I recently started seeing a guy who I can be really brutally honest with. The other night we were at a bar and he kept trying to nuzzle me and I said “I’m going to say this and it’s going to sound mean but I don’t mean for it to be mean. Stop touching me like you’re my boyfriend.” He looked sort of taken aback for a moment and then said, “Only in public right?” and I nodded and he jovially said “Ok” and thanked me for being honest about my discomfort.
All this is to say that this morning when I said “When I’m in bed with someone I always get distracted from feeling sexy by trying to perform Sexiness properly,” he could trust that I was telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
But just saying that he trusts, doesn’t mean he understands. Because he freely admits that he doesn’t really. That to him I just AM sexy, no effort required. And I have a really hard time accepting that. That he can watch me lap up curry and still think I’m as as delicious looking as when I’m eyeing him in my underwear.
It takes practice for me to not perform sexy as it’s taught on every magazine cover. But I’m starting to notice that when I stop trying to stick my butt out or part my lips the right way, that’s when I can actually focus on what feels good. And thats much nicer to focus on.
Sometimes guys put stupid things in your head and sometimes you do it all on your own. And you’re probably going to think I’m crazy but I’m going to tell you a secret. A secret that you can appreciate now that you know how trustworthy I am. I imagine myself bigger. I imagine I have Lena Dunham’s butt and thighs. And somehow that helps me value my own pleasure over my self-imposed need to pretend I’m Kate Moss.