(Mrs. Hot is having thrilling summer adventures. The inspiration, titillation and transformation returns in September.)
IN WHICH I EMPLOY A PRIVATE — MAKE THAT PRIVATES — DETECTIVE OF SORTS TO REVEAL THE SOURCE OF MY ISSUES.
Though I felt my current weight imbalance — like all previous episodes of blimpdom — had been conceived in that closed sexual chakra in childhood, I had never understood its exact genesis at a specific moment in time. If I were to transform my body and my creative fulfillment, I needed this clarity from the depths of my subconscious, where longstanding issues reside.
Enter my New York shaman, Olivia Olkowski, my go-to detective into the mysteries of the lower, as well as higher, realms. Using the wisdom and expertise gleaned from her teachers in the Amazon, Olivia and I journeyed into my subconscious where she saw me at the age of five, on a beach next to a lake. I’d been changing into my swimsuit and done what I’ve always been called to do my entire life — and done when I’m able — to run around naked in nature, like an animal, free and joyous.
My mother had put a harsh and immediate stop to this, shaming me for “parading” my genitals, which till then, I had never imagined were “bad,” a label she momentously gave them during the encounter. Indeed, there is a photo from that trip to the lake, the two of us examining shells. Mother Dearest is drawing on a Winston, her typical smoke screen to keep any kind of intimacy at bay. Years later emphysema alone, it turned out, would have the capacity to halt her rigidly prudish, conformist tyranny.
Consider, dear reader, how your first, seminal identity is your sex. In conversation we don’t ever say, “I met a person today.” We say “I met a woman today.” From there the rest of identity unfolds, racially, physically, in terms of personality, getting more and more specific and detailed. But it all starts with our sex. In shaming me for my sexual identity, my mother effectively cancelled me out at my very core — for all intents and purposes, soul murder. And so Olivia determined I had been hiding myself in a protective body, to obscure the shame of who, at my essence, I was.
With this information brought to the surface, into the light of consciousness, the act of shaming no longer held its power — no longer would I be subconsciously driven to put on weight. Still, I was left with the habits of using food for entertainment and emotional coping; it would be up to me to exercise my power of will. But that will had now been fortified with the knowledge of why, which was more than half the battle.
My desire to transform into who I was always meant to be — aided by my new understanding and positive outlook — gave me the strength to choose, moment by moment, and day by day, the right food to love and honor my true goddess body. And with every refusal to get Frito-Layed, I came closer to getting laid in a fashion far more satisfying than any GMO grain could transiently provide, prior to its sprint to my ass. Yes, I, Mrs. Hot, actually mustered the balls necessary to magnetize flesh and blood, truly tantalizing — not to mention, organic — ones my way!
Now that I was tackling my sexuality and body issues it would only be a matter of time and with it, pounds, before I would tackle my first hot sexual adventure as my brand-new version 2.0.
Note to self: Come out, come out wherever — and whoever — you are!
Yours truly,
