This is not my attempt at revolution, per se--think of it more as my tentative wanderings, circling the herd. I've seen a lot of girls like this on the grid lately. Chinless, breasts out to Mars, butts out to Venus, awkward, sullen little things. I thought, if I'm going to see how I do at one of these shapes, let's really go for it.
So in my head, I named her. She's Tatiana. She's eighteen--barely. She ran away from home three months ago, and she's talked her way into a job at the local diner. She wakes up with a pout and goes to bed angry and fights with the customers and her boss threatens to fire her every other day.
In a lot of ways, she's still a little girl. Those thin arms, those thin legs, that narrow frame tells you that. Her attitude veers perilously close to "tantrum" over "legitimately upset" most of the time. But everything else screams "woman", from the pout on those lip-glossed fat lips to the curve of her ass. And she's learning. She's learning she doesn't have to change her attitude to gain attention from a man. She's learning the little pivot-and-hip swing the other waitresses do when picking up their drink trays.
Sometimes, after her shift, she just stands outside, watching the men leave the diner. Sometimes she'll pick one. Sometimes, it won't go all wrong and feature her scrambling out of the back of his truck, bruises on her arms--or on her throat--clutching her clothing to her thin chest.
|(from the [black witch moth] album)|
Put her in sneakers and pj pants and a torn t-shirt, you've got a high-schooler. Put her in a torn camisk and a bond collar and you've got a sullen little slave girl. Dress her up in a skin-tight catsuit, march her through a BDSM club on a leash, and you've got...well, several heart attacks as she sways on by. With those hips, she really can't help the sway.
You c'n have a gander at her over on Marketplace. See you there.