Do I Have to Apologize for My Body Before Sex?

I’m ready to drop the disclaimers

Dear future lover,

When we undress, I’ll probably do it slowly. Not to be provocative or teasing, but because I’m afraid you won’t like what you see.

I feel like I have to give a disclaimer to anyone who desires me.

My breasts are on the large size, which sure, is probably great, but they are the stereotypical gym sock types. You know — long, skinny, and low-hanging. No, it’s not because I’m in my forties and not even because I breastfed (I don’t have children, as you know by now). Nope, this is what they looked like by the time I was 16.

Also…I don’t really have areolas. Maybe that’s not an issue, but I’ve always been a tad self-conscious about that. I would love to have that pretty blush around my nipples but I don’t, and when there is a bit of color there, it’s hardly noticeable. It’s just my pale gym socks and their big, brazen, unringed nipples.

I might be on the hairy side. I’ve been trying so hard to make peace with my body exactly as it is without having to conform to feminine beauty standards. On occasion, I let it all grow out and experiment with how comfortable I can become with it.

I’m mostly cool with the underarm hair. I don’t know why, but I’ve always found that sexy on a woman. Sometimes, it makes me feel more feminine. Even protected, which is an odd thing to say. It’s like that vulnerable part of my body has a little insulation now — a shield.

I might be cool with it, but I realize you might not be. Not that that should matter, but I’m just warning you.

My legs are a little harder for me to accept. If they are fully decked out…well, I won’t lie. I look a little bit like Bigfoot from the knees down. I’m not as comfortable with that look as I am with the underarm hair and I can only imagine how you will respond.

On the plus side: It’s soft — much softer than when I shave.

I’ve been trying so hard to make peace with my body exactly as it is without having to conform to feminine beauty standards.

Also, full disclosure: I kinda have a bunny tail. I know this is like the ultimate taboo in female grooming, but shit — it’s just the way I was born. And no, I’m not going to wax it, so don’t even ask me. I mean, come on. You wanna get hair pulled out by the root down there? Yeah, neither do I.

No, I’m not done yet. Should I be grateful that you’re still here?

Stretch marks. Yes, let’s talk about that. My body is literally riddled with them — everywhere from chest to knees. They ring my breasts like the faintest of stripes. You really can’t see them much there except in certain light. You’ll see them at my lower back, though. My hips look like I was attacked by a bear. And my inner thighs…they’re a labyrinth of crooked lines.

No, I didn’t get this from pregnancy. I can’t “celebrate” this as a marker of my womanly accomplishments. I got the first set of stretch marks from puberty, when my body rocketed from little girl to woman in a matter of weeks.

And I got the second round of stretch marks when I rapidly gained weight in high school in a desperate attempt to keep myself safe from the bullying, harassment, and assault I was experiencing almost every day at school.

I have a little lump under my left ass cheek. A little white bump that my ex used to run his finger over. My doctor said it is very common and easy to remove, but the procedure would cost a fortune because it’s cosmetic, so I never did it.

Is it gross to have a little bump under your ass? I’m not sure if my ex thought it was cute or if he was hoping the attention he paid to it would indicate his desire for me to have it removed.

I know this is like the ultimate taboo in female grooming, but shit — it’s just the way I was born.

I have cellulite. My ass and hips are so fleshy, you’ll catch more than a handful. And oh yeah — I don’t really dress up for sex. I’m just a cotton panties kinda gal.

So…how turned on are you right now? Did I just kill your erection?

Dear future lover,

Scratch all of that. Every last word.

I don’t owe anyone a disclaimer. Even if I looked like Quasimodo, I still deserve love. I still deserve to be desired. If not by you, then by someone else.

You know what? Gym sock breasts are fucking awesome. If I’m on top, you’ll be able to reach them with hands or mouth without the slightest bit of effort. How lucky are you?

And so what if my nipples don’t blush? They don’t want any areola stealing their thunder. They need your devoted and singular focus.

I already told you, I love my underarm hair. You’re gonna have to deal with that.

Maybe you can help me challenge feminine beauty standards by loving my hairy calves. (Seriously, they are so soft!)

Gym sock breasts are fucking awesome.

As for the bunny tail…I don’t have a spin for that one. Maybe you have a rabbit fetish? I mean, don’t freak out. I use the term “tail” in jest. But you know…there’s some moderate coverage down there. All I can say, again, is this is the way I was made and who am I to argue with the gods? So please — just love my bunny tail, okay?

My stretch marks are my body art. My breasts are decorated with these beautiful sunbeams that look like they were made out of rice paper. The stretch marks on my lower back reach out to either side of my body like the wings of a dragon. The marks on my hips and inner thighs I pretend were from my trips into the woods where I meet my big bad wolf, who ravishes me with his claws. He cannot get enough of me.

We’ll say the little bump under my ass is for you to play with, just like my ex used to play with it. It’s conveniently located so that your stress relief also offers me some of the ass squeezes that I love so much.

I’ll say my cellulite is from overly eager lovers who dug their fingers too hard into my thighs. My extra flesh is there to envelope you and every part of your body in my soft warmth. And the underwear is my pragmatic side coming out. Trust me, you want a pragmatic woman between the sheets — but you’ll have to find out why for yourself…

My stretch marks are my body art.

We’re going to have so much fun. Can we just focus on that, instead? Can you help me remember what I’m here for — to give and receive pleasure, not to worry about what my body looks like?

It’s my job to let go of my insecurities. To give all the bullshit rules about what a woman is supposed to look like my middle finger. It’s your job to let go of your insecurities, your fears. And it’s our job to help one another with that.

I’m not going to give you a disclaimer. I’m not going to be ashamed of this body that’s about to give you so much pleasure. I’m not going to play this game anymore.

I am radiant and powerful and I’m about to rock your world.

Are you ready?

© Yael Wolfe 2020