Little Nuggets
Making out in his car in a vacant parking lot he called them “little nuggets”
Every time I had sex, I would keep my shirt on
I hated the sight of my flat terrain laying on my back
Bras would leave a wide gap — my breasts playing a game of peek-a-boo if a stranger were to look down my shirt
Chants in my bedroom: “I must, I must, I must increase my bust!”
The book, “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret,” taught me
My ex told me not to shave my pussy bare
They said, “You would look like a little girl.”
My 4’11” stature with my petite frame and 32As
The first time I wore lingerie for a man I felt like a child playing dress-up
Self-conscious overpowered sexiness
I asked myself, “What does it mean to be sexy?”
I had grown to equate sexiness to the male gaze
I had neglected my own gaze from the reflection of my lost sense of self in the mirror
At 25, sexiness to me is not tight clothing, makeup or even high heels
Sexiness is wearing a new vintage dress, putting on a sheer bralette, and sporting what society likes to call “granny panties”
Thongs were not invented with women in mind
I hated the feeling of a lace string in between my butt cheeks
The feeling of all cotton undies is a new kind of heavenly bliss
The second time I wore lingerie was for myself in the comfort of my studio
I was the model emulating her inner goddess
I was the photographer admiring her muse
Damn, she’s beautiful
Little nuggets and all
