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In which Her Majesty discusses being a fat lovely pervert

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This will probably be an infrequent column due to the fact that…you know, I can’t trick people into my lair for sex on a daily basis (excuse my self-deprecation).

I know a lot of people don’t want sex to be the focus or fulfillment of their lives living while fat—I don’t either. But I am a sexual being. A frustrating tangle of mind and body, intellect, emotion, and bodily needs/desires. I’ve struggled with being a sexual being for reasons:

  1. physical and verbal abuse
  2. suspicions of inner kink
  3. fatphobia,
  4. anxiety issues
  5. fear of rejection
  6. having standards, things that I desire, need, and believe in that heterosexist society has no place for
  7. having no place in the queer community except the one I continue to try to make for myself, never being the “right kind” of queer and never having anyone who understands to talk to about my queer identity

I’ve always felt safer with my intellectual self because people have always valued my intelligence if nothing else. I have always lived more in mind than body.

Manifesting my sexuality has almost always resulted in anxiety-ridden episodes because of how I have been made to feel about my body.

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On sharing my body and self with someone else, as opposed to “losing my virginity”

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To finally be with someone who at least accepted me and my body has meant a lot to me. It was like crossing the line of believing into the realm of knowing for me.

What I mean is this: Not everything I found out about myself was a surprise *side eye*. Some stuff was just confirmed. That’s a whole other post though.

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