strange skinny

This week an old lover popped up on MySpace. *Snort* The word “lover” sounds so serious. I’m not the type to have had “lovers”. I mostly have just hooked up with nice enough partners or been a wife or wife-type figure. So, I usually call this dude a booty call in conversational Daisyspeak, or an ex-boyfriend if I want to appear to have been a decorous and virtuous girl who would refrain from odd, unattached, recurrent sex with interesting gypsie-like people. Or, here, I think I called him a satyr when I blurbed our brief hotness during all the sex posts.

So. I was surprised to see that he’s gained a lot of weight. He was boney-angular-I-cut-myself-on-his-hipbones skinny when we had our brief groove thing. Now he’s pretty chunky. I was really surprised, because his skinny body seemed very much part of my concept of who he was. Somehow that his body was trim and light, all cat-like and martial artsy, was part of the power I saw him as possessing. His willowy body was proof that he owned his body more than I owned mine- and fundamentally it seemed that his compact, thin body was superior to my loose softness. (It’s weird to compare body size with a male- I have never been so conscious about the weight disparity in spite of being with other skinnier guys. You know that thing where a woman will complain her guy is prettier than she is? It was like that maybe…)

It spurred a lot of thought about who I was then, and how I’ve grown like a star going supernova since then. My body is the same weight and size as it was then- with the new gift of an even softer belly with silver stretch marks. I am so much more in my body, though. I have an increasing sense of unity with it, a knowing that “I am it” rather than “I am in it.” I imagined having a partner with that sinewy taut body and thought how different it would be now, that it wouldn’t intimidate me. Of course, I am still unsatisfied with carrying more weight than I feel is comfortable. I sense that in a different way- as a health and spiritual goal more than some sort of flaw in my beauty or person. The whole musing was an examination of the relationship between weight and sexual power. I have decided that I’d love to feel an ever-increasing connection with my body’s motion. Need more workouts, more dancing, more sex. That’s what it’s about- moving the body, honing muscle and finding its harmony with bone and balance. The power we exude is in our confident motion, not in some pose in the mirror.

(It was a pleasant little stock-taking. Very nice to arrive at an idea that I’ve improved myself since that time when I was a mess of a girl. It wasn’t even so long ago. I reflected being with Bu most of the intervening years, how my energy with him is infinitely more me than it had been with the satyr. I thought about mom dying, and how that was an instantly, powerfully sobering experience. It was dizzying and nauseating to be flung so quickly into ones own future. It started a profound change deep within me that motherhood has completed. I wish this old gypsie friend well… he has also lost his mother and gotten married.)

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