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Phylys

My age: 20
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This is all utter tosh. I can have sex with men for many reasons, my favourite being Because They Pay Me. I assure you, we can do just as much as anyone else. I once let a man film me trampling his hands and chest — which basically meant walking on him in high heels.

About me

I was at an upscale sushi restaurant in West Hollywood, staring at an extensive sashimi menu, the first time a man asked me to sit on his face and smother him. I did not k now what to say exactly. So I wasn't sitting surprised men my date came out and confessed his fantasy, but I was still a little taken aback by his specific request. What were we talking about here? Smother like you do with a pillow in a Lifetime movie? So I asked. But you can keep your underwear on.

I just want to feel the pressure of you on top of me—you have Bbw perfect body for it. I gently pulled my hand away, picked up the menu again, and eyeballed the prices. Our two dates had been equally nice, lavish. We sat in silence while I continued staring at the menu.

Richard had treated me kindly thus far. His face was easy on the eyes, and also looked okay for straddling—smooth, sitting pillowy cheeks, no sharp edges. Men, at twenty-five, this was a rare opportunity to be the boss. Eventually I spoke up. Heinrich Lossow was a classically-trained nineteenth-century German painter and illustrator. He was also a prolific pornographer. He came from a family of artists, the son of renowned sculptor Arnold H. Much of his work was PG, and included subject matter you might expect from that time—ladies petting cats and carrying children, flying baby angels flapping their wings, rich ladies in frilly dresses and giant hats, rich ladies napping, rich ladies looking at nature, and all types of portraiture.

But I am captivated by the porn. Is it sex-positive or Bbw

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Intellectuals debate the issue frequently; there are a plethora of academic articles arguing one way or the other. With the rise of the Stormy Daniels scandal, it has become a topic of discussion in the media. What I do believe, regardless of the consensus, is that porn and unconventional sexual tastes will be around forever.

There will always be dudes like Richard. And there always have been. But there are two particular pieces that I return to. The curves of her ass and the muscles in her thighs are pronounced.

Her breasts are large, hanging at an angle, the way big breasts do. She knows exactly what she wants. The second work is a painting—oil on canvas—called The Enchantress. In a garden, a burly statue of a Classical Greek Sphinx and a man kiss while embracing.

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The Sphinx is clearly the alpha in the image; she hovers over the man and wraps her hulky arms around most of his body. The man, on the other hand, sits in the more submissive position on a bench, beneath her, clearly entranced, but letting her take the lead. We see this all the way back to at least 25, BC, with the Venus of Willendorf figurine. She is a cute round thing and looks a lot like I do in the nude.

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The morning after the sushi date with Richard, my thighs were a little achy. For a few seconds at a time, I asphyxiated him, then lifted myself back up when I felt inspired to do so being mindful of not actually suffocating him. I sent him home that night panting and smiling.

When I received a text from Richard a couple of days later, asking to meet again, I pulled the New phone, who dis? It seemed transactional.

I felt like I was this person living in a somewhat niche body—but a body with a cult following—and I was getting shortchanged by my fans. I felt like I should be asking for more. It was a one-way street. Smothering has its fair share of fans as well. And the two are often combined. Ad infinitum. My weight has fluctuated my whole life. I am so used to the fetishization and immediate sexualization of the fat on my bones that I wait for the invitations like clockwork, like a surprise party that you knew was coming all along. At a convenience store, a young man—college-aged—who was maybe a little drunk, recently stood too close to me in line, so close I could feel the warmth coming from his sweaty skin.

I paid for my sparkling water and split. With each clothing size I go up, the dudes get bolder with the advances, more honest with their confidential desires. But, from strangers, without warning, these yearnings seem way sitting appropriate for Reddit forums than my inbox. Not long ago, men man in Colorado messaged Bbw on a dating site: Are you open to wrestling?

I am willing to travel down to Tucson, if so. Tell me moreI wrote back. He sent me a link to a video on YouTube, said, Look, this is essentially what I want. Winning meant I pinned him onto the ground for ten whole seconds. I watched the video. A timer from a cell phone blares and the two lunge towards each other, with more obvious effort coming from her.

They grab each other, but really, she grabs him. She tosses him to the floor and pins him down. This is the moment when the mystery was solved for me—my curiosity about what part of the encounter aroused him, since no genitals are involved in the action.

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In the grand finale, her entire body cocoons him as he lies on the floor, grinning madly, satisfied. I considered his offer men because my car needed four new tires. And, as a current graduate student, my funds are tight. I can be quick to fantasize about all the ways to make seemingly easy Bbw, short of robbing pawn sitting or selling a limb.

I thought about bringing a friend—the kind who would take this secret to the grave with them. But after a few days of rolling the scenario around in my head, the offer felt too heavy, there was too much at stake for me—my safety, but also my mental and my physical well-being I have a bad back —and so I declined, and charged the new tires to my credit card.

In my bedroom hangs a photo of one of my favorite sculptures by Fernando Botero, the Colombian artist. A woman sits with her head turned just over her right shoulder, reaching for her hair with her left hand. The fat woman always takes center stage in his work. She prevails.

She is infinite. When I see the way plus-sized women are sitting portrayed in Hollywood Bbw, as jesters to buttress the narrative of the conventionally-hot, superstar female lead, I wonder why all of pop culture has yet to catch up with reality? When will everyone start getting truthful about the demand for big, men bodies?

The more I see big bodies like mine in film and music and art, the more excited I get for the girls coming of age today, for the fat girls who spend their Friday nights pussy-popping to Lizzo until their legs cramp. I follow a couple dozen plus-sized models and influencers on Instagram. I follow sitting illustrators who exclusively paint lush, corpulent bodies. I follow photographers who only capture bodies as big men moons. The secret of the beauty of our bodies is slowly starting to get out, becoming less and less niche each day.

And I hope it moves faster. How the big body is coveted—yes as a fetish, but also as beauty. Teenage me had never pictured a time where the fat body would be seen as modern Bbw.