Illustrations form Lysistrata by Norman Lindsay (1930)

Le Petite Venise, Colmar, France by Dimitris Mimaros

Norman Lindsay (1879-1969) - The Dream, 1923

oh to be called "my love" by your favourite person in the whole world

the more I cum the more praise I get but the more praise I get the more I cum soo…

just finished workin out 🥰💪💦 (riding my bf)

my desire to be hidden from the world just keeps intensifying

just want some good weed, a good meal, and some good sex

my oral fixation 🤝 his fingers

the combo of “keep cumming baby” and “that’s it, that’s my girl” will get me everytime 🫠

IG: ariiajpg

I thought I’d never be held or touched the way I wanted.

I thought I didn’t deserve soft and gentle and loving touches. I thought no one would see beauty in my body. That no one would want to run their hand down my back, or over my squishy belly, or up my soft thighs. I thought those touches were only for dainty girls. I thought dainty meant small. That to be perceived as dainty, pretty, or feminine wasn’t possible for a girl of my size.

I thought I’d never feel pleasure. That I could only be used for the pleasure of others. That I could not enjoy sex the way I desired. The ways I fantasized about. No one would want to learn my body. Every inch, every curve, every roll, bump, freckle or stretch mark. Every sensitive spot and the way i move. The way i feel and the way i taste. I never thought that my pleasure could be seen and used as a key element in someone else’s pleasure. That the experience could be mutually beneficial. Mutually enjoyable.

I thought it was impossible to be truly desired. To be not only lusted after as a pure object but to be wanted, needed, and craved as if I’m actually worth something. Because big girls can’t be loved. Because trauma had shown me what I was worth. Because I was made to be used and tossed aside.

Even once I learned my worth, once I saw how much better I deserved..it seemed unattainable. Not because it was impossible but because the effort didn’t seem worth it. The risk of forgetting my own worth again was bigger a risk than I was willing to take. Then a risk fell into my life and I took that risk and I ran.

Because he holds me..touches me, the way I always wanted. He’s soft and gentle. He admires every inch, eyes glued to my skin like his last breath is due. His hands dance over each part of my body, grabbing the softest parts with a desperate eagerness. A desire to always have more, more, more of me. My pleasure is not only a goal to him but it comes so naturally. Our bodies fall into one another as do our souls and I know that I am worth something. I know that I am here, with him because I deserve love. Because I deserve kindness and care, tenderness and patience, acceptance and attention. Because big girls can be and are loved. Because size and shape does not love make. Because I was not made to be used and tossed away but instead, to be adored and displayed. I was made to be proud of.

By Andrea Galad