It was really more of a fainting couch, actually. But on that criminally mauve monstrosity set in the second floor girl’s bathroom of my West Texas high school, I found solace. I ate roughly 327 lunches there, hiding out from a cafeteria peppered with beautiful girls. Popular girls. Girls who drove nice cars and carried even nicer handbags. I drove a red 1978 GMC pickup. Sometimes, the stick shift came out of the floor.
From my earliest memories, all I wanted in life was to take after my mother. And my mother’s mother. We were BFF’s, and I could hardly wait to be initiated into the sisterhood. I wanted to dress like them, eat like them, think like them.
Looking back…this meant mom jeans, reckless food abandon, days spent antique shopping, and nights at home listening to Buddy Holly on endless loop. Not what society would call sexy, exactly.
I learned one thing at an early age: sweet and sexy were nothing if not mutually exclusive. And I silently vowed never to advertise myself as blatantly glamorous or cosmetic, choosing rather to hide my light under a bushel for only the most determined suitors to discover. Until the unveiling, I would remain loyal to my girls.
So, what does make me feel sexy? At first, I had no idea how to answer that. “Sexy” isn’t a word I usually identify with. Loyal? Fiercely. Original…I hope so. Blessed with an uncanny ability to bond with and/or terrify every waiter I’ve ever had, absolutely. Sexy? Not so much. But the assignment specifically called for “sexy,” so sexy it’d have to be. I tried to think.
From my earliest memories, all I wanted in life was to take after my mother. And my mother’s mother. We were BFF’s, and I could hardly wait to be initiated into the sisterhood. I wanted to dress like them, eat like them, think like them.
Looking back…this meant mom jeans, reckless food abandon, days spent antique shopping, and nights at home listening to Buddy Holly on endless loop. Not what society would call sexy, exactly.
I learned one thing at an early age: sweet and sexy were nothing if not mutually exclusive. And I silently vowed never to advertise myself as blatantly glamorous or cosmetic, choosing rather to hide my light under a bushel for only the most determined suitors to discover. Until the unveiling, I would remain loyal to my girls.
So, what does make me feel sexy? At first, I had no idea how to answer that. “Sexy” isn’t a word I usually identify with. Loyal? Fiercely. Original…I hope so. Blessed with an uncanny ability to bond with and/or terrify every waiter I’ve ever had, absolutely. Sexy? Not so much. But the assignment specifically called for “sexy,” so sexy it’d have to be. I tried to think.
SEXY IN THE FOREST LIST:
• When I learned how to drive a stick shift
• The time I dropped out of Pleather High - only to return a year later, face my fear of all things synthetic, and graduate with a college scholarship
• Grad school
• Every time I clean out a closet or leave something better than I found it
• Cleaning, period
• The year I packed my bags and moved 1,100 miles away from everything I knew and loved, sobbing most of the way and fighting every impulse to turn around
• And starting a writing career
What I didn’t know then, and what I’m still learning now, is that I was living in a home with Texas’s version of The Pussycat Dolls, circa 1980. The most influential women in my life were always teaching me to be the best version of myself…nudging me towards a fate of becoming the most confident, fearless, inspired, alive woman the world had ever seen. Or the Jones family, at least. And that…is sexy.
• The time I dropped out of Pleather High - only to return a year later, face my fear of all things synthetic, and graduate with a college scholarship
• Grad school
• Every time I clean out a closet or leave something better than I found it
• Cleaning, period
• The year I packed my bags and moved 1,100 miles away from everything I knew and loved, sobbing most of the way and fighting every impulse to turn around
• And starting a writing career
What I didn’t know then, and what I’m still learning now, is that I was living in a home with Texas’s version of The Pussycat Dolls, circa 1980. The most influential women in my life were always teaching me to be the best version of myself…nudging me towards a fate of becoming the most confident, fearless, inspired, alive woman the world had ever seen. Or the Jones family, at least. And that…is sexy.
ok, this is from a mans prospective. for women, you may care less about a man's perspective. if that is the case, don't read this.
part of feeling sexy for anyone is seeing how your partner responds to you. regardless of what you look like, here is what is sexy imo. be confident, be assertive sexually, and be kinky/dirty in bed. my wife does not look like a porn star but when she fucks like one it is about the sexiest thing i could ever imagine. to look sexy and be sexy are very different things.