Not a glamorous bra, but the boobs spilling out of it are top notch!
Trigger/Content Warning: child abuse, verbal abuse, eating disorders, body dysmorphia I’d like to thank all of you who commented and tweeted kind and healing words in response to my post the other day about my anxiety about doctor visits and body autonomy. It was a hard post to write and share and it’s been interesting…
This photo was never meant to be a feature. Imperfect, forgettable, lacklustre.
It’s been quite a week: libido in overdrive but creativity in major drought. In both senses I’ve felt a bit scrambled.
I discovered a new hashtag on Instagram yesterday …
It’s been a gray couple days. Not feeling myself, not wanting to connect, trying to understand what this funk is. Maybe I just need distracting?
Late for dinner plans, couldn’t keep my hands off myself. Just a quick lift of my dress, a photo, a text … and then his stream of heart-eye emojis. I win.
New city, that means updating online profiles like FetLife and flipping through bios of studly young bucks, going eenie-meanie-miney-mo, tolerating loads of disappointing messages (womp womp) and making a few rare connections only to have all but the best fall through.
That one red pinky finger nail, like a cherry jellybean.
I’m traveling today, which always makes me just a bit keyed up. Tired but not sure how well I’ll sleep.
This is an anonymous guest post by the same stunning woman, Eve, whose breasts we saw for Boobday and whose slice stunned us for Sinful Sunday. The words and self portrait are her own. I think they combine beautifully and make for a gorgeous meditation on self love, self care and body acceptance.
I was 27 the first time my father told me I looked beautiful.
Things have been busy around here. Lots of writing, new connections, upcoming collaborations. It can be hard to stay focused. This BoobDay picture really begs the question …
This is my first submission to Food For Thought Friday and the topic is: Hook Ups. Most of us have had them and I think most people will agree that they can either go very well, or very poorly. In my experience there’s very little in between, or at least they start out well and…
These are not my breasts, but I know them well.
“At first she beckoned and lured one into her world; then, she blurred the passageways, confused all the images, as if to elude detection.” ― Anaïs Nin, from A Spy in the House of Love