I guess this is what you call growing up, when you put on a tight dress, feeling rebellious and free because underneath that dress there is no restraint. You don’t wonder if you look sexy, you just want to make sure that your nipples aren’t showing and the new-found freedom is not too obvious. You don’t really care that it might be offensive to some. That’s why the eyes can move.
The dress is tight. Too tight, because you gave up trying to lose weight a few weeks ago. Now, you eat what you want and when you wake up, it is not to work out, it is to study. You do miss exercising and you plan to go back to it, but the way your current schedule is set up …
As you try to get in this too tight dress, you let out an excited giggle as your boobies jiggle when you wriggle into it. And then you feel it, just as you pour them into the dress, that pulse between your legs. The itch that can’t be scratched because the skin that’s itching is too delicate. The itch that needs smooth strokes of something … and then you don’t feel so excited about your bra-lessness anymore, you feel a bit weird.
Weird like a teenager feels on the day she gets that ache in her belly and pulls down her pants only to see the dark stain that she quickly realised was not poo, but just the earliest form of the blood the would forever discharge itself from her.
Weird, like the boy feels when he wakes up and his sheets are stained with white stuff, that he figures isn’t pee, but isn’t quite sure himself.
Yea, weird like that. You’ve wondered if you are a lesbian and now you wonder if you are a late bloomer, but something tells you that you are not, because you remember having conversations with crushes and getting wet just from a simple ‘hey, how are you doing.’ You were only twelve. You are just more sexual than you have ever allowed yourself to acknowledge.
And you have been successful in hiding this part of yourself, so successful that even as you were dripping wet when your college crush pulled you closer for a kiss by the station before the train pulled up, he thought you rejected him. Your body in its paradoxical self, demurred for you. So he went away feeling rebuffed when all you wanted was for him to kiss you again and just have that moment extended in itself, having no consequences, no follow-on feelings, just to have the experience of the full, intense feelings you’d felt for him be physically and intimately expressed.
But you also knew yourself. You knew that if you leaned into the kiss and showed your basest desires, you’d end up paying for it with longing aches that he could and would never satisfy and so your Soldier Prude came out and saved you from yourself.
Perhaps four years before this, you weren’t so in favour of protecting yourself. As a result of that, you let loose and you tasted the raspberry cheesecake that they warned would taste good, but give you indigestion. It was good and it did give you indigestion. It left a bitter taste and you were sorry you ate it. That was when the armour came to stay with the full mask that hides your every desire for pleasure so that no one can see it or know that it is there.
But now, with your freed lovelies squeezed in this too-tight dress and your heart between your legs throbbing, you’ve asked the soldier to hold on and let you walk this path. The path to self-acceptance and self-acknowledgement of your so far imprisoned nymph, who is wholly and truly a part of you and not anything that you should feel shameful, worried, scared or perplexed about.
So here you are accepting and revelling in this seemingly ethereal part of you that is absolutely wonderful. You are realising that this is part of the journey of accepting your whole self, your whole being, your whole you. You can’t leave out one part because you are not ready for it yet. You can’t deny its inner workings, its needs, its presence in you. It is something you begin to appreciate, cherish and eagerly look forward to satisfying it in the way that suits you best, with a tasty meal that is wholesome, flavourful and immensely satisfying. One that will leave no undesirable aftertaste. And again, you are excited.
You realise this part of you is only saying to you:
“I am here. I am of you. I am you. Just as much as your tummy is you. Just as much as your face, your arms, your fingers and your legs are you. I am you and there is nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly perfect. I am wonderfully wonderful and I, like you, am expectant, but while we are expecting, don’t make me feel unwanted. Don’t make me feel bad. Don’t make me feel as though you would rather not have me till you can be at one with me without guilt. There is nothing guilty about me. I am as pure as you are pure and I want to be loved as you want to be loved and I want acceptance as you want acceptance. So know that I too want the same acknowledgement that you are seeking to give every part of you and this is my letting you know that I too am here.”
She has said her peace and now she is quiet because she knows that the next time she speaks to you, you will listen. You will acknowledge her. For all that she is and all that you are. You will welcome her and accord her the deepest respect and together, you will wait, hand in hand like new found friends, walking together towards their future.
When not writing she is either working (maybe?), eating chocolate and ice cream, reading some kind of story or sleeping (in that order)