A Real, Live Woman


*****Adult Content, Proceed with Caution*****

My whole life I’ve fought the battle of the Almost Pretty girl. The Almost Thin Enough white woman. The Almost Nice Ass, Almost Big Enough Tits, the Almost The Right Color Hair. I mean, I have lived my life, up to middle age, not quite clearing the bar set by Christie Brinkley and Kim Alexis. Never close enough to be considered beautiful, I was the 5’8″, 140 pound girl who never quite measured up in the eyes of the world. I was too short, too tall, too fat, too small. But there was one wrinkle, I was hot. And I knew it. Whatever that Thing is that some people have and others don’t, call it what you want–Pheromones, Chemistry, Smolder, Confidence–I had it and a lot of girls who looked better than me on paper didn’t. It really screwed with some of the men I dated. They couldn’t figure out why they wanted me when I was just a bit above average.

So I’m used to being Almost…but this getting older shit is hard. It’s hard because I’m not sure that I want to embrace my inner Cougar but I am absolutely positive that I still really love sex. Whatever that Thing is, it’s going underground. That hotness is still here, on the inside but it doesn’t show like it used to. How does a woman embrace her midlife sexuality without being ridiculous or tacky? I’m not sure that it’s appropriate for a woman my age to be flirtatious or to flaunt her sexuality like a new pair of shoes but I’m used to being able to do that… Have I aged out or am I Almost Young Enough to still get away with it? If so, when does that end? I don’t want to be that weird old lady hitting on guys she could have given birth to. I don’t want to shut up and act like a prim old woman in a denim jumper either. How can I embrace my Gone To Seed-ness without being seedy?

I have a friend who claims to have dated ethnic men because they don’t object to the squishy bits but white men want something like a supermodel. I, on the other hand, have been fed on a straight diet of white meat and it didn’t always agree. I’ve been told by almost every lover I’ve ever had that I was not good enough–hair too brown, eyes not blue enough, titties too small, ass too…something. Too tall, too short, too, or not enough. Whatever. I wish I’d dated black, Puerto Rican or Latino goddamnit! (Let me insert a big THANK YOU to my husband whose only ‘not enough’ is ‘not enough lovin’ and whose only ‘too …’ is ‘too much time apart.’ He’s the Other White Meat 😉 )

So here I am, the Almost gal, hitting middle age with all of the associated squishy bits, sags and baggage and…NEWSFLASH!…despite the fact that I don’t look nearly so nice naked as I did 10-15-20 years ago, I enjoy fucking far more than ever. Maybe it’s The Other White Meat. Maybe it’s those extra nerve endings I supposedly developed while birthing the 4 kids. Regardless, there’s a lot to be said for a man who can handle a Real, Live Woman. A woman who looks like life has had her and she’s come out on top, a woman who has something soft to hold onto, to press into, to fall into, a Full-Sized woman with a Full-Sized life.

When I think about my past from the perspective of full-on middle age I begin to understand that it really wasn’t me who was Almost. It was them. The men. They were Almost Able to handle a Real Live Woman. Almost.

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About Blue Eagle Dreamer

Shamanic High Priestess and facilitator of empowerment and healing circles for girls and women, including a monthly Red Tent Temple. BA in English, minor in anthropology. Waldorf homeschool mom. Reiki master, cranial sacral therapist, herbalist, menstruvist, feminist, epicurian.
This entry was posted in health and well-being, Mark, opinion, personal. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to A Real, Live Woman

  1. Terry says:

    LOL. Love it! You have sass, and you’ve always like to challenge men who thought they were something more than what they were.

  2. Kerry says:

    Big. Fat. Hug.

    As the girl on the other side of almost, it is really really encouraging to read this. 🙂 Thank you.

    Most importantly, I want to tell you that your sexuality is not something you’re going to have to think about. You have an innate hotness (spiritually, internally, physically, etc) that is carried in the spark in your eye, the swing of your hips, the brilliance of your TRUE smile.

    Good luck hiding those things.

    You won’t be able to.

    There wasn’t a moment I saw you this weekend where you weren’t absolutely breath-taking and making me envious with your sensuality. There’s a truth you have about yourself that makes you hot. There’s a ‘knowing’ you have about yourself, about life (etc) that makes you hot. There’s a one-ness you have with your body that makes you hot. There’s the absolute comfort you radiate that makes you hot.

    While I have never seen you naked, I can promise you that it is the above items which makes eyes turn and follow you around (and they did!), not how perky things are or aren’t.

    You still have it!! You have more sensuality than you will ever use.

    (Share some with the rest of us, lady!)

    PS: Hot damned car in that photo! I’m a jealous bunny! I ❤ classic cars.

    • Cerwydwyn says:

      Well THANK YOU ladies! Nothing is quite so wonderful as an early am ego boost.
      Being a a people watcher has led to me to the conclusion that Hot isn’t really about Pretty. It’s about something else…obviously there are certain Pretty traits that go along with it: cleanliness; being within a normal weight range; lack of severe physical deformities; that sort of thing but while the hottest women I’ve known personally have all been attractive, they have rarely been stunningly beautiful. Hot is something else entirely. And being beautiful is no guarantee that a woman radiates sexual energy.
      Damn, on the way to the computer I had this great response all outlined in my brain but it’s gone. Ah well. The car was cool.

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