I read a recent post by my friend Gray Miller on his blog lovelifepractice.com. This particular entry focused on learning to love oneself. He concluded his entry with a simple question:
What do you love about yourself?
This got me thinking. So, I answered it.
– My eyes. They say more than I can ever put into words. The dark brown luster speaks to me whenever I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or passing window. The hint of what lies beneath the mask I wear for the world is at times engaging, playful, lustful, and intense. I can have whole conversations with you using just my eyes.
– My breasts are awesome. They’re full and squeezable. The perfect amount to fill your hands, to rest your head on, or to nuzzle up to. In the right bra, or with the proper arm positioning, my cleavage is quite distracting.
My nipples are pierced, a tempting delight to all who venture a lick. I love the way they look when they’re erect, presenting the jewelry and asking, begging, to be pinched and sucked.
– My ass. It’s just…hot. My ass is so sexy. There is a reason why I wrote poetry about it. It’s big and round and sits up just right, begging to be spanked, slapped, caressed, fucked.
Once, randomly, a guy tried to balance a beer bottle on my ass. Granted, this was not a wanted advance, but I understand how one can be mesmerized by the wonder that is my rump. In fact, I have many a fond memory involving other people enjoying the wonder that is my ass.
– My hair. It’s curly and wild and often begs to be loose and free. When I was young, I wore it in two braids at my sides. I loved flinging my head back and forth, wiping my braids from side to side, daring anyone to come near. The hard plastic ties at the ends were like weapons, ready to lash out at anyone who ventured too close. I loved the thump they made against my skin as the braids wrapped around my neck and hit my back.
When I grew older, and still wore it long, I’d flat iron it. My locks would brushed the top of my ass, and flow on the wind. Now, when I masturbate, with my hair out, I often walk into the bathroom afterwards and admire my “freshly fucked” locks, which look better than hours of primping could ever accomplish.
My hair makes me feel beautiful, feel sexy, feel special.
– On occasion, I have a way with words. I’ve been writing since forever. There are still stories I wrote years ago that when I read them my blood runs hot with lust and I am thrown right back into its sensuous world. I paint pictures, spin tales, and chronicle my truths with words. Without them, without my words, I don’t know who I’d be.
– I often say this, and it is very true: I cultivate my childlike whimsy everyday. I look at the world as I did when I was young: with wonder and amazement. I appreciate little things, which to me seem huge.
Today, at the venue in which I’m currently working, there was an assortment of artistic photographs. I was enamored by each shot, diving in, and letting myself get lost in the stories. There were interesting modern art sculptures that I could draw similarities to that were at once thought provoking and hilarious (a fat owl, the head of a rooster, the negative space of a key hole). I keep things light, care free, reminding myself to smile and breathe in each moment, appreciating just being alive.
– I am one of the best friends you will ever have. I go above and beyond to be there for the people I love. I trek hundred of miles, perform any number of small and large tasks, and try all I can to be the best friend possible. I give and give and give, and then give more. I am a fierce protector, soothing comforter, and steadfast confidant. I sacrifice myself for the happiness of those I care for. Above all else, this is what I love about myself the most.
So, what do you love about yourself?
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