After all these years of our cooperation, I thought I’d send you a letter. Just in case you’re asking yourself what the reason for this outpour is, there are several.
First, I’d like to say that I know it wasn’t always easy with me. Sometimes I have wanton neglected you, provided you with too much sun, too much snow or salt water. I let you experience dirt, mud, heat, ice, height, wind and air that cold, you nearly froze. I withheld the cream you needed, the humidity and once in a rare while, I paved you with makeup.
We both have come a long way together, and you went through so much with me, I felt I owe you an apology.
It’s time to realize; we’re facing the time when we aren’t silky and smooth anymore.
I discovered one thing today: you provided me with laugh lines. Nobody knows better that I love to smile and it shows. Thank you for them!
You don’t make me look grumpy and old – you make me look radiant, no matter what I put you through.
And I promise you something: no matter how deep these laugh lines get: I will never try to hide them by filling them with powder. There’s no reason. You show my humor. This bone flour is nothing but an agricultural damage.
You and I will be together for another very long time, and my laugh lines will get deeper. Maybe gravity will kick in. (Believe me, you’re not alone; the rest of the body is in that process too.)
But no matter what we’re going to face together, I hope we’ll never be losing our smile, our laughter, the sparkles in our eyes and our laugh lines.
I know I wasn’t always happy with you. But I figure, all in all, I could have gotten it worse.
I want to say thank you for going all the way with me – and I wish us both good luck for the future.
(Copyright: Aurora Jean Alexander, June 2017)
This post is part of the Beauty of a Woman BlogFest VI! To read more entries, and potentially win a fun prize, visit the fest page between today and 11pm PST March 11th.
Lies, boring sex and does size really matter?
Once upon a time… It was a while ago I was in a relationship I considered to be happy. It was a long-distance, long-term relationship, and later engagement. And there it languished. If we had lived closer together, I eventually had realized much earlier, that this guy was a lazy, lying, nightmarish sociopath. But for a while I was happy. He made me happy. He made me feel like I was the only one, the prettiest, the most beautiful woman! (I found out later he told this to at least 6 or 7 other women too – at the same time – but that’s not subject of this post).
At the time he made me happy, satisfied me in bed until I finally realized two things: The man had literally no idea how a female body works, and I wasn’t sure whether he was properly educated when it comes to the ‘birds and the bees’.
Maybe this might help him:
Yes, he carefully watched my reactions, and I figure his request for me to let myself go and make noises during sex made it easier for him to see what action leads to what reaction. But other than that, he was more or less helpless.
·He had no idea why women menstruate
·He had no clue how to recognize when a woman fakes an orgasm
·He was totally oblivious how many orgasms a woman can have before dying
·He figured the more orgasms, the better satisfied
·The thought of a woman faking an orgasm just to get him off her finally never occurred to him.
As for me: I finally realized how boring this man was. All he was (and probably still is) interested in is sleeping, eating and sex. And there we go: He was even boring in bed. Due to us being apart for long times and then meeting again, it took me a while to find out that these sexual meetings always followed a certain program. Like a time frame, or maybe a ‘user manual.’
1. Tell her you love her
2. Tell her she’s beautiful
3. Tell her you missed her
4. Repeat point 1 – 3 excessively
5. Undress her
6. shower with her (because she insists)
7. tell her some more she’s beautiful
8. give her oral satisfaction
9. extend that until she screams
10. before she sneaks off (again), finally try to get your own satisfaction (provided it stands)
That was about it. There was no variation, no ideas, no new things, nothing magic, not even much fun after a certain time.
In the end, I finally just sighed and shortened the entire happening somewhere between point 1 and 4 – and again around point 7 and 8. Earlier screaming makes the entire thing end up faster, right?
And there was something else that irritated me to no end: his pride about the size of his penis. I just frowned at him when he mentioned the 9 inches. Do I need to understand what the point is why men need to show off their size? Provided of course they have it! Because of these 9 inches were, if not a lie, at least an exorbitant exaggeration. To this day I still believe he read that one number ‘upside down.’ It would explain a lot.
At the end it came as it had to: The relationship came to an end. Do I regret what happened? In a way, I do, yes. It shouldn’t have taken this long for me to realize how boring the man was, both in and outside the bed.
It took me a while to get out of the grief – but once I got over it, I thought, okay. Next time it will be better. And I thought it did…
Unexpectedly and to my great surprise a man from my past showed up out of the shadows. Over 20 years ago we had worked together on a project, but once the project had ended, we’ve never seen each other again.
That man was so handsome when he was younger! Back then he had swept me off my feet. And now he came back into my life to do just the very same thing again. I’m no kid, and I usually don’t suffer from unexpected hallucinations. He got older, just as I did. We all change a bit with age. The only difference is that I’m realistic about it – he isn’t.
His way of making love with me was to ‘jump on me,’ wild, feral… his foreplay limited to the words “Are you awake?”
Considering the years before I had the most boring sex one can only imagine, this might have been a welcome change. For just a moment. Then I woke up. My man complained I was “too aroused.” I hate to say that, but I had to really, I mean, really control myself extremely hard not to laugh out loudly. Why? Let’s say it this way: As a woman in love, you don’t tell the man of your desire that he does turn you on, but unfortunately he’s got a penis about the size of an IHOP breakfast sausage.
And no, this is not me making fun of him. I’m 5’3″ and never had a child. My gynecologist uses his instruments the size for young girls – and still, I had the feeling having sex with my boyfriend was like throwing a wiener into a garage… What does that tell us? The good thing was: I knew it wasn’t me. He is that convinced everything about him, on him and in him is totally perfect, he had to find a reason why our sexual being together wasn’t as good as he wanted it to be. And since he “is” perfect, it was my fault.
Only a while later he told me, he wanted me to lose weight. – And that was it for me. Couldn’t he find a way to accept me the way I am; even more since he told me before that he would? I informed him that it was time to say ‘goodbye.’
To my great surprise, this got to me. I was extremely depressed after this separation. I missed him horribly… But I am lucky. I have the most wonderful friends on Earth. They helped me getting over him and comforted me.
I think the final moment when I was prepared to let go, was that particular day when I went grocery shopping and heard a song that reminded me of him. In a blur, our time together raced through my memory… and I thought to myself: “Really, girl… did you want to stay together with a man who is that bad in bed?” And then I started laughing.
It is, I might add at this point, a little embarrassing to laugh out loudly and being unable to stop, in the middle of a supermarket, right between broccoli and bananas. However, I made it out alive. The only thing I regret until this day is, that I never gave him “The Kamasutra” for his birthday.
These two relationships taught me three things; I better keep in mind from now on:
1. I need a man who has a goal in life that goes further than meals, sleep, and sex. I need a man who moves his ass and works for what he wants and has a certain fantasy and ideas; a man with a certain education, whose messages I can read without flinching over the misspellings and who is experienced and interested enough to find out how to satisfy a woman. A man, with whom sharing intimacy makes my skin tickle, my skull explode until I can count the stars in the sky and my toenails roll up.
2. Does size really matter? To me, it does, yes. Do I compare? Was that one better than this one? Hell no! The size of the penis isn’t half as interesting as the man that’s accompanying it. But to me, there needs to be ‘something’ to feel.
3. I am, in my very individual and unique way, beautiful. And I deserve better than what I have been accepting of a relationship for the past few years.
I, therefore, decided to celebrate my beauty. I am unique; I am special, I am beautiful, I am humorous, loving, caring and helpful… I am many things; and yes, in bed I’m a revelation. *wink*
I deserve to have what I want, and I deserve to be happy!
This year I signed up to participate in the “Beauty of a Woman Blog Fest”, organized by August McLaughlin. Please enjoy the entire Blog Fest by clicking the link.
It is with great pleasure I am able to present my blog participation with the following post:
Beauty changes during the time:
In the 50s and 60s, the ultimate beautiful woman had a so-called “hourglass” figure. A chest, a butt and a small waist. Let’s travel back in time: in all big “fashion houses” the dresses and clothes were presented to the potential customers. The presenters weren’t window dummies – but real life “Mannequins”. We would call them the predecessors of the Models and Top-Models.
They were women – chest, hips and a small waist were their trademark. Even the most beautiful actresses and female stars of this time were fuller-figured women with the same measurements. Female beauty ideal back then was curvy, beautiful, feminine, showing their amenities and being proud of them.
The 70s and 80s show women, who remarkably slimmed down, their curves are still there, but not as explicitly distinct anymore.
I don’t dare to talk too much about the hairstyle and makeup which in my opinion, used to make women of these times look a little bit like extra-terrestrial clowns… but in many ways, their styles showed how much they enjoyed being women.
The late 80s and 90s brought us breathtaking women, even slimmer, their features often gentle, almost delicate, their curves about to disappear.
And then, with the entrance into the new millennium the female beauty ideal quickly went into the “nothing”… just skin and bones, no hips, no breasts, nothing: walking skeletons on wobbly legs.
Is this really how we women should be, or how we want to be?
When I was talking about this to a group of people a few years ago, a wise man told me: “Don’t starve yourself to this kind of figure, girl. You are right, the way you are. Skeletons aren’t sexy.”
I still love him for this sentence.
Or: we got this kind of new, plastic surgical ‘beauty’:
Do I have to say something about it? Really?
Maybe a few might be curious why I was going through all these changes and travelling back in time: What made me? – How do I look then? What is my figure like?
I’m not saying too much. Except:
I have always been a little on the “more”-side and the criticism I had to take for this from all sides have hurt me deeply. During the years, when I had found out that my figure was very fashionable and once a beauty ideal all women wanted to have, I found this fact amusing – but not more. How was this useful for me? I wanted to be fashionable now. With my figure, I was born about 30 years too late.
Am I ever going to be most beautiful to someone who I’d like to welcome into my life? Someone who loves me, just the way I am? With my soft heart, all the love I have to give and my hips, breasts and hourglass figure?
Now I’m curious… Have you ever had experience with criticism on your figure? Are you happy with yours? Let us hear your experience.
My birth name is „Ethel“. This is, as I was told, an old English girl’s name, some independent form of “Ethelred.” That would be fine with me if I weren’t male! I figure my name was sort of an expression of Lucifer’s askew humor. At least he most of the time convulses with laughter when calling me.
As compared to what humans think demons are not only made, they’re born as well. I am, in fact, the living prove that I’m telling the truth.
My father and mother, Braxxus and Persophee, some “mediocre” distractors (demons who confuse human senses to tempt them doing evil) met during some hellish fire party and fell in love. That’s what they told me, even though I strongly suspect they were more physically attracted to each other than anything else. From that moment on, they copulated as often as they could. From what Persophee said, I am their “love bundle.” I’d rather say, the result of this more than equivocal mating became me.
Unfortunately, these two demons had a bet going with Lucifer and lost. As consequence, I was compelled to serve as the footman of a minion, of the minion of the minion of Lucifer’s master demon. Since Lucifer found me and the bet so hilarious, he often used me as his personal doormat and had tons of fun with that.
He thought it fascinating that I looked more human than anyone else in Hell. Both of my producers had scales and horns and except the somehow unexpected wiry hair that was standing up on my head and nearly looked like goat horns I had nothing demonic on me. When I was sent to Earth the first time, I could do so without the need of being changed. People shied away from me eventually because I seemed to smell weird, but after a few hours of bathing and a couple proper clothes I almost felt human and was accepted as one. That first time I discovered the beauty in this new world. I saw flowers, trees, green grass and ponds, parks, zoos and watched birds, cats and dogs…
To me, it was almost painful to sow evil amongst mankind. I hesitated to do what I was sent to do and this annoyed the Master of all Evil. He ordered me back and punished me painfully.
That day I decided I had enough. I know, my kind normally enjoys wallowing in anger, rage, crime, pain, depression and murder. But I was sick of it. I felt like drowning in greed, bullying, sins, and blood. I did not want that anymore and decided to get out. Of course, it isn’t exactly easy to change sides. But the thought of existing within evilness was unthinkable to me.
Finally, Lucifer helped me unintentionally by promoting me to become a distractor. He turned me into an extraordinarily handsome man to make it easier for me to tempt humans by being attractive to them. Additionally, to complete my physiognomy he re-named me “Jesse”, the “Gift-giver”. He nearly wet himself of laughter, explaining, that I indeed brought gifts to mankind: the gift of sin.
In my opinion, he got me closer to what I wanted. Of course, I need to be careful now. Guardian Angels don’t know mercy! But since I am here, on Earth, it is time to take action to free me…