sinful sunday: freckles

I was playing with filters this afternoon and liked this one because of the way it made my freckles pop.

Normally I wouldn’t notice my freckles, or care, but earlier today I’d sent a similar shot to my boyfriend and he’d texted back

‘I love your freckles.’ 

I never really think about my freckles, or even think of myself as particularly freckled; compared to most of one side of my extended family on, I’m really not! I don’t have many on my face; they’re mostly on my arms, especially the elbows. There’s some scattered over my knuckles and the backs of my hands, a lonely one on the side of my left tit.

Hearing him say that, though, made me notice them, like them, struck a flickering glow under my skin. Now when I look in the mirror or down at the backs of my hands and see the funny particular way my melatonin clumps it makes me not just think of him; it makes me feel his gaze on me — seeing me, noticing me in ways I don’t, can’t, myself.

I think that’s maybe what we bring into other people’s lives, friends or lovers alike: we notice things, we see each other through different filters; we hold back up to the object of our affection the things we love about them, the funny things, the lovely things, the strange and random particular things, the wonder of all their pieces.

The way their cheek quivers when they’re trying not to laugh.

The quick empathy of her listening.

His little finger, the lines across the knuckle, the way it taps restless against the table.

His love for early biplanes and the way it makes you visit new bookstore sections with stars in your eyes.

The way she glances across a room and finds your eye and glimmers.

The particular blocking of his shoulders and what it does to your pulse.

The way he could read a phone book aloud and make it a thing of laughter and human connection.

The weight of her tits in a tshirt.

How punchdrunk happy you get just tracing the line of the bridge of his nose with your eyes for ten minutes, twenty, for a fucking hour.

The ludicrous joy it gives you when their voice cracks on the low E, every time.

The way their sense of humour fits effortlessly with yours.

The soft dangerous promise of how he kisses you in public.

The noises she makes when she comes.

The fact they know the same obscure Agatha Christie plotlines you do.

The grounding warmth of her breath on your skin.

The way he makes you feel seen. 


Sinful Sunday


sinful sunday: freckles


I’ve been doing some cross-stitch so I’ve had some yarn lying around, and when I first was trying to think of a photo idea I looked at it and thought “hmm maybe I’ll sort of… tie it around the base of each breast, really tight, to get a super cool bondage look”.
Alas, dear reader, this Did Not Work to the most profound imaginable extent (I suspect due to the size of my tits and also due to the, uh, rules of physics). So! This is what I ended up with in the end, haha.
I don’t mind it, though; there’s something sort of nicely symbolic (if a bit obvious) about physically framing parts of yourself, stringing lines around [body part X ]; it goes beyond passive acceptance (‘yeah my [X] is ok’) to ‘this is something a bit worth marking out’.
Anyway that’s my pseudo-philosophising for this week, lol — it’s just my tits with some string round them, really!
Check out the smooch at the bottom of the post for more Sinful Sunday posts! x
Sinful Sunday



This photo is really grainy and blurry, I know, but it kind of seems fitting, given my thoughts behind posting this one for Sinful Sunday.

All the pictures I’ve posted on this blog (or on Twitter) up until now have been of things I felt good about, my ‘best angles’ and features I like, the …very filtered me. I was thinking though last night about – why I even have this blog, the kind of attitudes about my body I actually want to have and cultivate, and so today I’m posting this one. Probably it’s pretty innocuous, to anyone else, not particularly striking in any way, but it shows the parts of my body I’m most self-conscious about, that feel furthest to me from the ‘perfect’ a big part of my brain still measures myself against.

It feels navel-gazey and self-involved to even post thoughts like this, but – if not here, then where? Thanks for indulging me, guys.


Be sure to click on the lips and see other Sunday photos! I will be … x

Sinful Sunday