I just finished one of the most powerful love scenes I have ever written. And, ladies, boy, does Bjorn have a surprise for you…I know I was shocked as shit when he told me. But the reason…what brought it all out in the open…was simple. His wife’s insecurities. The truth was that Kirsty could not accept his love, because she could not love herself. The harder truth is that she is not alone. Most of us cannot.
I freely admit that as hard as I work at it…it still kicks my ass. I have had younger lovers…I have ‘batted’ way above my average as the saying goes. But as intelligent, caring and seemingly confident as I am…the hardest words for me to ever obey with a Dom is…’Get naked.’ Every single time I hear those words, I cringe. They bring out my brat as I try to think of someway of diverting him, delaying him, getting his mind away from that. I am too fucking submissive to actually say no, but those words make me want to ‘red’ more than pain ever will.
Oh, I write about men like Bjorn, Daniel and Samuel (The Arrangement). Men, who see and value the inner beauty more than the outer. But try as hard as I like…that seems like nothing more than a fairy tale. Something that is simply too good to be true. ‘Real’ men are not like that. That is what those voices in my head whisper to me. What do they whisper to you?
Because the truth is that the society in which we live has an exceedingly narrow view of ‘beauty.’ And no matter how many times I play this song…I still think… Lucky bitch, you have one of the few ‘good’ men.
But that is a lie too…our men have their own insecurities. The truth is that human beings find being open, vulnerable and yes, naked with one another difficult. But the only way we are ever going to come to terms with that…is being honest with one another.
So, good morning, I am Tara…and I hate my tummy.
I love my green eyes that tell you everything I am thinking and feeling. I love my hair that even though I color the greys it remains so soft and thick that my lovers always love pulling it or simply running their fingers through it. I love my legs that still look good in a mini-skirt. I love my butt that even at fifty is still firm and spankable. I love my intelligent mind and my caring, open and honest heart. I even love my idealism.
But as long and genuine as that list is…when I look in the mirror…the only fucking thing I can see is the one thing I don’t like. Everything between my boobs and my pussy. I have spent money I don’t have on corsets in the hopes that I can distract the man I am with. Hell, for the longest time, I made ‘naked’ a hard limit for that very reason.
I hate the muffin top…that horrid name for the rolls of fat and skin that hang over your pussy. The ones that no amount of sit ups or dieting will ever completely alleviate once you have born a child. Even though I would not trade my children to have my old body back, neither can I bring myself to love this ‘badge of courage’ that I now wear for their existence.
I hate the nasty thick red/pink scar from my gall bladder surgery. The surgery that saved my life so I can go on loving my kids, writing my books and hopefully one day even find a man that can accept the things about me that I cannot accept about myself.
And I hate that I hate myself…that it matters so fucking much to me…
What do you hate about you? Let’s be honest, because that is the first step in healing.