Tales of An 'Mazing Girl: Conventional Beauty Standards
Written by castor :: [Tuesday, 11 March 2014 22:25] Last updated by :: [Monday, 17 March 2014 08:13]
One day after waking up from a night of anxious dreams, Sarah awoke to find she had abs. Not the kind of flat tummy that women suggest say "hey: abs!" – but the kind of highly indented, very deep, actual muscle in her abdominal wall. The kind of muscles that appeared after 1000s of hours in a gym, and on a woman suggested maybe she had overdone it. There wasn't actually anything flat about it. They kind of bubbled up from her stomach … like, well, like bubbles.
Sarah found this surprising.
The night before she recalled her stomach looked fairly normal for her – a kind of slight pudge that maybe was looking a tad less pudgy then general. Sarah's weight, in general, tended to fluctuate a lot – she gained and lost the same 15 pounds once or twice a year.
The night before she had helped out at a charity car-toss event. Which was a lot like it sounds. They had some old cars, and she spent the evening tossing them in the desert to see how far she could throw them (about 3 miles, as it turned out). Then there was an actual bank, robbery which was something she didn't deal with all that much in the overall scheme of things. It wasn't like a superhero movie. It was at night, no one had guns, and Sarah was no master detective. But it was pretty clear that the security guard was in on it – but somehow a silent alarm was tripped. The police called her when she was finishing up the tossing thing, and so Sarah got there in time to see the robbers leaving, which lead to a high speed chase over three three freeways, and an overpass.
Actually, it had been a taxing night. Maybe she had worked out enough to loose the pudge. It was weird for her. She knew abstractly tossing a single car burned more calories then she had pounds of fat on her – but, well … life. She wasn't going to deal with how her powers in no way made sense. Someone had written a physics paper about her when she was still in college (not her college – she went to art school – but a college) which posited that she had some kind of access to some kind of energy source … and well, it happened.
Sarah sighed. She had the incredible urge to wear a half shirt. Except she didn't own a half shirt.
She ran a comb through her hair and looked in the mirror. She was in her own bed, something that … She had a bad case of bed head, and was in her slightly scuzzy bathroom. Even despite the bed head she wanted to show it off to someone, to say 'hey!'
Sarah got out her phone. She went to the bathroom mirror to take a selfie of her stomach to send to her friend – and maybe post on her Facebook page – then she realized she wasn't 17 and decided against it.
Instead she went to the kitchen.
What should she have for breakfast?
She looked down. She suspected with the way she ate, that her abs would disappear in maybe a month – if her metabolism went back to normal.
She was considering one of those microwave egg sandwich things, then maybe a doughnut at work … but really …
She had lunch with Lana … her girlfriend. This was a set day, and it wasn't that tricky. Sarah lifted up her shirt.
"Impressive," observed Lana.
"You like?" Sarah inquired. It was a concept that woman looked good, that they took cared of their body for the men in their life. Lana, the very small petite dress-wearing super, aka the Flame, was not a man. But she was in her life.
(Though she was, as usual, dressed kind of butch: a pair of slacks and a dress shirt)
But the point … was there wasn't. She shouldn't look special for her … ahh well, fuck it.
"There's a lot of muscle on me" said Sarah. "People don't realize it. Quads, pecs all of that stuff. I'm a very big powerful woman. It's the biceps you most notice it … it's just … well, a lot of it is covered in flub."
Lana nodded. "I've read up on nutrition – most bodybuilders get really muscular and kind of fat – then before the competition loose the fat in a crash diet. It's silly. "
"So … .let say I want to keep it …"
"Don't eat fatty food; get lots of exercise."
"I get plenty of exercise. I mean, like 300 miles last night. I lifted lots of cars … I …"
Sarah left an open question. Would Lana still love her if she was fat.
That was a silly question, as obviously she didn't love her.
But Sarah did eat a salad that day for lunch. For dinner too.
That night she watched Lana while she slept. She had abs in the way it's sometimes defined – she had a very flat stomach that, if she tensed or sat up, moved in a way that suggested maybe there was a muscle somewhere in there – but well not really. A kind of blank space between her non existent breasts and her hairy bush.
She stroked it a second, and her little belly button. It was cute. She was cute. Sarah knew in a 1000 years she could never look like her.
Lana was closer to the ideal of human beauty, and if Lana went to say a plastic surgeon probably could get her there – but Lana never would. Sarah never would anyway, obviously … no way a damn surgeon could cut her open. They would have to use fucking power tools. But in a way she was closer, much closer, than before. If the diet thing worked again the rest of her pouchy area would go. Making her closer to, say, wonder woman.
So Sarah was left to ponder.
And for lunch and dinner the next day she had salad.
The second night she went patrolling through the city, and saw something.
She landed in front of a house. Now, the image you might think of – a house is something suburban and pleasant and green – and green it was. But the house was a bit old and run down. It was in Inglewood, a suburb of LA that, well … was "urban" in the same way Aresenio Hall was "urban".
But in front of it was a little girl. 'Mazing Girl adjusted her spot and landed in front of her.
"Help help!" said the girl. "My cat is in the tree!"
That is a literal quote there. Six years olds can be remarkably direct.
"What happened?" 'Mazing Girl asked. She liked kids about this age. They were good at taking a grown woman in cape, who could kinda fly, at face value.
"Well, I opened the door and I'm not supposed to let the cat out, but I did, and he climbed up, way up the tree."
'Mazing Girl nodded. There was a tree. And there was, about 30 feet up, a cat. A tabby cat. Not a kitten, but a cat.
"He's scared and he'll bite, but I don't want him to stay up all night!"
'Mazing girl leaned in, and landed lightly. Trees were tricky. Cats where tricky. She had a hard time gauging weight, but the branch seemed sturdy enough. The cat looked at her – but it couldn't move any further up the big linden tree.
'Mazing Girl looked at it. The cat looked at her. They were going to do this.
Still, 'Mazing Girl thought using her powers of looking at things: We are going to do this.
Still doing this.
'Mazing Girl leaned in, and with two hands and steady motion grabbed for the cat, got bit on the arm to absolutely no effect, and held it.
She jumped down.
"Here you go. Hold on to it"
"Thanks 'Mazing Girl. When I grow up I want to look just like you!"
'Mazing Girl paused.
"I get that a lot. Just try to be nice … and help people … and you can. Wait a second … did you say look like me?"
"Sure. Your so beautiful and thin … and white."
"Wait a second," said 'Mazing Girl "No. That is not okay. Not at all okay. You are bueatiful just the way you are. You can't get any whiter, but you will always be beautiful. Black and beautiful."
"Listen to me, it's very important. That is in no way okay. "
"Then thin then."
"THAT is still not okay. You should be happy with your body image. There are whole books and shows and magazines that are going to want to change what you look like, make you feel like something else, and dumb and ugly. I have been fat my entire life, and you know what? I am healthy and *extremely* strong. It doesn't make me any less disciplined or special. I have saved the world, and I'm okay – and you will too in your own way."
"Okay then," said the little girl. "It's my bedtime."
"Remember what I said!" 'Mazing Girl insisted. "It's you I like. Every part of you. Your skin, your eyes, your feelings. Whether old or new. The way down deep inside you. Not the things that hide you, not your toys – there just beside you. I hope that you'll remember. Even when you're feeling blue That it's you I like, It's you yourself, It's you, it's you I like …"
The girl walked away.
'Mazing Girl sighed.
And that night Sarah went to Randy's Donuts.