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A Queens best friend

Martini, Mr King and I'm a fucking Queen

By Kayleigh TaylorPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Squeezing the size 16 over my arse and newfound belly, I stick my chest out, push in my waistline with my hands and stick out my already fabulously fat arse.

"Yes, this will do" I say out loud.

29 years old and soon to be 30. I have spent this last year getting too comfortable with endless lockdowns as I munch my second or third and then some Chinese of the month. Just a fat bitch I always think to myself when I finish.

I've never been comfortable with how I look, even as a size 12,10 or 8 I have always found something to moan about. My thighs are too fat, belly not flat enough, bags are too dark under my eyes. What a stupid cow I was.

But, we're all guilty of wanting more at some point or another. I am yet to meet a woman fully comfortable in her own skin.

I mean, sure women are told everyday now on social media to ' love themselves ' and 'embrace their bodies no matter the size ' and while I absolutely agree we should never be ashamed to be fabulous, I would be lying if I thought for a second the encouragement really worked. At least not for me.

I'm a fat Queen and I must learn to embrace that. But, I refuse to be comfortable with it. Because comfort leads to more Chinese and Chinese leads to size 18, 20 and so on. I'm not ok with that.

Now, before any of you glorious Queens jump down my throat, I am not for a second suggesting anyone bigger than me is not beautiful and perfect. To me, beauty is confidence and if you're comfortable and confident as a size 4 or a size 24, then you're gorgeous to me because you're gorgeous to you.

But, I'm not comfortable. To be brutally and shamefully honest, I don't think I ever will be fully comfortable.

So I convince myself I'm sexy with kind words. Sure, my partner helps. He's been with me since I was 16 and seen me a size 6 to now a size 16. He says he doesn't care. He holds me, touches me and compliments me all the same. But the look, it's different. A woman always knows.

Part of me wishes he would call me ' A fat bitch ' to make me shift my wobbly arse in to gear and shame me into getting fit. But I also know if he did this, he would be sleeping on the sofa for as long as bears shit in the woods.

So when I buy a new plus size lingerie set or go through my ever-growing wardrobe; because I don't like the change and refuse to throw away my size 14 jeans, I tell myself this won't be forever. But it just might.

Should I learn to try and be comfortable with my new wobbly belly, double chin and stretch mark covered thighs or should I start a vigorous routine of exercise and salad dinners to get thin again? Fuck, neither sounds the most appealing to be honest.

But I have moments when I feel good. Today for example. Squeezing that size 16 over my arse and looking in the mirror. A beautiful crushed velvet dress, baby pink, only £9.99 on Amazon. Bargain. I felt sexy, I felt a little more like me again.

So, I sit here writing this with Mr King lingering closely by waiting for me to pick him up and fall into the world of Shawshank, sipping my 3rd glass of Martini and occasionally rubbing my belly like it's something to be proud of. Because, the truth is, it is.

My belly held my now 11 year old daughter and kept her safe for 8 months. My belly underwent keyhole surgery and came out better for it. My belly keeps me full and warm and feeling whole.

Yes, this Queen is proud. A little uncomfortable but proud.

So, tonight I'll rock my new skin tight dress, spray some Estee Lauder perfume on my soft Nuxe oiled skin and remember I can change if I want because I'm a Queen.

But right now, I think I might just order another Chinese.

beauty
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About the Creator

Kayleigh Taylor

Book, coffee and pet-obsessed writer who loves writing raw truths and fictional fantasies. I hope you enjoy.

Kayleigh

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