Making Love to Myself

July 7, 2005

I decided to make love to myself, just one night, try it out, see how it would feel. With the lights dim and a few candles lit, I stood bare, naked in front of an image of my own reflection. Their I looked at myself starting with the top of my head and following the strands of hair to my round face, with it blemishes from my teen years and laugh lines that run very deep.
I looked into my eyes with my eyes, and watched as a special part of me danced in the small slants, I batted my lashes and winked at myself, I let my eyes glide over my small round nose, blew kisses with two perky and pouty, lined and glossed lips. Drew lines and made circles where my chin should be but was more pleased at the fact that there was only one and not two, three or more.
I pushed my freshly done hair, back behind my ears and recalled how curly it had once been at one time, when I rocked my natural fro. I relaxed in knowing that like every woman I had a hair story, of loss and renewal. But I loved on tracing my neck that held the secrets to my eczema, which with time and age changed and became easier to maintain. I eyed the marks on my shoulders and saw beauty in them still, shoulders for someone to lean on ,cry on, for a child to one day rest their head on.
I traveled on to my breast once so round and full, they once captured all the attention I was to receive. Now they're not so full, less obtrusive, its different and new, not having something that was such a large part of me for so long, having blossomed in the 3rd grade, now be less of a distraction. Allowing me to find the best parts of me to grab a mans attention, attention that belongs rightfully to me, I hug them and accept them as they are at this moment, I feel across them knowing every ones are different and mine are special no matter how large, small or full or if they stand strait up and out or hang a tad bit low. I continue to make love to myself.
I searched for by belly button not so accessible as most others, but there and just as sexy if your the only one to please or be pleased. I slapped at my thighs, and laughed in delight. I examined, them, their fullness each round curve, enjoyed how smoothly my hands glided over them as my hands slide back and forth over them. I danced on the tips of my toes, and spun around, I saw the backs of my legs and flexed to see the build of my calves, that I attained over the years as a softball catcher.
I loved on my petite feet, with their fresh new pedicure, cute and neat. They wear the hell out of stilettos and can be accentuated by the right dress. But they'd much rather be bare and free dancing on a dew covered grass at a summer jazz festival. I turned my back to myself and looked over my shoulder. I took in years of bad eating habits, poor exercise, and low self esteem, combined with unfavorable genetics. This created less of a desirable silhouette and a shame and guilt I try to let go of even as I love on myself. So I hurriedly move on, letting my bedroom eyes take focus on my backside. Checking myself out from all angles, coming to the conclusion it’s alright, it ain’t as tight as I like, or as round as I want it to be, but with time and hard work maybe I’ll get it as I picture in my head.
But like a great lover I touched and saw, filled my eyes with all my goodness but kept my mouth closed, for fear of having to sleep alone on the couch. Or having to go without hearing an I love you at the end of the night. I embrace myself, stroked at my blemishes and round areas, I smiled and winked at myself. I blow loving kisses at my parts starting from the bottom to the top. I tell me how beautiful I am and finally before it’s through, I prove that I love me no matter what the packaging is, I was made perfectly to be exactly the way I am, and I fell more in love with myself after I made love to myself. And it felt DAMN GOOD!