The One Who Got Stella’s Groove Back

Shortly after I got divorced, I went to a BBW Halloween party a couple of hours from home. I hadn’t dressed up for Halloween since college and had no clue what to wear. My friends came over and helped me put something together. Black cami, borrowed flowy black palazzo pants, and jingly belly dancing scarves tied about my waist and around my chest {kinda hard to picture, I know, but it was cute}. *Poof!* I was a gypsy.

On a whim, I decided to get something dramatic done with my makeup. I told her I wanted smoky eyes and some kind of design around my right eye. The result was pretty cool. I was so excited and couldn’t wait to show my friends.

At the party, most of the other girls were dressed way sexier than I was, but I had a blast. We had a few drinks, mingled, flirted, laughed, and had so much fun.

I kept noticing one guy now and again… He was kind of tall, stocky, and really cute. I’ve never been very assertive {or aggressive?} with guys, but I couldn’t stop looking at this one. My friends kept encouraging me to talk to him but I had no idea what to say. I was no good at this!

Finally, after a couple more drinks, I got up the courage to talk to him. I walked over to the bar where he was sitting and said hi, and asked if he was from my hometown because he looked really familiar {lame, I know, but hey, it worked}. He smiled and said no, and asked if I wanted a drink. I said sure and sat on the barstool beside him. We started talking and he was very sweet.

I don’t remember how it came up, but at one point I asked how old he was. He said 28. 28?? I had just turned 40 a few months earlier and seriously thought he was much closer to my age. I said, “You’re just a baby!” and told him how old I was. He said he’d always preferred older women. Oh? Game on.

We hung out and talked and kissed a little for most of the rest of the night. He asked for my number and I gave it, not entirely believing I’d ever hear from him again. Eventually it was time to go and we parted ways with one more kiss.

The next morning, my friends and I left fairly early to head home. I was half asleep in the backseat when I got a text message. It was from ‘Winston.’ He wanted to know if he could take me to breakfast. I was so surprised to hear from him, but said {with much regret} that we were already on our way home. He lived an hour or so south of where the party was and said maybe we could meet in the middle sometime.

We continued texting and occasionally talking on the phone for a couple of weeks, and on a weekend when my daughter was to be with her dad, we arranged to meet. I was excited and nervous. He got us a pretty nice hotel room in a decent hotel, not far from the place where we met. He was sweet and sexy, yet totally laid back and casual. I was so attracted to this guy!

One thing led to another, and next thing I knew, we were all over that king-sized bed. He had me in positions I’d never been in before, talking dirty, smacking my ass, and I couldn’t get enough. I thought sex like that was only in the movies! I was exhausted, panting, sore, and… satisfied. Oooohhh my, was he talented.

When I headed home, I was feeling like a new woman, but also a bit like a cliche. My ex had told multiple people that my reason for wanting a divorce was that I was having a mid-life crisis. Really? {no, no, no, not gonna bash the ex} Yet, here I was, heading home after a sex-filled weekend with a guy who was 12 years younger than me. What a delicious little secret!

We continued talking and texting, and a few weeks later, made plans to meet again. This time, the hotel room he got us had a hot tub in it. He definitely had my attention and I couldn’t wait to try it out. Again, we made good use of every square inch of that king-sized bed. We moved to the hot tub, and I sunk down into the bubbles while he sat beside it, watching me. I had always been self-conscious being naked in front of my ex, but with Winston, I was completely uninhibited. I liked the way he looked at me, like he couldn’t wait to devour me. It was such a turn-on. He made me feel beautiful, sexy, irresistible, and naughty. I was discovering a side of myself that I never knew, never explored. For the first time, I felt like a sexual being, and it was nothing short of fantastic.

I was in touch with Winston for another month or so after our second meeting, and then never heard from him again. Nothing probably ever would have come of it anyway {relationship-wise}, but he definitely awakened something in me that was too-long dormant and a long time coming {pun semi-intended}.

Next up: Friends Shouldn’t Let Friends Beer Goggle

Handsome

I always found you
handsome.
Shy smile,
sexy beard,
and just enough
of a belly
to make you seem
human.
You struck me
as humble
{or modest?} —
seemingly unaware
of how attractive
you are.
And I suppose
I would have
continued
to admire you
from afar
if I didn’t know
you just texted
a picture of
your junk
to one of
my friends.
Now all I can
think about
when I pass you
in the hall
is the caption
you put
with the pic:
LOL

Booty, Caboose, Apple Bottom, Badonkadonk

For most of my life, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with my butt. When I was little, my mom affectionately called me “Toots,” and somewhere in my baby book, there’s a comment about my dimpled little bottom and chubby legs.

In 2^nd grade, I remember my teacher asking me to deliver a message to another teacher. I was in cutoff shorts because it was track & field day {I went to Catholic school, so any day without the uniform was a rare treat}, and I remember one of the kids from that class commenting later about how my butt stuck out as I stood waiting for the teacher’s response.

In 5^th grade, a boy whom I had a crush on measured my rear end {unbeknownst to me} when I was leaning over, exclaiming at how many inches wide it was. Nah, that wasn’t embarrassing at all! Asshole.

I liked the fact that my butt was round, but it was always hard to find jeans that fit right because of my curvy hips. I bemoaned my ample backside many times over the years, trying desperately to keep everything covered and silently cursing my skinny sister, who never had trouble finding clothes that looked good on her.

So imagine my surprise to discover, after years of hiding, covering, grumbling, and groaning, that there are men out there who love a big butt. What the… WHAT??

In the year or so before my divorce, I became friends with some girls {sorry, but ‘women’ sounds like we had a quilting circle, and some of them sure ain’t ladies} who are part of a BBW group. I had never heard of such a thing, much to their amazement.

BBWs {Big Beautiful Women} have groups, fan pages, calendars, parties, admirers… How had I never heard of this? My parents had pretty much raised me to believe that bigger was absolutely NOT better, so in my mind, a BBW party was another way of saying, “Fat Girls on Parade.” I imagined heavyset girls awkwardly trying to have a good time at a party while skinny people pointed and laughed. As someone who was extremely bashful as a child {and even now has moments of shyness}, not to mention very self-conscious about my weight, this sounded like my worst nightmare. My new friends assured me that there are many men out there who not only like bigger girls, but PREFER them. I admit, I was skeptical.

After a few months of badgering, they finally convinced me to go to a Valentine’s Day dance. Dressing up for me back then pretty much involved some kind of semi-dressy top and black dress slacks. I didn’t own any heels, so I wore my black loafers, which had a very slight chunky heel. Sexy, huh?

I hadn’t been to any kind of social thing like that since college, and I completely froze. I spent almost the entire evening by the wall, occasionally talking to people if they came near me, but not knowing what to do with myself. My friends kept asking me to come out on the floor and dance, but I couldn’t. I was honestly frozen to my seat and couldn’t bring myself to do much of anything.

A few guys did notice me, especially one {that’s a story for another post}, but I was a total wallflower.

Despite my being a social failure that night, the party really opened my eyes to a whole new world — one where it’s ok to have a big butt and chubby legs. I learned that even though I’ve spent my whole life thinking of myself as fat, what I am is more often called ‘thick.’ There are girls bigger than me at these parties who love their bodies and have all the confidence in the world. If only I had met some of them years ago, but better late than never.

I still occasionally go to the parties, but the bar scene really isn’t my thing and I’m still not big on hitting that dance floor very often. I feel a little more confident {and sometimes, dare I say, sexy} when I dress up, and I’ve even started wearing skirts and dresses {something I hadn’t done since my now-teenage daughter was a toddler, and those were borderline muumuus… shudder}. I’m coming to terms with my curves and I’m becoming more and more comfortable in my own skin.

I’ve stopped hiding my ass under oversized shirts. No, I don’t dress trampy, but I’m owning who I am. Guess what? I have a big ass! And for the first time in my entire life, I’m ok with that. My daughter is built just like me, and because I’ve always made a point to reassure her that she’s perfect exactly the way she is, I don’t think she’s ever given a second thought to her butt {except one time several years ago when a little boy in day camp sang “Baby Got Back” to her. I laughed and told her to take it as a compliment.}.

The majority of guys I’ve met since my divorce have liked my curves and have shown me that you can absolutely be attractive and sexy, even if you’re not built like a swizzle stick. Thanks, guys.

Next up: The One Who Got Stella’s Groove Back

The Drought Breaker

As you can probably gather, this was the one who ended my three years of self-imposed celibacy. I didn’t go looking for him, but I can safely assume he was looking for me. Or someone kinda like me. Oh, let’s be serious. I could probably have been just about any female walking by and he would have acted the same way. The difference is, he approached me on the right day in the right month of the right year when I was totally willing to say, “Come ‘n get me.”

I went to the grocery store one night, as I often do, with no list and wandering up and down the aisles trying to remind myself of what I needed. As I came down one aisle, I passed a guy and smiled as I went by. He said, “You have a nice smile.” I paused, said thank you {smiling again} and went on my way.

At this point in my life, it had been a very long time since a) I had felt attractive, and b) a guy had complimented me. For much of my marriage I tended to dress in very baggy, shapeless clothing. I knew my ex preferred thinner girls {which I was not} and I was always self-conscious. Sex was ALWAYS with the lights off. I didn’t make much effort with my makeup because I didn’t see the point. But in the months leading up to this encounter, I had started making more of an effort with my appearance. I had lost some weight, begun wearing makeup {not a ton, but still enough to make a difference}, and started dressing in clothes that actually fit me properly. I had stopped hiding behind my weight and my clothes.

Anyway, I kept walking through the store and remembered something I needed back near where I had seen the guy. Sure enough, I saw him again. This time he approached me and struck up a conversation. I ended up getting his number and went on my way, kind of stunned at what had just happened.

The next day, I called him and we made plans to meet for lunch. I felt nervous and awkward. I hadn’t been on a date in a really long time! We made small talk, but mostly focused on our food. When we were nearly finished, he said he had an apartment nearby and asked if I wanted to go over there. I said I didn’t have much time {I had to get back to work}, and he smiled and said, “We don’t need much time.”

I looked at him, considered what he was saying, slowly put down my fork, and said, “Let’s go.”

{I know, I know, I barely knew the guy and shouldn’t have gone. But dammit, a girl’s got needs!}

We went to the apartment, and let’s just say…
The heavens opened up, the angels were singing, the DROUGHT WAS OVER!! I had no idea sex could be that good. Now, I’m not going to use this space to bash my ex, however… I will say that in all the time we were married, our sex life was pretty vanilla. But this guy, whom I had only just met, knocked my damn socks off in less than 15 minutes. I went back to work feeling naughty and sexy and just plain incredible. Were my buttons fastened the right way? Did my hair look ok? Who knows?? Who cares?? I just had sex, everybody, and it was FANTASTIC!

We hooked up off and on for a while, and even though I wasn’t always…satisfied {wink}, it was always better than any I’d had before. Turns out he had a serious girlfriend, though. I never had any delusions that we were in a relationship, but the last thing I need is some crazy girlfriend chasing me around with the Cheaters camera crew because I’d been messing around with her guy. So I told him I was done and moved on.

Oh, one more thing…
I would be remiss not to mention one important detail about this guy. He had an a•m•a•z•i•n•g body. I mean, he seriously looked sculpted. When we met at the grocery store, he was wearing baggy jeans and a loose rugby shirt, so it was hard to tell what kind of body was under there. But oh, my stars, when he took of his clothes… his body was simply incredible. I couldn’t stop looking at him.

Ok, maybe not exactly like this… He didn’t have a beard or a trident, and he wasn’t white. But you get the idea.

Next up: Booty, Caboose, Apple Bottom, Badonkadonk

A Brief Intro

When I met my ex-husband at the tender age of 19, I hadn’t had many boyfriends. In high school I was somewhat awkward. Of course, at the time I thought I was cool and maybe quirky — a trendsetter, even. But I was just kind of a goof, as most of us are in high school. I had crushes on many boys through the years, but most of them didn’t really notice me. Anyway, I only had two semi-serious boyfriends {by high school standards} before I met the one I would eventually marry, so I wasn’t terribly experienced in dealing with guys.

Fast forward to 2010. My ex and I had circled the drain for a while before finally calling it quits, and hadn’t been intimate in any way {including hugging, kissing, hand holding, meaningful glances, and especially sex} in three years. THREE YEARS. Oh, I had been tempted to stray many times but I didn’t. Some tiny, old-fashioned part of me couldn’t do it since I was still technically married. But a chance encounter at the grocery store changed all that. And then the floodgates opened.

But I digress. Jumping back into the dating world after roughly 20 years away from it {3+ years dating, and 17 years married} is a surreal thing. I find myself thinking about things I didn’t worry about for much of my marriage, such as whether I should get a pedi before sandal season. I never thought much about my toes before, or anything else girly, for that matter. I spent years dressing almost androgynously… I’m not proud of the fact that I once owned 3 or 4 identical top/bottom combos from WalMart in different colors, and that I thought it was a great idea because I could mix and match them for work. No, there’s nothing wrong with WalMart clothes. But c’mon, now. How attractive is a grown woman in what are essentially Garanimals?? I didn’t own a single pair of jeans for years because I had gained some weight before and after having my daughter, and comfort was key. Maybe someday, once we know each other a little better, I’ll share some ‘before’ pics with you. But not today. Too soon.

Now I’m slowly learning how to be a girl again. I’m dipping my toe into the shallow end of sexy, still figuring out what looks good on me and that it’s perfectly acceptable {and, to some guys, preferable} to have curves. Thankfully, I have a friend who regularly advises me on what not to wear and to see myself as more than I’ve ever given myself credit for. I’m discovering that there’s a woman under this mom costume, and she’s pretty happy to ditch those stretch pants and oversize sweaters. After years of trying to cover myself up and hide, I’m peeking out a little, and for the first time in a long time, guys have noticed.

In the past couple of years I have met many guys — some never made it past texting, some went way beyond. Not all of them have been bad. I’ve met a few genuinely sweet guys. But the majority of my encounters have not ended well for one reason or another. I’ve gotten my hopes up and had them dashed against the rocks. I’ve threatened to call it quits and start acquiring cats, but there’s still some fight left in me. I haven’t given up hope.

I’m not quite there yet!

Yes, I’m still single, and yes, sometimes I’m totally okay with that. I hope that Mr. Right is still out there, somewhere, looking for a goofball who laughs at ridiculous things, is a pretty decent cook, loves a good thunderstorm, would choose an actual book over an e-reader any day, and melts under the power of a great first kiss.

Next up: The Drought Breaker