Sexy Has a Number
I suspect I have surpassed it.
I was confident in my sexuality for about as long as the guy who drank me pretty said I was. He sobered up and my life as a wall flower 🌺 carried on.
After getting dumped from a second marriage that produced in a total of eight children I was such a catch. Too bad it was only the bill collectors who wanted me.
I walked out in the community after that and could feel my face burn with embarrassment. The shame I felt while getting tested for std’s made me cry. The lady who stood by the doctor kind of giggled when I said some people should get an exam in the middle of coop. Of course the compassion I saw in her eyes made it worse somehow.
I was fat and depressed. I got angry and hated myself more everyday. My youth was gone and I thought, might as well start collecting cats.
I had to be honest and claim some responsibility for the collapse of most long term relationships I was a part of. I wasn’t happy and went out a lot in both marriages. I was no angel and had many nights where I did not act like I was married. How could I love anyone when I despised myself.
My children watched the pain surface again and again and now it was way worse.
I started kickboxing. The swift kicks and the primal scream was just what the doctor ordered. Punching my rage away I lost weight.
I saw light. And boy did I enjoy it. The attention I would get from men energized me. I felt confident.
Looking back I realize that’s the only time in my life I felt good about my appearance. All my life I was told by the men and some women that I was ugly. I suspect it was from jealousy but I believed it. I look at pictures of that beautiful, slim woman. How I wasted time not knowing my true worth.
Being single in my forties was trying. I made a go of it. I had to try to recall how to flirt and “date” eat.
No broccoli soup or bean salad for me if I thought there was a chance we would be messing around after. I knew holding in a fart for the rest of the evening had a cooling effect on the ole sex drive. Falling asleep was out of the question cuz those muscles would eventually relax. That Loud machine gun sound woke the neighbors.
God has a way of knocking me down and keeping me humble too. Once I was meeting up with my prey, we’ll call him Facebook Fabio, at a mud bog. My hair was magnificent after spoiling myself and getting my horns, grey hair covered up.
I flirted and acted cute (probably akin to sharpening my claws and licking my chops) and looking pretty fly, is that what they call it? Anyway, I got the best front row spot and yup a huge jeep flew (past tense of fly) by in the deepest part of the course. A brown curtain tsunami bore its way to the audience and fell, drowning me in a shower of sledge. That wasn’t quite horrifying enough. I backed away and fell on a toddler almost killing her. I’ll never forget the look on her face as the eclipse of my ass made her life flash by her lovely eyes.
I stopped acting cute. Well at least for the next while anyway. I would attempt it but usually it would end with me wearing my pants inside out or visiting around all day with yogurt down the front of my shirt.
I equated my success on how many men I got interested in me. Young and hot meant I was awesome. That worked for awhile.
I wanted more. I got more. When I finally started to trust again I got screwed over. In every sense of the word. One guy slept with his niece and everything that wasn’t tied down, another wanted to keep me a secret, another wanted me to pretend to be a child? One was so old and I wasn’t attracted to him but I really tried because he treated me so good. In the end he turned out to be a pig interested in getting notches on his belt, I was no better. I used him too.
I had to realize that I couldn’t be that person.
I made a list of my ideal man. I used to have a lot more criteria but as I got older the list dwindled slightly.
- Have a job
- Be faithful
- Have his own teeth
- Have a vehicle
I found someone who had three of those things. Although at the time I didn’t know his teeth weren’t real ha. He was a little older so I figured I would just keep my options open. A fancy way to say I played the field.
I tested him. He was such a sweet man. I didn’t make any kind of commitment for the longest time.
He said “I love you” wayyy to soon. He scared me.
The person who introduced us (claiming we were buddies) continued to see me for months after and he knew but never let on that it bothered him. I wasn’t ready.
He kept pursuing me knowing I was out and probably misbehaving. He didn’t say a thing.
He kept calling, texting and making me feel special. He didn’t brag about me or say anything to his friends when they asked about me.
Today, in my extremely early fifties I finally realize my sexuality isn’t an outward thing. It’s me looking in the mirror and liking what I see.
He sees me as the same person he met years ago. I have gained a lot of weight but he doesn’t notice.
Nothing brought this home more when recently I lost weight and put on a shirt I wore when I was at my heaviest. I was suprised how loose it was and more shocked to know he didn’t see the difference.
I see him and he looks so cute to me. He gazes at me and says I’m beautiful. Now isn’t that what we all want? Someone to see past the wrinkles, grey hair and rolls.
I still have my moments where I think I should look a certain way, or I need to turn heads for other reasons than to help me with my groceries or wondering if I need assistance crossing the street.
Coming of an age where my happiness has to come from within. I’m lucky to have someone who puts up with me.
I feel sexy when he looks at me and that is beginning to he enough.