Here is more erotic art, a few pictures, breasty and alive.
shame
I was punished as a child for drawing art that was considered inappropriate. It was spoken of in hushed tones. The teacher was so upset. I think that was fourth grade.
Wow, the shame got deep. Here I am a full on adult, still trying to heal from school violence. I’m sorry repression is so common.
My nipples are tender and approachable. Not quite symmetrical, soft at times. My spouse enjoys them greatly. But I think I enjoy them more.
witness
Thank you for witnessing my fat, queer, disabled body. These new chonies with stretch lace edge are my favorite color today. Burgundy? Maybe plum or wine.
I was interested in the crease of my waist or the valley and asked my spouse to help take a picture. For a while I thought I needed to switch to boy chonies for gender. Now I feel more free, like I do can do anything. It’s gender anarchy.
obvious
What is beauty? I’m confused when anyone likes me. My culture has told me I’m wrong all my life, but the truth is, my body is valid. Sometimes I notice my body is also beautiful and sexy.
“Why didn’t you tell me I was beautiful?” I’ve asked my spouse.
Like when I cut off all my hair and saw it on the floor. Gorgeous, dark, long, and exquisitely curly. The most obvious truths can be the most difficult to take in.
Who would I believe, telling me that I’m beautiful? Not my spouse, not the summer lover, not a friend, not the mirror to my own eyes. There’s something I’m missing. Something beaten out of me early, that I can’t get back.
Oh well–I’m traumatized. Nevertheless, I love and accept myself. My hurt and ignorant places are part of my magic, and I love myself every day.
