A: (Looks from her computer desk to Zi's and watches him frantically typing away. His tongue tucked in his cheek, and his eyes glazed and somewhat wild looking.) Whatja doing?
Z: Errrr, writing.
A: Duh. Writing what?
A: The fact that you are pounding away like a buffalo racing across the prairie suggests quite the opposite. (Her voice came out in a high pitched socialite-too-big-for-her-britches attitude. She was trying to be funny.)
Z: Its personal.
A: There's no stinkin' personal in this office. It is all business, and we share all! (Her words are muffled by a Hershey Kiss she had just popped into her mouth, snared from her secret stash.)
Z: (He ignored her)
A: (She pops out of her chair and rushes to his side trying to sneak a peek at the what he was writing.)
Z: (He manages to outmaneuver her every effort.)
A: (With a sigh, she grabs her bag of chocolate and leaves the room.)
Z: (Grins and continues typing away. Thinking, two points for the big guy!)
I have been forever a fan of the zaftig. It is a beautiful word. A foreign term loosely translated as meaning voluptuous. Yes, without question, I adore the full-figure lady. I insult my feelings by restraining them by using the word adore... it is adore to the square of infinity.
This is an allurement that has been saddled with the term BBW, shame on whomever wordsmithed that, the acronym is cold and impersonal. It is nice that these women are now so iconic that they are recognized but so wrong to use such an icy term. Zaftigs are blooms of delight that have to be honored. There captured in their spirit is awesome3, a trait of which I am fascinated.
I grew up during a time where these beauties were called fatties and wide-bodies. Friends would say they had more cushion for the pushin'. How rude. I am ashamed of my generation for being that way. Yet, I have known forever that buxom is the essence of great intrigue and unbelievable excitement.
A gal of fleshy wealth, if empowered with confidence, is one of the most attractive beings.
They offer both within fantasy as well as reality, so much more being plush and pliable samples of erotic splendor, passively screaming to be fully experienced. I become a twitter just thinking about it.
Where some see something to ridicule, I see grace, where some hate, I boon with attraction, and where some tease or mock, I worship.
As a writer, many of my heroines are ladies of size. Why? They can be more complex characters and in all fairness are far more common examples than are titless sticks. Yes, I respect the slender sticks, like them, but they can be far too spoiled to be interesting (ok, I know intellectually that these almost androgynous sticks most likely have depth, but I'll admit I am jaded because I always desire naked time with the zaftig... oh, that's far too personal).
The zaftig gal has faced and overcome struggles, thus, she's rightfully earned the role of shero. I know for a fact, that she has beauty that transcends first glance, because to see it you must also see the inner-beauty which brings remarkable complexity to her (I've seen it).
They are blessed with humor and charm as well as a tenacious sexuality. They face ridicule with grace. They commit often, though, with a history of failure, believing in that star of possibility, stronger than most.
They are a lioness prowling their moments devouring the spirits and souls of men. They are bonny big playful bunnies, they are cherry pies that taste better, they are dainty delicate dances of delight, they are full blossom bosoms that dwarf, they are jaunty jiggling play toys that enjoy life, they are showy rosy roses in full bloom, they are resplendent moments of glee, they are the crème-de-crème of the most succulent nature flavoring their plentiful pie, they are divine gifts from a deity that has proven its omnipotence. I do adore the zaftig.
As an audience, I have no idea what you look like, and if you are a thiny mini... I will spend hours removing my foot from my mouth. As a pre-emptive volley, I drop to one knee, look up plaintively, bat deep green puppy eyes and ask you to forgive me, for I am a zaftig man, not a leg man, or butt man, or a foot man.
Being a bit more earthy and graphic, but the honesty here is that I adore the buxom gal, maybe corset-bound to make the fleshy top boob bounce forth in dramatic cleavage. Gaa, the idea of that! Give me a moment to reflect. Post-reflected, I'm back smiling. I love plump lips that can be ample, endless tools for pleasure. The kisses that suckle are instances that I revere. I fantasize over the shaved pussy. Why? It is fuller and softer and plumper and more interesting, more revealing, more engaging and definitely enchanting. And experience has taught me that it is more orgasmic, genuine, and honest.
I am the champion of the voluptuous lass who has been brutalized by a horrible society that has made bony iconic. Bone hurts if you are poked by it. Now said with the utmost respect, with more cushion for the pushin' the sexual sate is multiplied. By how much? The only value that is apt is infinity.
A woman without curves is like pants without pockets... you don't know where to put your hands. The zaftig form screams to be touched. Why? They are so attention-grabbing, so sexy, so appealing, so wonderful and maybe so misunderstood. Everything about them shrieks, touch me, know me, be one with me.
A lady of size brings out the hedonistic in me. Yea, they do! (tee-hee) I want to consume her, devouring her essence as I migrate every supple square inch of skin. The feast of her can be epic times forever. I find that I feel salacious wanting to share dirty thoughts, gently whispered in wanton tones. I want to absorb her eyes, feel her pulse, and tickle the little hairs on her neck.
I know I become protective. As I revealed, I have been lewd, but not for lewd sake but to quietly insist to her that she is profoundly desirable. I insist that my salacious words are saddled to honesty, otherwise, I would be hurting that which I so respect.
Ultimately, I would have hoped that she had felt that kind of desire before but if she hadn't when she meets me she will know that there is no greater beauty than her. Is that my duty? It is my endless quest... duty is shit. The doting quest is one which I would wish to indulge with worshipful insistences. Would I be vulgar? Yes, of course, but in the most intriguing, provocative and captivating way. Naughty touches the vulgar, the untamed, the prohibited But if I hurt her I would humble myself to correct any pain.
The zaftig belong on a pedestal and it is long overdue. The Rubenesque beauties were from a time gone by, but we as a society have missed our natural opportunity to celebrate in the glorious fact the largesque ladies are just better...an enhancement to the feminine form. We should return to revering the Zaftig.
A: (Sneaks on to Zi's computer and tries to retrieve his last word doc. She finds it, grins, opens it and discovers it is in code.)
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