Yeah, I like it rough But not all pain is created equal. Wanna swat my fanny with something hard, flat, and preferrably studded until my flesh feels like it's gonna burst into flame? Sure thing, go for it. Candle wax? Woohoo, can't wait. Wanna handcuff me to the water pipes in your basement ceiling and give me a good lashing? I'm your girl. Feel like binding my wrists and ankles with duct tape, gagging me with strips of your old Misfits T-shirt and leaving me huddled on your closet floor while you play Nintendo? Knock yourself out. But don't squeeze my fat! It just hurts and not in an "ooo that makes me wet" kind of a way. I don't know what kind of chubby-chaser turn on this is for you, but all it does is remind me that I'm flabby and icky. I already know this. I'm aware of the extra weight I've put on, and I'm working on it. I don't need you manhandling my jiggly flesh thank you very much. Don't squeeze my fat. *I'd just like to mention that know one in particular has squeezed my fat lately. This isn't directed towards anyone exactly. What sent me on this rant and reminded me just how much I hate people touching me? Someone poked me in the side at work. Just a little playful poke, but all that went through my head was that episode of The Simpsons where the doctor sets Homer's tummy to jiggling, and Homer says something like, Look at that blubber fly. posted by Beth 9:25 PM . . .
