“…and when I get all stoned and kinky shouting mantras about love
He made me sign away my property. Now it’s owned by heaven above”
Glad I’m not God by the Lords of Acid
Yes I have used that quote before. But it is my favorite line from a heroin thin musician. Unlike like Praga two weeks into a tour covered in sweat and duct taped clothes the woman in question was lovely. Her jeans looked to have been painted on her rail thin body. Not an extra ounce of flesh anywhere on her frame, she was beyond thin but stopped just short of being too thin. Though very close to that line.
Her jeans; an immaculate white denim, fit her like a second skin. A fit so perfect it would make a latex fetishist drool with envy. Like everything else about her they were blatantly high end and custom. The jeans were so tight you could literally see the fabric not only parting but moving her lips with each long elegant stride. Lacking a pussy myself can’t know for sure but would have to imagine that would have to be stimulating if not maddeningly distracting.
Her high cheek bones framed a pretty but slightly gaunt face that featured a wide friendly easy and seemingly genuine smile. Hair streaked blonde and caramel unearth looking to be photo shoot perfect. A “Beach Blonde” in a sea if not an entire nation of brunettes. Her bronze tanned skin completed the look of leisure on a yacht somewhere in the Med. Instead she was standing before me in Shoreditch.
A sight to behold, a slave to form and fashion to the highest level. She had the body, the prescience, and the look that so many women seem to dream of. That they think to be what all male desire, something sold as the absolute physical ideal. Of course It is easy to make assumptions based on people’s appearances. About their sexuality, their personalities, about what they seem think and do. One might think a woman like this to be pretentious…she was as friendly as could be. To everyone. One might think her to be promiscuous…after all shouldn’t all creatures that possess the main stream ideal of physical perfection be shameless whores? Turns out she was rather modest in those terms.
As we spoke, got to know each other some I couldn’t help but wonder more. She was perfectly lovely. I thought about my own build. The pressure if not growing pressure to continue to change my own shape. How the cuts of my suits became trimmer, closer to my body. I compared and contrasted myself against my contemporaries, rivals, peers, and compatriots. I thought about how in the past year I had focused on taking size not only from my stomach but the thighs, arms, chest and back that so many years and reps had spent building. All to try to fit an ideal that may not be my natural body shape – I wanted and perhaps even needed to again work towards being rock star thin.
A friend was already an acquaintance of hers and later validated that she was a genuinely nice person. So while a few of the boys and couple of the ladies mused about our new friend’s build. Her diet, her work out routines, etc. One short comment brought it all home, “ Yes she watches what she eats, works out like mad, and the Heroin helps”. You see my friends despite all of her lovely features the reason the woman in question was Heroin Thin was not freak genetics, an obsessive diet, and religious work outs…she was that thin because of drugs. The rest was maybe well intentioned. Maybe a façade who knows. No matter what, why, or how being heroin thin comes at a price.
Being that thin its certainly not the type of build I find attractive in a woman, I like a bit more flesh and/or muscle. More hips, ass, breasts, and other assorted curves). Sadly what I now want for my own body is more od overly thin and not full. A strange dichotomy