I asked my spouse to photograph my tummy. But he had to go out, so we were planning to have a photoshoot later. But then he left, and I photographed my own tummy. I like what I saw.
My tummy is white and smooth. Usually I see it with my breasts–they’re large, super-pretty, and steal the show. But I like how my tummy looks this way, from this angle.
A little hair grows on my abdomen. It has faint stretchmarks. It’s soft, huge, and a B. Some people have tummies that are shaped like a D. Mine has been a B since I was a kid.
It’s been years since I watched regular movies and tv or read slick magazines. Part of the reason I avoid all those is to I can love my body. I don’t let myself get re-trained by mainstream media that thin equals good, and fat is unworthy.
I see my tummy and think it’s beautiful. Valid tummy–it even digests food and all that. The liver lives–the intestines do their jobs too. My uterus and that equipment that’s never going to make a baby–the cycles run. Yes, effective guts, for the most part.
I almost died, from a tummy health issue. But that was more than two years ago. I think I figured out how to be kind to my specific tum, and it’s better now. Sometimes I talk to it and thank it for its hard work.
Do you like your own tummy? Do you like the tummies of partners and friends?
My spouse pets mine, and kisses it after he comes inside of me. I feel very honored–totally loved and special to him. It’s a favorite part of that kind of sex we have often.
My spouse’s tum is large now and a D. I love tummies with scars, with varied skin tone. Tummies every size, including big with pregnancy. Rounded, caved in, with tattoos. So many tummies!
Could you love someone with a tummy like mine, huge, that culture says is totally wrong? Maybe you’ve never been horny for someone who’s as fat as me. There’s a lot of hype that fat is unhealthy, irresponsible, weak, ridiculous, lazy–even stupid and immoral. Maybe your dick or cunt or whatever you got going believes the hype.
Or maybe you wanna live forever, and you see a big tummy as a death sentence, or a symbol of the grave. There’s no grim reaper in my belly button. Culture told you thin equals sexy, admirable, successful, immortal. But we’re all going to die.
You don’t need to love me specifically, but I hope you love fat people like me. Art such as big budget movies can use harmful shorthand, like every fat person is a funny loser. Then the culture picks it up, and it turns into a common knowledge that isn’t true.
It takes a lot of work to rise above the errors of a culture. Violence, what’s a meaningful life, what matters. The worth of people who are fat, disabled, crazy, old.
It’s brave to choose something different. I’m lucky to have friends who are good examples of trying something creative and intentional. Their good example strengthens me to be who I am.