Thursday, May 27, 2010

“Hot, hot sex.”

The space between my legs smells of sex,
Hot and sticky telling stories of a long goodnight
With a man I already miss.
My thighs, no longer coltish have grown thicker,
The enticing gap of youth that once crowned my innocence
Has filled out with gained weight.
I was once slim, scrawny almost,
My breasts were small, nipples protruding beneath a bra
I did not yet need but wore to enhance what little I had in a
Whore’s game.
Now I am what some may call festively plump,
My sexuality more overt and obvious
Now that my breasts meet in beautiful round circles in corsets
And my hips flare beneath hooped skirts and netting.
I do not call myself plump,
Instead I revel in my pleasant pot belly,
I push it out as I walk and do not breathe in to hide it.
I am proud, the dimples in my buttocks
Remember grabbing hands and carpet burns
That love gave me, something I never got when
I was thin.
It should seem ironic, I looked how the world said I should
But now I am rounder and more curved I ooze hot, hot sex
And he roars delight in my ears as I push my pot belly into his
Flat tattooed stomach.
We do not match on the outside, he is dark, entrancing, mysterious,
I am sexual, strong and pale from hiding in shadows to add to my desire,
But the sweat on my brow whispers to me
That we do, we do.
He held me once, and did not need to speak it,
I am beautiful, I know.
I am beautiful.

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