New curves
◊ How 'bout a little skin, eh?
I lost about 30 or 35 pounds over the summer, bringing me back down to the weight I was in high school seven years ago. I weigh a little less than what it says on my driver's license.
No, I didn't exercise or work at it. I lost 20 pounds when I went vegan for two months, and lost the rest on the "black coffee and cigarettes" supermodel diet.
Now, as you can see from the picture, I'm not exactly skinny. But I see differences. I've got muscles and bones cropping up all over the place. My collarbones pop out now. My arms look like a boy's; they're wider at the elbow than at the bicep. I can feel individual ribs when I put my palm flat on my rib cage.
Best of all is the way my hips curve. My ribs come down, then my waist goes in, them my hips curve right back out. I barely recognize myself in the mirror.
When I wear low-cut jeans and little shirts, I get a lot of stared-at. I'm not uncomfortable with it; I wouldn't be showing off all that skin otherwise. Men are hard-wired to stare. It's just how they work.
But it's hilarious watching my straight male friends twitch when they try not to look. The more shameless ones just openly stare, content with titties and skin, but it's the polite ones that crack me up. They never seem to know where to look. It's a to-the-death battle between biology and manners, and manners usually lose out.
Poor things. It's not like I mess with them on purpose, but I'm sure as fuck gonna laugh at them when it happens.
One of my co-workers found out I used to work at a comic book shop. His head snapped up like it was on a string when I told him.
"I have to marry you," he said.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
I shook my head. "I have a strict 21-and-up rule."
"I'll wait," he replied, looking utterly serious.
Chris? You may be just 17, but I'd totally marry you, just for managing to keep a straight face during that whole conversation.