I have always looked young. I have always been sexual. These things are in no way mutually exclusive, but sometimes it certainly seems that way.
I often find myself feeling like a child in a grown-up sex world. Small girl, round face, big eyes; bubbly, effervescent happiness; whimsical tendency to climb trees and slide down banisters.
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| portrait of the artist as a young lady. |
I am an adult and I do feel my womanness. I have soft thighs and pillow lips and a mischievous smile with which I grace the world. And I want a man and not a boy.
But you see, I look up at a man. A man is powerful and strong and (likely) taller than I am. I look up with big blue eyes and feel my sexuality drain out of me. I am a child admiring a handsome movie star, not a woman eye-to-eye with a man. I am a kid foolishly entangled in undeveloped desires, toying with rope and blowing my dad’s condoms into balloon animals.
How can I be a woman without losing myself? How can I be silly and be an object of desire? I am not a femme fatale, sultry and jagged and never. funny. I am a woman of magnitude and strength and, hell, pure naughtiness--- I want to be recognized as that without coming off as someone playing dress-up. My garters fit, and believe me, I wear them far more regularly than you imagine. Recognize me. I am a woman. My sense of wonder and my sparkling eyes won’t keep me from biting your lip in the bedroom.
