Suggested Audio Candy:
LL Cool J “Going Back To Cali”
I just cannot keep my mind out the gutter for one second. In my infinite randy wisdom I have decided once again to dip beneath the sheets and report on one of my favorite topics… the naked human form. We all have bodies, some chiseled and toned to the nth degree and, others, a little more loose at the seams. One thing is constant and that is beauty, regardless of which camp you fall into. Beauty is only ever skin deep and in the eye of the beholder. What some may find physically repulsive others will lap up like philandering felines. I gage beauty somewhat differently from many and it is dictated by what lies beneath the pelt.
It hasn’t always been that way, my first wife was the school prom queen and I placed her on a pedestal based on her social standing. She was aesthetically pleasing but, more critically, had achieved legendary status amongst us lesser mortals. I wore clown shoes throughout my scholarship and spent more time out of lectures, facing a wall, than learning the curriculum. She barely registered my existence the whole time I was there. This duckling wasn’t so much ugly as stringy, my flesh hadn’t filled out and I resembled a washed out emu until I reached eighteen and began my metamorphosis. Suddenly I resembled a swan, despite having none of its poise, and doors began to open where before the bolts had been securely fastened.
Somehow I snagged myself the most wanted and discovered my mojo, it mattered not that we were ill-suited as I was waking up each morning with the prime rib where previously I’d only envisaged spam. I became blinded by her perky breasts, firm posterior and a shaven vagina I just wanted to climb inside and pitch a tent. I was more than contented or so I thought. Just as life teaches us all harsh lessons, my cygnet swanned off and found herself another mallard to tantalize, leaving behind a bemused Keeper, nursing a badly bruised heart. I’d seen it coming from a mile off but love’s blindness fended off any warnings. Now, looking back, I can see it for what it really was…infatuation. We were like round pegs in square holes and our break-up was best for all concerned.
I am a naturally reflective soul and, after a brief period licking my wounds and another filling my nostrils with nasal numbing agents, I began to look at where it all went wrong in an attempt at reinventing myself once more. This is a tougher ask when you are careering out of a long-term relationship as, more often than not, your identity has become misplaced and you have spent however long conforming to whatever false vision of yourself you initially portrayed. I was 25 at the time of my divorce and time was still on my side so I dug deep.
I’m not going to bullshit y’all and suggest for one picosecond that physical attraction isn’t important although I began to see it differently in my late twentysomethings. There were numerous first dates and I began to discern an ugliness in various suitors where once I would have ignored such. Suddenly I would sit across the way to a buxom beauty and watch her steadily decompose before me each time she opened those pretty little lips. A former 9 rapidly morphed into little more than a 2 and my shallow deduction was replaced by a far more effective means of calculation. What is inside is a much more potent aphrodisiac once you have grasped this theory.
Imperfection had become something of intrigue and no longer was I shackled behind my own misconception. I hadn’t yet had my epiphany but I was, at least, heading for the right track. It is easier to become embittered by relationships passed but, should you chalk them down to experience and pick up where you left off armed with knowledge, then you can turn each heartbreak in your favor. I didn’t become the Dalai Lama overnight and still required some base-level of physical allurement to reel me in but, once vindicated, I took a sneaky peek under the veneer to discern whether there was sufficient beneath to keep me taking the bait.
It is hard to pinpoint what it is about the naked form that entices me most. I love myself some mammalian like the next cretin, ass and snatch are alright by Keeper too. The usual suspects, you know. However, my favored locations are far less obvious, tucked away and concealed, happy to slide beneath radars. The soft fur at the base of a spine, the diamond effect fashioned below a haunch and the soft skin on the flip side of wrists, all three drive me barmy. Feet are an enigma to Keeper. When fungal rot has set in and they have been left to decay there is no sight more mortifying. Treat them keen and they’re not so mean, nibbling all ten becomes something of a pleasure when not on the receiving end of an athlete’s foot sandwich.
Few of us are ever entirely satisfied with our appearance. Nobody’s perfect in that respect. I dislike my elbows intensely, they’re almost pterodactyl-like, and my least favorite selling point. That’s just me, I’m sure y’all suffer from at least one affliction of your own and, guess what, that part is the first I would likely kiss. It is far more preferable to have character than to lack something which sets you apart from the crowd. I’m a designer original, just like everyone else. So what if I have prehistoric wings anyhoots.