30 stone and fab
At 30st, I’ve discovered the secret to a sensational sex life
Striking my best pose, putting on a killer pout, I looked into the camera lens. Wearing nothing but a colourful striped bra and tiny blue skirt, I bared my body for the world to see… All 30st of it. Modelling for the first time, for photographer Jesse Fox, was nerve-racking, but I couldn’t wait to see the results.
I loved her photography style – arty, sexy and tasteful.
I’d put myself forward when she’d asked for volunteers for her portfolio, in July 2008.
A lot of big girls would have shied away from stripping off for the camera. But everyone knew I was fat – I always had been.
What did I have left to hide? I’d spent so many years being tormented by bullies.
At school, I’d been popular, had a good group of friends, but there was always a gang out to get me.
‘You’re so fat and ugly,’ they’d taunt.
Those words hurt, rang in my ears for so many years.
I was the only big one in my family. My parents and siblings were average size. Now, age 18, I had a point to prove. Jesse’s photos turned out to be fabulous.
Rather than cringe at my thick thighs and heavy stomach, I thought I looked great. Beautiful even. Published on her website, in a couple of art magazines, and even on her business card, the feedback on the pictures was all positive. I didn’t tell my family before doing the shoot – but a month later, I excitedly showed the finished products to my mum Tami. ‘Are you sure about these?’ she asked. She was upset, worried I was being mocked for my size.
But when I explained, told her it was something I’d chosen to do, she was so supportive and proud.
But, back then, it seemed that my happiness was always reliant on others’ opinions.
A few months later, when I met up with a guy I’d been chatting to online, my confidence came crashing down again. Reluctant to send him pictures of my body, I’d tried to warn him in advance.
I’m bigger than the average, I wrote. But he
When he looked at me naked, I felt like a goddess
didn’t know just how much more I had to offer…
You’re not what I’m looking for, he wrote in a message shortly after our first and only meeting.
Crushed, I knew exactly why. The rejection killed my self-esteem.
For two months, I starved myself. Lived off little more than chicken broth.
‘No-one will ever like me,’ I cried.
Still, I got over it. And for a couple of years, I tried to focus on myself.
I dated here and there, fooled around with a few guys.
And I discovered I had a type…
If I met guys with bigger builds like mine, well, it just didn’t work.
It felt awkward being with them.
Belly to belly, the important parts couldn’t reach…
We quite literally clashed with each other!
So, skinny guys were the way forward for me.
And it just so happened I found their weedy limbs and taut tummies a turn-on.
Then, in July 2010, I met the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He had long dark hair, brown eyes…
And he was skinny, too! He worked at the shop where my mum was a manager.
I knew I had to do whatever I could to have him…
We flirted and he made it
clear he liked what he saw!
It took a while for things to become intimate.
But when they did… Wow! And the first time we had sex, I knew it was right.
His small build meant we had plenty of room, and when he looked at me naked, I felt like a goddess.
Afterwards, as we lay together tangled on the sheets, he turned to me, smiling.
‘You’re beautiful, and sex with you is amazing,’ he told me.
He could say that again!
We spent six years on and off together, until the relationship naturally ran its course.
But he’d helped my confidence to soar.
I started taking more of an interest in fashion, and in my appearance.
Then I met another bloke.
He was sexy, funny, perfect... except for one thing.
He had a belly to rival my own. It wouldn’t work. Of course, I couldn’t say, ‘You’re too big for me.’
I’d been on the receiving end of comments like that and knew how they stung.
Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I decided to let him down gently.
‘I’m not over my ex,’ I fibbed. Over the next years, I modelled for Jesse whenever she needed a bigger lady to pose for her.
I loved being in front of the camera, flaunting my curves. I felt sexy and proud.
In the past, I’d tried to lose weight. Would drop a few stone, but it’d all come piling back on.
Eventually, I learnt to accept this as my body, for life.
Last October, I met Brandon on a social-media site called Feabie – created for big people and those who fancy us.
Instantly, I was attracted to his skinny build. Just my type!
I live in Ohio, but he lived five hours away, in Chicago.
We had a three-month whirlwind relationship. Brandon flew to my home – and, as I hoped, the sex was explosive! He caressed me all over, said he loved how my body felt, how soft my flesh was.
My love of skinny men doesn’t mean I find bigger guys a turn-off. I’ve met a lot of men along the way that I’ve been attracted to.
But I have to be realistic. From experience, I know sex with them will be difficult.
Whereas with beanpole blokes like Brandon, it is always hot.
It’s taken me years to love myself, accept my body. Now, I love every curve and every dimple.
I’ll never change – not for myself and definitely not for a man.
Anyone I date has to love my big, fat body as much as I do.
And do you know what? I’m not short of offers…