news…

My childhood best friend/sweetheart has been in constant contact either by email or messenger and he has assured me that he will visit  when he gets to come home. It’s purely platonic but I can’t wait until he is home safe and sound. So many troops, so many families who have paid the ultimate price- remember them, please, as you have often remembered me. Those that are and the families of ones who have gone before.

Thank you, all of you, for being you. I owe The Other Mother a debt of gratitude and countless others that have made me who I am this very second. Thank you for believing in me and for loving me. Please, pay it forward. Wherever I am, I promise you, I will be.

All my love and well wishes,
The Butterfly Temptress
Email: [email protected]

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I walked into the local Weight Watchers with my mother and sister in tow. Along with the Life. Love. Cancer. website, having my mother and sister join me was part of my birthday present. I know that all sorts of nasty things lurk in our medical history and I knew too that I couldn’t do it by myself, so what better way to kill two birds with one stone? Oh how my stomach rolled as we waited our turn to register. I knew what the scale would say and I knew what a hellish road this would be.

We registered and waited for the meeting to be over so we could attend the Getting Started portion of the sign-up. The leader was nice enough but I knew right then and there that she wasn’t someone I could listen to. The woman had joined Weight Watchers to lose 25lbs over thirty years ago! There was no way in the world she could relate to someone like me who had over a hundred pounds to lose! Still, I listened and I took it all in.

In addition to the meetings I am also tracking my progress on-line. So far the message boards are awesome! I think they will make a huge difference.

As far as progoress…

I think I am okay. My birthday was on 03/19, the same day I registered, but I officially started on 03/20. That same Friday I found myself feeling dreadful. As my luck would have it, I ended up with yet another sinus infection AND another bout of pneumonia. So more trips to the physician, more antibiotics and more days under the radar. All I wanted to do was sleep!

Still, I managed to drink my water. I ate and recorded. Then I was ill and starving and I wasn’t at all sure how to account for throwing up in my journal. I mean, I didn’t eat anything else because I didn’t want to blow my points but seriously, I was starving! Saturday and Sunday led to all day sleeping for me. I woke after 8pm and ate a full meal on both occasions and since I was too lazy to really tally up the points I just put down the max number for the days and marked twenty more off my weekly extras.

I can’t believe that I’ve kept up with the water. I don’t like it and I know there are other options but this seems a good habit to get into. I’m hoping that it will pay off in the end when I attend my first weigh-in on Thursday.

What else…

Oh yes. This whole being thirty-two thing is quite grand! I find that I am so excited by the fact that I am a whole bona fide thirty-two that not much can get me down. Seriously, I have twice reached my expected date of expiration and I have a feeling once I get this eating and exercising thing down pat I will find remission close at hand. I have far too much to live for, too many things to do before I die.

The Other Mother and I are doing well. I wish we could chat more, but with both of us leading full lives, it’s challenging. I’ve opened up to her a bit more and I have found it to be quite a good thing. She’s not using it against me, but rather she is understanding. I must say she has great taste in birthday gifts! I am so glad that we have reached this place. It is my hope that as time goes by our alliance is only strengthened.

The Knight and I are who we are. We have talked a lot lately and sorted out some things. I don’t think any marriage is without trials and tribulations. For now I am cutting both of us a little more slack because, truth be told, we’re run ragged. It’s hard to be anything other than exhausted when you’re run ragged.

I like the person that I’m becoming. Oh it’s still me. I’m not likely to change at the core of who I am but the core never was the problem. So with a few pounds shed and a load lighter in spirit, I’m living life out loud with no fear.

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It seems that I am sleeping a lot more than usual lately. The doctors tell me it’s a good thing, to go ahead and sleep as much as I can because my body needs the rest. One trip up the stairs and I am completely knackered, in a hurry to slide beneath the blankets and slip into his arms.

But there are other things that I want; other things that leave me breathless and yearning.

I long to feel his hands tangled in my hair as he holds my head to his crotch. I ache to gag and cough from taking his cock too deep into my mouth. I want to be held in place and have my mouth filled to overflowing with his sweet and sticky essence.

In my heart of hearts I want to shrug off the love. Instead, I want to find my wrists and ankles bound with rope. I want to tug and struggle while knowing all along that there will be no escape until he says so. I want to cry and let go. I want to lose myself in the man who wields the flogger.

Right now I am tired of holding it all together. I am tired of being in control. I’m fed up with the passing hint of passion. I want full on desire and lust.

I want to skip a dose or two of pain medicine so I can feel the full effect of his hands against my skin. I want to be present and I want to be on fire. I want to kneel and serve and be completely at someone elses mercy.

And in the morning, I want to trace the black and blue marks with my fingertips. I want to walk gently because my fat ass has been used well. I want to close my eyes and remember every second of torture and torment; every second of exquisite ecstasy.

I just want to be me.

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As we sat at lunch at a local restaurant (courtesy of gift cards from a friend) I looked at the young women waiting on the patrons around us. Not a single one of them was anything less than a size 16/18. Most of them wore their t-shirts snug and their jeans slung low on their wide hips. Someone else may have looked at them and objected to the fact that they displayed their curves so proudly, but not me.

I watched as they wiggled and squirmed their way between crowded tables and too tight walkways with trays heavy with food. None of them tugged or pulled at their clothing once their trays were empty. They smiled and it reached their eyes. They walked with a purpose and with a femininity that left me absolutely in awe.

When had I lost those abilities?

At one point I was brave enough to venture out in a two-piece swimsuit and lunge lazily by a pool in a crowded apartment complex. I tossed my hair and batted my eyelashes. I didn’t hesitate to smile and show the world that I was a chubby girl that had a lot going for her. I wore my work outfit of snug khakis and a v-neck shirt proudly, taking care to adjust my breasts so that they were displayed at the best angle. I celebrated my curves!

Where is it exactly that it all fell by the wayside?

I don’t know the answer. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment or instance. I only know that as I watched the absolutely beautiful young women be beautiful young women, I wanted to tell them to hang on to the moments of self-awareness and comfort in their own skin that youth afforded them.

So, on the way out I told them that they were gorgeous. I then told them to keep on smiling and showing their curves in their cute outfits. With a wink and a smile I said “You wear it well!”

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It’s no secret that I’m a fat chick. I’ve been fat all of my adult life and it doesn’t look like that will change anytime soon. Until cancer, I was a healthy fat chick who baffled doctors with her incredibly healthy heart and amazing labs. Fat doesn’t always mean unhealthy or ugly or cursed with low self-esteem. I know all too well how it feels to be fat in a less than accepting society.

People have told me that they like the way I write. They like my attitude, my honesty, but they just can’t support someone who is fat. It goes against all their beliefs. When I read those emails, I was more than a little hurt. I let it go because I know I’m not for everyone. Some people like me, some people hate me. So be it. Still, it stings.

My friend Scarlet Lotus Sexgeek featured Project LifeSize on her blog and now I’m sharing it on mine. Because the message is awesome. Because the world has enough hate.

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(continued from here- Loving The Skin We’re In)

Loving ourselves is a huge part of our sexuality, a huge part of how we represent ourselves and express ourselves sexually. Self-perception often keeps us from being the lovers we want to be. This is the article to aid us in our endeavor.

Know yourself-
I know, it’s easier said than done. Start with the small things, like how you prefer to be kissed, or how you like your eggs. Look closely at the choices you make and determine why you made them. Though it will seem a little redundant at first, as time goes by you’ll understand. You’ll know yourself better than you ever thought possible.

Know your body-
If you’ve never done it, grab a mirror and examine yourself and your genitalia. Ask your partner to perhaps photograph or make a video of your body and view them. Discover those freckles on your shoulders, that birthmark you were never aware of, or see just how fabulous your bottom really is. Take time to masturbate. Experiment with toys and lotions to see what feels the best to you, what excites you or turns you off. Share the new bits of knowledge with your lover and be prepared to reap the benefits.

Know your limits-
Especially if you’re involved in an alternative lifestyle relationship, but even if you’re not, know your limits. Make sure you’re aware of what is okay and what isn’t. Be honest with yourself about which activities make you uncomfortable and which ones you want to explore. This is especially important for people who have been raped or abused because going beyond what is comfortable and safe could potentially undo healing. Empower yourself and your relationship by speaking up and honestly saying how you feel about things that you have done or discussed.

Know your partner-
Granted there is something about sex with a stranger that draws everyone in from time to time. It’s new and exciting, and as long as you practice safe sex there are few risks, but what about the rest? There is a different yet equally satisfying high that comes from knowing your lover. Knowing what foods they like to eat and what kind of chocolate they prefer is fine, but what about how they like to be touched? What about knowing the things that make their hearts pound and their pulse race, what makes them smile? Knowing another human being intimately as well as sexually will help you to feel better about who you are, about the kind of lover you are or wish to be.

Know your expectations-
If you’re exercising or changing your diet, you expect to lose weight. What happens if you’re trying to love yourself more? Do you know what to expect or know what you hope to gain from it? If you’re hoping to improve your sexual relationship with your partner, involve them in the process. Communication will help the process along as well as keep you on track. They can provide feedback that can shape your journey of self-love and acceptance.

Keep a journal-
A journal provides a place to keep a private record of your journey. With each new experience and each new day you can see where you’ve been. It can help keep you on track when you have days when you think you’ve lost your way. Use your journal as a place to pose questions to yourself then fill in the answers. If you find a magazine article that inspires you, put it in your journal. If a flower makes your day, press it in the pages of your journal as a reminder that there have been wonderfully easy days on your journey of self-love and discovery.

This is an amazing time in your life! There will be days when you feel as though you can’t possibly try a new sexual position because you worry about what your lover might think of your wobbly bits. Tell your partner and allow them to hold you and soothe your fears, then try it anyway. There may even be days when you have a hard time finding one thing about yourself that you genuinely love. On those hard days, ask your partner. Be specific and ask them what they feel your best features are or what your strengths are. Write them down in your journal to pull out on the next hard day.

Loving ourselves isn’t about vanity or being conceited. It’s about being the best people we can be. It’s about looking in the mirror and acknowledging that we’re worthy of the love we receive every day from others. It’s about loving ourselves, inside and out, with our lumps and bumps or with our porcelain complexions and magnificent legs, maybe even with our dampened spirits and broken hearts.

People say we have to love ourselves to truly love others. If we don’t love ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to love us? All the tired cliches that people toss out, all the lines we feel we need to believe or buy into. Don’t get caught up in what you think you’re supposed to do. Don’t focus on what society tells you to think or feel, to look like or act like.
This is about you. This is about being the best you can be for yourself. This is really about loving the skin you’re in.

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When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Look closely. Examine yourself from every angle. Are you happy with the reflection staring back at you?

Millions of people hate their bodies. Millions more have a self-image problem that goes beyond simply hating the shape of their nose or the shape of their feet. They’re so at odds with their bodies that they seek the services of a plastic surgeon or suffer from anorexia and bulimia.

There are children who diet at the age of 7 because they’ve been told by their peers that they weigh too much. There are teenagers who ask for nose jobs and breast implants to make sure they get on the cheer leading squad. As crazy as it sounds, cars are no longer the most asked for high school graduation gift. That honor now goes to plastic surgery.

I think it’s normal for girls to worry about their bodies. They wonder if they’re too small or too big, if their breasts are tiny or even too large. It’s part of growing up and becoming a woman. For boys, it’s about the size of their muscles and their stature. They don’t want to be long and lanky. It’s a guy thing.

What about us though? The over thirty crowd that stares in the mirror day in and day out. Why are we so concerned about our fleshy thighs or the size of our bottoms? After all, we’re not trying to fit in. We no longer have to worry about making the cheerleading squad or being asked to prom.

My personal story is one that’s all too common I’m afraid. Abused as a child, I tried every defense mechanism I could think of. I believed if I was fat that the abuse would stop. So I ate myself into oblivion. I’d eat until I threw up, then I would start all over again. The abuse didn’t stop. No matter how much I tried to change my body or the situation. No matter how many snack cakes I ate or how many sodas I would sneak into my bedroom at night. It wasn’t about my looks, it was about power, but as a child, I didn’t understand that.

Now, fast forward eighteen years and two children later.

At the age of thirty, I have very few wrinkles. My hair is starting to turn grey, but not enough to notice it. Most women would love to be in my position- except for my weight. At two-hundred and fifty pounds I’m overweight. All the years I spent as a child trying to be fat, trying to protect myself, have finally caught up with me.

Before I met my husband, I was okay with myself. I dated and had friends, both large and small. The men I dated would comment on my curves and tell me how much they loved the way I looked. It was good for my ego because these men were far from ugly, far from sheltered, and they knew what they liked.

I started to dress to accentuate my ample assets instead of hiding them. I would show off my curves, my contours, and not think twice about it. The size of my breasts were perfect, the size of my backside was just right. Life was full of opportunities for the plus-sized woman. I was proud of who I was, of the womanly curves that I reveled in.

Then I met him. Tall and lean, with well muscled arms and toned legs. If I wasn’t head over heels in love with him before we met, I was the second he got out of his car and hugged me. Then it was gone. The small moments of self love vanished into thin air.

I went back to my former wardrobe of clothes that hid my figure flaws. I balked at sleeping naked or showering with him because I was too exposed. I didn’t dare initiate sex, much less ask to “ride” him. The change in me didn’t go unnoticed by my friends, my family, or myself.

It struck me as odd that I had found someone who truly loved me for who I was, but I was more insecure than ever about my body. Wasn’t it supposed to be just the opposite? When you found love, didn’t all those fears and insecurities magically disappear? Not so, my friends. Not so.

The more time I spent thinking about it and discussing it with my friends who were settling down, the more sense it made. When we were single, we only had ourselves to think of. As long as we liked ourselves, everyone else be damned. We had the power. The power to choose our dates, to choose our clothes, to be true to ourselves and ourselves only.

Once we became part of a couple, we had someone else to think of. We suddenly cared what the man in our life thought of a certain hairstyle or outfit. We cared if they wouldn’t make love with us in the missionary position because of our soft and plush tummies. In an instant our self worth was wrapped up in how our lovers perceived us.

That’s all fine and good, to a point. Then you realize that it’s not just their opinions that influence you. If that were the case, the whispered words of adoration for your ample butt or your muscular calves would have been enough to stop the negative self-image. Suddenly it comes to light that there was less self love before than you originally thought.

So how do we get past it? What does it truly take to love the skin we’re in? Unfortunately, there are no easy answers. It’s not what we want to hear. It’s not a solution that comes in pill form, or happens overnight.

It’s about more than a diet. So get that thought out of your head. A diet and an exercise regimen won’t fix this. Sure, it would help us lose weight, but it’s not the weight that’s at the heart of the matter. We don’t need a weight loss plan. We need a plan that helps us love ourselves, a plan that leads us to loving the skin we’re in.

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