Their caption reads “got any spareribs?”
Once upon a time, I believed I was all that, and then some. In my mind I had “impossibly long legs that promised a sweet trip to ectasy” (I kid you not, that is what ran through my mind upon final mirror inspection before leaving the house LOL), sweet ass, firmly encased in tight jeans, breasts firm and high, announcing with certainty for anyone interested they would find pleasure to no end.
In reality, I was 5’4” tall, so really, how long could my legs actually be? I weighed 100 lbs soaking wet, how curvy could I possibly be? My bra size was 32B, no cleavage, ever, no matter how much they were pushed together. Low cut tops were not my thing. Tight sweaters/shirts… absolutely. I was (am) small and delicate, no muscle, no firm, tight, toned body happening here, then or now. The only thing that I had firmly planted in reality was my view of my butt. It was actually firm and slightly rounded (still is to a degree). Anyway, I reveled in my femininity, my curves, my body, my sensuality and sexuality. In spite of the childhood sexual abuse and the rape as a teenager, which was completely banished from any active memory at that time. I consistently totally immersed myself in the feel a hand slowly caressing my body, hot desire shining in hooded eyes; this always brought a self-satisfied smile to my lips. I was a taker; reveling in the pleasure I was receiving and hardly interested in making much of an effort to return the favour. As far I was concerned at that time, I thought that the fact they were touching me was enough of a gift of pleasure for the guys I chose to share my body with. I was not much interested in making conversation, didn’t want to get to know them, sometimes even forgoing making the effort to remember their names and most definitely not interested in a relationship of any kind. I walked with a sexy swagger, relaxed and confident in my desirability. There were no rules to follow, nothing to hold me back, free to indulge my fantasy with whomever caught my eye, whenever the urge would strike. Immediate gratification at its best and most useful. I dressed in tight clothes to show off my attributes, highlighting what I believed were my best assets. Never slutty but always sexy, high heels to accentuate the legs, make up applied subtly but still making it apparent that I made the effort, hair free and natural with that bed tousled look way before it became part of the fashion scene, dancing freely, unafraid to move sexily on the dance floor alone or with a partner, feeling hot eyes taking me in was invigorating. Spotting a man who woke up the tingling in my loins prompted me to dance for him, swaying sexily, making frequent eye contact until he believed he was receiving a very exciting exclusive private dance meant just for him.
It was so easy to seduce a the man of my choice it became a game, a competition between this woman and I, easy enough for me that the “notches on my bedpost” outnumbered hers. Once my conquest was complete they no longer held any interest for me. And they most definitely were strongly encouraged to leave. I was never interested in repeating the experience either. Not that a lot of them didn’t try. I was usually blunt enough for them to understand it was never going to happen. If and when I did see them again somewhere I rarely acknowledged their existence. And I did not care, not even one little bit. It was all about me. Even when I was pregnant, I did nothing to camouflage the baby bump, wearing my regular tops and slightly bigger sized jeans long before the Demi Moore’s famous naked pregnant woman magazine cover.
Never any baggy, shapeless cloths for me. I didn’t even own a pair of sweats or sweatshirts for that matter. Never even entered my mind to look at clothes like that. Even in the coldest winter as bundled up as I needed to be to protect against the cold, I exuded a predatory sexiness. There was never a shortage of interested men trying their luck, becoming more annoying than flattering in some cases. I spent the summer in a fabulous maternity bathing suit that showed off my newfound cleavage to perfection when pregnant and still received more than my fair share of propositions. My acceptance of my sexual needs was as natural to me as eating. My interest in men was waning, taking a beating by the incomprehensible behaviour of mans pursuit of a woman for sex. One thing I knew for sure, they were not that picky. Not at all. If they were ass-men, if you had one and they liked it, they were not able to see anything that didn’t please them. Unlike a woman, where we will see a nice butt and then go on to critique the rest of the body until the whole image is less beautiful than originally imagined. Men see one thing they like and are able to like the rest. Women, not so much. That is the main difference between a man and a woman regarding sexuality. Another is visual. Men are totally visual, if they see it they are good to go. Women require something more; if they see an attractive male something more is needed to seal the deal. Like the ability to converse with a minimum of intelligence at least, or the hot eyes must accompany the hot butt, or great rock hard body guy must not be shallow. Get the drift? Big, big difference. See why porn is such a billion dollar industry.
Then…something changed me. What the hell happened? Where did that part of me go? She is still in here, somewhere, showing fleeting glimpses of herself now and then. Teasing me. Taunting me to come and find her. Mostly laying dormant hiding away giving no signs of life for years on end. I miss her. Really miss her.
Yes, I am older now and my physical appearance has changed. But this sexual part of me started disappearing in my late 20’s, early 30’s. And I’m not really sure why. My sense of self changed, I no longer saw the attraction nor did I believe in my own ability to be attractive. I felt foolish in sexy clothes. I started shopping for sweats and comfortable cloths, reserving the tight jeans for special occasions. My body image changed. Now all I saw was a skinny woman with nothing going on. That body image stayed with me for a very long time, too long. Way too long. Now, I’m obsessing about my missing sexuality, actively trying to reignite that spark inside of me. Still, what I see in the mirror is not similar to what I see reflected in my husband’s eyes when he sees me naked. Makes me think he may have a vision problem. It can’t be me, can it? Well, it is me. Entirely. The ability to enjoy sex, feel passion and desire comes from within. It does not come from anything external. Completely and totally internal. So, now what? I need to find the answer because now I’m completely and totally obsessed with this, 24/7. How to change what I see, how I feel is not going to be easy…of course not! So, lets start with what my eyes record when I look in the mirror. I need something to compare it to. Off to the internet I go. Lots of information and images available for me to peruse. So, I did.
However, after sneaking a peek at the mature XXX websites that depict the more mature women, MILFs they are called as well as the 50+ and even the grannies, strutting their stuff, I can safely conclude that I am far more physically pleasing to the eye than over 80% of those women. I am not talking about the professional pornography stars with the enhanced breasts and butts, plumped up lips and excessive amounts of hair. I’m talking about the real life, everyday women that feel free to post what they think makes them sexy on the internet for all to see. To me, most of them look pretty ordinary at best, some downright dog-like and even hideously ugly.
Yet, they are still sought after, lusted after. Thinking of one woman in particular that caught my eye for her lack of physical attractiveness. More fleshy than voluptuous. More just plain ugly. She had more than 600,000 hits on her pic/video…so, unless she spends her days just clicking on her own site, she is definitely successful. I wonder why. How can that be? I cannot imagine being a man and finding anything in her images to excite me. Distaste paints my face. There are thousands more “successful” ordinary women which just proves that beauty and lust are only a matter of personal taste and have nothing to do with reality:) There is just so much to do now. Change the way I dress and alter my wardrobe. Can sexy and comfort go hand in hand as well as sexy and warmth? I’m sure I can think of something. (It is bloody damn cold in Canada in the winter, even when the heat is on full blast I can feel the chill when disrobing.) I’m aware that what once was a simple matter of “sex will happen as long as there are 2 bodies involved” automatic response way back in the day, it will take more effort and perhaps props now to achieve the bliss. Sex toys. Sexy lingerie. Sexy music. Sexy lighting. Softcore porn cause that hardcore stuff is absolutely ridiculous! Some variety, some playfulness and a lot of blocking conscious thought, only allow feeling to be present. Bring on the experiment…I’m ready to try.
Ok, I can do this. What is seen in the mirror is not so bad, really. Still acceptably firm, nothing too saggy (but certainly not perky LOL), no excess meat on my bones but not skeletal, C cup with a slim bottom, slightly rounded, legs and arms same size as ever (often referred to as twig-like in my mind LOL). See?, not so easy to change your body image. But I’m working on it. I have ample confidence in my ability to effect change in my attitude. I know my husband is pretty damn happy so far, and nothing has really happened yet. LMAO so easy to please the male species:)
Message to lustfuls:
toallofthosewouldbeinterestedpartiessuddenlylustingformeyoumustfulfillthefollowingcriteriatobeevenremotelyconsideredinteresting;9figuresalary/bankaccountbalance worshipthegroundiwalkonabletofollowmythoughtprocessindulgemyeverywhimshoutmyvirtuesfromrooftopsadmiremelovemewantmecareformecareaboutmebuymeanythingandeverythingiwantwithgratitudethatiallowyoutospendyourmoneyonmekeepupwithmeineverywaytelleveryoneandanyonehowfreakin’intelligentiamhowtalentediamhowwonderfuliamhowfunnyiamhowiameverymanwomansdream IF YOU DO NOTmeetallofthiscriteria do not bother replying/commenting/soliciting.
This is just the best looking wine bottles ever:)