Egon Schiele, Crouching female nude with bended head, 1918

I had a beautiful moment of self love today. They are fairly rare, to be honest. It’s not often that I really feel love for my body. I try to be appreciative of it’s utility but I am mostly ambivalent about its beauty. I don’t find my body repulsive to look at or unpleasant to touch, but I also don’t think it’s incredibly beautiful or sexy. I usually feel fairly neutral and tolerant of it. But not today, today I was enamoured.

It was a swoony moment while scrolling through my pictures on my phone, looking for something specific, when I was diverted by a recent nude from Gemma. She’s beautiful, and absolutely goddess-like, all curves and long strawberry blonde hair, with the cheekiest smile. It was indeed a cheeky nude, or a “lewd”, rather, she was nude but the way she was positioned was quite modest. Seeing a picture of your partner nude is usually a delight, so the lip bite and sigh that I uttered weren’t at all surprising. What was surprising was that my mind immediately went to thinking of our bodies pressed together in a passionate embrace and I had a strange and glorious flood of appreciation, love even, for both our bodies, not just hers. Loving her form is as easy as breathing: she is strong and lithe with powerful dancer’s thighs, a dimpled bottom to match the dimples when she smiles, and the world’s most exquisite breasts. As they say: comparison is the thief of joy, and if I compare our bodies, I come up short, feeling a bit like a melted candle beside her sturdy hourglass figure. If she is a Boticelli babe, then I am the Venus of Willendorf.

But in this particular moment of love and lust I could only think of both our bodies together, in concert with one another. I could immediately see in my mind’s eye how our flesh, ample in places, would press and rub, how the the muscles of her shoulders and back would move beneath her soft skin, how soft and lovely and all consuming it would be. It was an orgiastic moment of awe and gratitude; the idea of our breasts touching, flattening as we moved closer, the crimson flush of pale decolletage, the sinew of her neck, the crushing softness of thighs upon thighs upon thighs.

It was lovely to wander my way through these moments of fantasy without self criticism. There were no worries or what ifs, only excitement that our bodies, which are not the cultural ideal, would feel so incredible together. Being so close would be such a sensual and erotic experience; warm flesh and eager mouths, hands that can not get enough. The delight and thrill of these fleeting moments of daydream is a testament to how we have allowed ourselves to find safety and confidence in one another. I love her inside and out, and her body is bangin’, but our bodies together? Magic.

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