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Sex & Curves: If I feel sexy, I am fun!

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Sex & Curves: If I feel sexy, I am fun!

By: Jennifer McGuire

I am going on a date with a Good Guy. A tie-wearer. An umbrella-carrier. A card-carrying liberal. I met him in a bar (I know; tacky) and haven’t seen him in a few weeks. We’ve emailed, we’ve talked on the phone and I’ve talked about him to my girls, but I can’t remember exactly what he looks like. His voice is good and he spells properly, a must in the world of me. Also he told me I was ‘ridiculously cute’. But I wish I could remember his face. I am going to his apartment for drinks first. I wear a wrap dress and heels, a great bra called the Femme Fatale that makes my ta-tas look even more glorious than usual. My make-up is good, my faux tan better. I feel…sexy.

He opens the door and I think ‘Oh, it’s you!’ He is just so…you know? Good. Still I don’t see him, not really. I see the way he pours my wine and touches my back and kisses my forehead. After awhile he plants a good kiss on me and I see the sex – it’s gonna be good. I cross and uncross my legs. I flip my hair. Sitting on his couch in his cool single guy apartment with the doorman and everything, drinking non-cheap wine. Eating gouda-eating as much gouda as I want because he is just not one of those guys who looks at my waistline and says ‘Seriously? Don’t you think you’ve had enough gouda?’

Yes, I definitely see the sex is gonna be good. Sweaty, heavy breathing, forget-about-my-thighs-and-stomach good. He touches my hair and I have a feeling he might be one of those guys who winds your hair around his fingers. I love that.

I think I’m going to be able to sleep with him. Not tonight necessarily. I didn’t do the under-carriage maintenance needed. But soon. Once I know I can trust him enough. Once I stop cringing at the idea of him seeing me naked for the first time. I still need all the trappings to feel sexy. The Spanx, the good bra. The jersey dress. I need it. And he doesn’t know it yet, but he needs it too.

He needs it because how I feel is shaping our night. If I feel sexy, I am fun. Shoulders back, laughing, kissing full on the mouth fun. But if I don’t feel sexy…if I start seeing my back fat or my big ankles. My cellulite.

Our night will be over by 10 o’clock.

So far so good. He hasn’t messed it up yet and I’m cautiously optimistic. Because, like every other woman of curves out there, I know it can turn on a dime. Like the last time I was out on a date, dressed in a killer blue kimono-style top and white jeans. Feeling good. And this woman in the washroom said to me as we reapplied our lipsticks,

‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’

Then I remembered all of the land mines of a curvy girl on a date. The pitfalls you see in the look of a surly waiter, the mean laugh of the couple at the next table. A mirror catching your bad side when you least expect it.

I remembered it wasn’t just the man I was with who I hoped might legitimize me.

It was everyone who saw us together.

Stay tuned…

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Jennifer McGuire lives in Ontario, Canada. Her recently released collection of essays, ‘Halfway To Happy’ (Glenmalure Publications) is based on her popular humour column of the same name, which appears in daily newspapers throughout Canada. She has also written for the Canadian parenting magazine ‘Canadian Family’, but has secretly been desperate to write for the American public (don’t tell her Canadian friends). Her short fiction has appeared in ‘Room’ magazine and the anthology ‘Every Second Thursday’. She spends her time with her four sons who she adores, her dog who she tolerates and her friends of whom she generally expects far too much.
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