No heels, No shirt, No skirt,
All I’m in is just skin.
No jeans, Take em off,
Wanna feel your skin.

– “Skin” Rihanna

“It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.”

– Pulp Fiction “Fabienne”

I ain’t no diva.  It’s rare that you’ll see me in heels (since I am still not 100% on my ankle seven months later) and I was probably born in blue jeans.  I can work a smokey eye, but I like my face; the one I see first thing in the morning.  Seeing my words on paper will always pacify me in a way that seeing them on a computer screen never will.  When I cook, I chop each and everything by hand.  Falling in love with a best friend has always been the ideal, so I’ve never cared much for “set-ups.”  I’m earthy and organic; bare feet in the grass, taking in the sounds around me. And when it comes to sex…

No, when it comes to the aesthetics of sex, I am curiously lost in the sauce.  This is not due to some puritanical stigma.  There’s the sex circus, and there’s sex.  Of course , the two can intersect, it simply doesn’t always happen.  At the top of my list is lingerie.  For lingerie aficionados, this is not directed toward you.  There are different strokes for different folks. Since I believe you don’t know that you won’t like something until you try it, I’ve purchased a lace this and silk that in my travels.  Ultimately, it felt incredibly silly, because it’s not me.  Polished toes, one of my man’s roomy shirts, and nothing else would be much more my speed…for starters.

It’s not that have no desire to titillate, or be titillated for that matter.  What begins in the mind is essential to enjoying sex.  But it is also an act meant to be enjoyed physically, and not just observed as performance art.   But this is the notion that has taken over, we do what we’re told in terms of attraction and sexuality, rather than embracing what draws us in.*  Adonis-like bodies with perfectly formed faces are lovely to look at, but that does not guarantee a recipe for pleasure.   Frankly, there are like, thirteen people who look like that – on a planet of billions.  I’m can assure you that both the very lean, and the more Rubenesque are perfectly capable of getting down for their crown.  Yes, Darren Sharper is my fiance and future baby daddy, but I have no qualms with cuddling up with a burly fella, because…

When all is said and done, my intentions will be perfectly clear.  I want to enjoy the person I am with.  Conversely, I want them to enjoy what I am doing to and with them.  Being present in that moment of delight when those first sighs escape is what truly matters.  Accoutrement is perfectly acceptable.  Candles, oil, music, and other miscellaneous trappings of sensuality are nice.  However, if I have too much time to pay attention to those things, something is being done all wrong.  Low moans, the smell of (the mythical) him, and the taste of a sweat-salted shoulder happens to be what curls my toes.  If you can’t relate, you’re missing out.

Holla if ya hear me.

*At 12, I had a poster of Al B. Sure! in my locker and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.  Now AND then.


6 responses to “Bare

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention Bare « Wreckless Endangerment --

  2. Wow…you sound a lot like me. I rarely rock heels, I stay in jeans and tennis shoes. My idea of lingerie is my hubby’s old t-shirt.

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