Soft

I am as far from what you'd expect to see on a sex site as I can imagine.

I am short, soft, pale, brunette. My hair is short and untrainable. My cheeks are full, jawline rounded, shoulders almost always slump. My skin is scared and freckled. I have a sipderweb of delicate pale stretchmarks under my navel that map the miracle of my daughter's development in my body. My belly rolls and hangs and I'm always trying to hide it when I'm online.

I am told over and over that I am "gorgeous," "sexy," "a goddess," "cute," "amazing..." And yet every day I look at myself in a passing reflection or catch site of my arms or neck in a mirror and I want it all gone. I want the taughtness of my youth. The chiselled hollows of my underweight high school and college years when I read or studied or hid or drank or fucked and always forgot to eat. I want the freedom I had four years ago to ride my bike like Hell itself was chasing me for hours. Stress and inches melting away with sweat and exhalations.

With my work schedule, my lack of a car, or funds, and my daughter to watch during the day, I can't ride my poor neglected dusty bike. My vertigo lays me out often enough that I don't even know if I can ride anymore. I always want to try yoga or something I can do at home, but I get bored and disenchanted. I do hula hoop when I can. That's something.

Why should I worry so much? I get dozens of positive compliments. Lovely, enthusiastic adorations of my form and face. What I hear ringing in my ears with enduring clarity is "fat ass baby?" or "plumper slut." I have such a hard time seeing the soft ivory skin and deep brown eyes, sensual lips and sexy naughty smile that have been so often appreciated.

There are moments when I see my body for the thing it is, a soft inviting vessel in which to cradle all that I am and all that I love. My daughter drinks nurishment and comfort from my breasts, rests on my belly and cuddles in my arms. My husband wraps himself around me and buries himself body and soul in my embrace. My cam site members find release through virtual time enjoying this form and this flesh.
I need to make those moments the norm and not be so taken down by the few nasty remarks of shallow and cruel individuals.

Easier said than done.

Soft, but smooth belly, hint of stretch marks, ancient pajamas. I need a manicure.