Sex, Thighs, and Videotape

The following stream of consciousness is brought to you by a new friend who reminded me that my blog was once again sorely neglected, and so with some trepidation I'll embark on a new post of the last few weeks you've missed in my adventurous life.

My restriction has diminished somewhat over the last week. The strictness of my esophagus that refused anything more than a few bites after my second fill has allowed whole bowls of soup, small bites of meats, and even some miniscule bites of breads (Yes, YES...I know I swore them off, but addiction is a damn wiley creature, and I fell off the bread wagon once or twice in the last two weeks). Never fear, the soon-after forced bulimia of sorts shortly after ingesting said yeasty contraband was enough to cease my relentless attempts at cheesy, doughy, wonderful, orgasmic pizza. I had a follow-up appointment today with my surgeon, who posited the question of whether such a loss was possible, after his scale read that I had lost 14 lbs in the month since the fill. Yes, Dr. J, it most definitely is.

In between the protein shakes I've been trying to keep my pants up. What will no doubt be uproariously funny to me a year from now, several times over the last two weeks I've been hiking up my pants on the walk home, and even more embarrassing, felt my VS panties slide down my thighs with no way to discreetly get them back up. Thank heavens for long coats in the winter.

In a token towards accepting my past wrongs, I have to admit that Richard was right after all. My ass, the larger part of my hourglass shaped body is indeed changing shape, and moreso, my thighs which have always been the bane of my existence are thinning out (I still remember with vivid clarity the bus ride home when my crush of the previous three years of high school announced to me that I had "thunder thighs"....oh the cruelty, and for heaven's sake I was in a size 12 then- much smaller than now). I've noticed it when I'm sitting, when I'm lying down, and especially in the larger size pants that feel rather huge these days. I finally went to Old Navy on Black Friday to get a pair that fit and was shocked and awed by the two sizes I've gone down since the surgery. No wonder my pants are falling down! I own only one belt, and this has become a problem. My one belt is a brown braided BR number, caliente to be sure, but meant to go above dresses and sweaters, and not to hold up pants that no longer fit. FAT people don't need belts. We have lots and lots of wonderful cellulite, spare tires, and wobbly bits to hold up, stretch, out, and otherwise keep things hoisted. I've often laughed at the belts at Lane Bryant, actually. Putting a belt on a FAT person is like throwing a rubber band around a marshmellow. It is just damned un-natural, looks stupid, and usually makes you look bigger than you are. Unfortunately for me, now I need one. Most of my pants look ridiculous, all my XL sweaters drape off of me like circus tents, and even my bras need to be changed from a 38 to 36. This is a good thing, yes, of course, but my wardrobe wasn't prepared. Man that year-end bonus needs to get here, and quick.

This last section is a little racy,...so if you're of a prude variety or just don't want to read on, I understand. When you're FAT, your sex life (if you're having one at all) is effected, it just is. It would have to be; which by the way there's a hysterical piece of a Monique stand-up segment where she laments the idea of two FAT people having sex..."I have tried to F%*$# a fat man, people." It just doesn't work "You're trying to find his shit, he's trying to find your shit"..you just get exhausted and decide to give up and eat some chicken and biscuits instead. HYSTERICAL.

Digression over, I spent the better part of several years getting comfortable with myself at the size I was (not to mention accepting that I weighed more than my lover), finding lingerie at LB so I could feel sexy, resisting the urge to leave a shirt on during sex- like a fat kid at the pool, and completely dismissing any ideas of being on top because not only do you feel like you're crushing him, but there's too much damn fat on your thighs to get appropriate leverage. In complete honesty, it was usually me who was too exhausted to go on (damned cardio) and would do anything to enduce an orgasm on his part so I could collapse in fatigue.

Now 40 lbs lighter, and on my way down...well...let's just say the kama sutra has nothing on me.