Wonderboy is stretching, naked, in the living room. I stand still and watch him. He is beautiful. I used to like achingly thin and tall men. I used to pulse involuntarily when I run my fingers over a man’s ribcage. It was my thing. Fragile men of brittle bone and heights unknown to me.
He has built up. He has gained muscle and lost it. He has gained gut, lost it and gained it again. I could see his belly, an upside down bowl. His silhouette was different too, there were more curves. I admired him, and I told him so. I said You are not so thin anymore. You have a round belly. I like it.
Later I caressed his chest hair, it’s dark and thick and I love it. I didn’t use to like hairy men. I asked him: Did you have this before? I don’t remember. It’s really wonderful. It makes you so manly and safe.
Then I remembered he used to shave everything off. When we met he had no hair anywhere on his body. And he used to shower twice a day. The side effects of growing up with an over possessive and neurotic single mom who has a tiny white couch, white walls, a dainty white table in the kitchen and a 6 ft 5 Wonderboy.
Well, he’s with me now, and I tell him. I touch him all over and I tell him.
I like this about you. And that I like. I like it when it does this. I like how that molds in my hands. I like how you smell here, and here, too. You are so beautiful. I kiss him all over. I tuck on his cock and say I like it when it’s little too. It’s magical!
And I caress his belly and say, Oo, how round it is.
Do you really like it? he asks.
Yeah, I do, I say.
But really, really?
Yes, you are so beautiful! You are just the way I want you.
He’s at ease and he comes to kiss me.
It swings both ways. Neither of us feels beautiful, if the other one is not turned on and loving and admirative. But it feeds both of us that we are.
Perverse cowgirl wrote about why looks do and should matter, and I’m beginning to see the light here. I am drawn to Wonderboy. He is drawn to me. There’s chemistry, which is obviously essential, but we both actually would choose each other from a row of people.
People, my friends, have had mixed feelings when I’ve tried to talk about this. They’ve seen Wonderboy as a prized beauty, but been like “yeah, of course he’d say you’re beautiful.” Implication: he has to. But he doesn’t have to. He chose me, because he though I was so beautiful – and good in bed. Everything else came later. I tried to get his attention, talked to him, asked him to my place, because he was so insanely beautiful and seemed to be so in tune with his body. He came, because he saw the same things in me.
They still apply. That’s why we fit so good together. We really, honestly, picked the one we wanted. I dont’ care what other people see when they look at either of us. I don’t care of someone doesn’t think I’m pretty enough or he’s not handsome enough. I got the insanely beautiful man, who thinks I’m the hottest thing after Macbook Air. There’s really nothing more I could ask for.
Except maybe a little more of a booty and a little less of a belly.
Past the Hurt 