Yesterday I went on a four-mile jaunt through Portuguese Bend, the first time I’ve done one of these jaunts in a couple of months. I could feel my expansion while The Grandmother was going through her shit. Even though she’s not back to where she was before, I just needed to get out.
As I was going up the hill, I felt every ounce of the two-month expansion in every wheeze, every jolt of neural overload in my hip, every scream from every alveoli. In short, I needed that.
Someone chatted me up on a hookup thing over the weekend, and we had a nice back-and-forth. He saw a revealing picture of me, and thought it was hot. Of course he probably wanted my mouth and/or asshole around his cock, and he would say anything to achieve that end — yes, even deception. I was a bit preoccupied to read his profile, but when I finally got around to it there were those two words which had me seeing red:
I don’t lie on these hookup things, so my true stats are there for all to see. The only Photoshop I really do on pictures is just to adjust lighting. It’s not like shaving myself off digitally like Todd Haynes did with the Barbie dolls when he filmed Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story.
So despite his precondition of “no fatties”, he was willing to get my mouth and/or “nice fat ass” around his cock. I just dropped the conversation right there.
But this has stuck with me for the last several days. Why should we all fall prey to this fascistic body shaming bullshit that is meant to keep us subjugated and under control? I have half the mind to start posing my fat ass nekkid body for all to see. Maybe I’ll start a porn blog.