My squishy stretched belly is probably my favorite part of my whole body, second only to The Mighty Clit. I like it so much that I wear belly shirts in the summer time, in part cuz it gets hotter than a motherfucker around here, but also to scandalize/empower women and their bellies(kinda depends on how they take it, I'm pretty pleased with both of these outcomes).
I got those sick ass flower tattoos to decorate my noncurves. They're pretty convincing, no?
Once upon a drunk ass new year's eve I brought home this fine man for an auld lang sye bang (don't even condomplate my position on safer sex -- always pack the rubbers and the saran wrap, don't be fooled, kids!). This kid's sitting on my bed while I'm showing him my glorious self(which was about 50 pounds lighter than in these pics) and he says "Oh baby, I've always loved chunky girls." Something about this comment rubbed me the wrong way, although I probably would have let it slide had he not passed out before I even got a smoke break's worth of the dirty.
So... I kinda threw him out. Right then and there. Told him to call up his friends and said you don't have to go home but you ain't stayin here.
I celebrated the first of the year with my girlfriends by getting a lusciously fattening, icing-dripping-down-the-side nine-kinds-of-real-sugar cupcake right in the smooshy part.
Just to make it known that if you can't get down with my belly, you aren't getting down with me.
-SJ in Oklahoma