Derek is staring at me. Like staring staring. His eyes unashamedly run over every inch of my pink-bikini-clad body. Which listen, I like my body. She’s a good body and it’s taken me years to come to terms with the fact that I can love her even if the media tells me she’s not up to the standards they expect. I simply don’t care anymore because I’m happy in my skin and I refuse to spend my days hating it because some person back in the day decided I should have a tiny waist, a big booty, and huge breasts. My body is soft and squishy in places and flat in others, and it’s perfect for me. But the
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