It took me time to understand. Admittedly, at times, I still don’t.
He worships this body of mine, this body of breadth and depth. Certainly, he has a selection of waif-like goddesses, all dying to be a part of his harem, and yet, it is at my alter that he genuflects, night after satiated night. While I might get into bed feeling like the Michelin Man on some nights, I leave there a as a Playboy pictorial.
Attitude, baby. It’s all in the attitude.
I was prone to breaking out my old pictures from my former “thin” days. The days before the babies wore down my breasts in their battle to defy gravity. The days when my stomach was a “tummy” and I wore the word “voluptuous” like a crown. I would show him that, once upon a decade ago, I was slender and sleek. In showing ‘him’ these pictures, I was saying, “Look, I was once what every man desires.”
He dismisses my memories and dives for my mammaries.
It’s amazing how easily distracted I can be. I obsess over this body. I see every bump and bang along the way, appraising it like a recently wrecked Mercedes. When he touches me, I am the star of the showroom. I have no mileage and there are no dings or dents. I am an accidental goddess, and I blame him. When the touch is just right, my stomach, normally my nemesis, reacts like a third breast. It stiffens. It hardens. It wants to be kissed.
I have stretch marks from my bouts of birthing babies.
“Roadmaps. Reminders of where you have been in your life”, he states as his tongue maneuvers the dangerous curves of my highways and bi-ways. He drives onward; upward from the deepest valleys to my purple peaked mountains majesty. There are no stop signs on this road. There are no detours to drive him away. No reason to yield and everything is slippery when wet.
If I close my eyes, I am the autobahn, riding him, rather than the other way around.
I have learned to be on top and allow my landscape to be lingered upon. The sweet liberation in the realization that he is not assessing what is right and what is wrong. He is listening to my breathing in response to his. He is godlike, holding the whole world in his hands, being able to see all of me, from heaven to earth. He is not thinking that I weigh more than he, but how I glide so stealthily, so weightlessly upon him.
Moreover, he is filled with pride, while filling me.
He created this misfit, this accidental goddess by allowing me to remember I am more than a body. I am a mind that wanders. I am a soul that fulfills. I am a breath of fresh air and a heart of gold. I am the eyes of the compassionate and the laughter of a child. Astride him, I am patience being pushed to the limit and poetry in motion. When release is achieved, he never releases his hold. I smile. I smirk. I remind myself that I am beautiful in the dark and the light. I remind myself that he is panting helplessly beneath me and I was the cause. I was the cure. I put away my old photographs permanently. I never want to be her again, as he does not desire “that girl”, only this woman.
Attitude baby, it’s all in the attitude.