soapboxdiner

The Trouble with Being a Girl in Lust

It such an odd phenomenon (for me at least), the prospect of starting an intimate relationship with someone new. God, the history of modern society has messed with women's heads. And I don't even know if it's just me, or if it's women in general -- it would be kind of nice to think I'm not alone here.

On the one hand, you meet someone new and things are looking bright in the chemistry department. You kiss, and then you kiss some more, and your body starts to tell you, "We're gonna get lucky, yee-haw!" Then you start to feel all tingly on the inside and your sleeping libido wakes up and relentlessly tells you you must have sex immediately, posthaste, stage smack-dab-center, S-E-X. Right now. Come on. I SAID NOW, DAMMIT!

But your brain says something else. It says nice girls don't do that. It says fat girls aren't attractive. Here's this hot guy, and he's rubbing all over you, and you can tell for obvious reasons that he's ready for it, and all you can think is, "If we get nekkid, he's gonna have a full access pass to my unattractive body, and he'll be all grossed out and reject me. He won't kiss or touch my tummy like I like. He'll be all weird about avoiding the squishy parts, or he'll outright reject me in a not-so-friendly expression of disgust.

And so there you are. Your body is all in an uproar fever, ready to ride this stud for all he's worth, and your brain says, "Um, sorry, sister. Can't let you go there. Access to orgasm denied."

But, but . . . WHY?!?!?! Nooooo!!! I must be satisfied with a penis inside me right fucking now, dammit!

For, like, a whole week. The newly reawakened senses just will not leave you alone. The commute into work? No way - road vibrations. Sitting down in your cubicle or office chair? Cessation of vibration -- Oh, no, don't go away. I want the vibrations back! Music on the radio? Sex. Email? Viagra or Cialis or webcam spam. TV? Stupid Viagra again. Cozy with a good book? Fantasies make the mind wander. Shower? Mmm, it's touching me!!!

You can't get away from it. Impossible.

So there you are. You talk on the phone, maybe meet for an innocuous coffee, and there's the tension. "Man, I should just go over there and jump his bones -- No, no. He'll think I'm gross. -- I don't care. -- Yes, you do. -- NO, I DON'T. -- Uh-huh, you do too."

GOD DAMN IT!

Boys don't have this problem. They get a b0ner and they're happy. They go with the flow. It's only afterwards (or during) that they say to themselves, "Man, I'm doing/just did a fat girl." But they do it anyways.

That's what society has done to us as women. Makes us think we aren't attractive or lady-like enough to be respectable in the morning, or fresh as a summer's breeze, or WHATEVER, enough. We are trained that we're bad if we're horny. And it's an obstacle we have to go through every single time we start a new relationship.

OK. Well, if I turn off all the lights, and wash up really, really good, and get naked and under the covers before he sees me, and once again made sure all the lights are off, and if I move his hands from the embarassing places, and don't move too fast so the wrong things don't wiggle, then he won't notice my fat. If I arch my back this way he'll be able to feel my ribs in the front and in the back. And if I don't bend my torso that way he won't be able to feel my extra tummy padding. Then he'll never know I'm chunky and it will be OK for me to joyfully participate in sex. He'll enjoy himself, and if I concentrate really hard on not being fat, I'll enjoy it too.

Mind fucking ridiculous to the point of patently avoiding entirely what is meant to be a pleasant inter-human experience.

And of course, how could he NOT know you're not a supermodel? I mean, honestly. Haven't you spent enough time in front of each other with the lights on that he's had full view of your ass in jeans - and probably for several fully uninterrupted minutes in a row? HE KNOWS YOU'RE FAT! He KNOWS that girls have a scent about themselves, no matter how meticulous they are with their hygiene. HE KNOWS.

But the fact that we know he knows doesn't matter. It's a mental block we face (or I face) every time the prospect of sharing that aspect of myself with someone new presents itself.

So, I guess it's left to turn the lights down low, shower and shave every damn place conceivable, and hurry up under the covers before he sees you. Pretend you don't have the mental block, and dammit girl, enjoy! The next time will be easier, and pretty soon you won't care anymore what he thinks. He's getting it, isn't he? Forget him if he doesn't like the package it comes in.

What a mind job though. Good lord.

6:53 pm - 01.31.08
previous | next

Home | Archives | Profile | Notes | DiaryLand | Random Entry