MaryB and the City

Bringing sexy back.

I’ve never been one of those girls who naturally exudes eroticism, you know, like Carmen Electra on Baywatch. In fact, I hate wearing bathing suits, even one pieces.

My inner confidence that comes through on the outside is from being a thoughtful friend, exceeding expectations at work, and rocking a stiletto without tripping & falling [not once]. But no where in that crockpot of confidence is there a spot for sexiness.

Maybe it’s because I was surrounded by five males growing up and felt uncomfortable showing any cleavage. Maybe it’s because I was raised Catholic and the church instilled that laying horizontal with someone is only for the sanctity of marriage and strictly for producing babies. Maybe it’s because I’ve struggled with gaining weight ever since hitting puberty.

Last week I crossed the 90 day threshold of living with Mr. Big, after surviving a long distance dating scenario for one year. The day-to-day companionship has been lovely. Seeing his sunkissed skin, feeling the grip of his hand in mine, hearing his voice in the flesh, smelling his freshly bathed scent, looking into his eyes during a conversation, having the ability to kiss whenever we please for no reason at all.

Those simple moments are treasures. Every single day.

After existing on earth for 32 years, and 20 of those spent in monogamous relationships, one thing I know for sure is that making assumptions is a recipe for failure.

Two weeks before relocating to be with my long-term love, I changed my mind about marriage before moving. Previously I wanted at least a commitment of forever vows — but a candid conversation shifted that stance; we would try cohabitating [first] to make sure no monsters were hidden in our single’s closet.

Three months later, instead of assuming that our relationship is laced with fairy dust and rose petals, I asked.

“So, do you think I’m a monster?”

My little joke had another meaning. What I was really asking: “Are you happy with me, with us, or have you seen a different side of me than you expected? Do you want to marry me? Like, soon? Because I’m getting ansy. I don’t want to call you my manfriend anymore, I want to call you my husband. I love you and want to spend my life with you in a meaningful way. Honestly, I have also been feeling pressure all around me, from friends & family, and it’s weighing heavy on my shoulders. So, whatta say?”

Well, as it turns out — yes he wants to marry me, but there’s a caveat and it is in the form of a monster; that missing ingredient in my über confident facade persona which leads me to act like I’m celibate. That monster is about 30 pounds of extra weight. The monster is clingy, difficult to be around, has a major attitude. I absolutely loathe her.

Because the monster has taken over, manipulating my mind and body, I hide behind clothes. I feel safer covered up. And I certainly don’t want my lover to see my love handles. Unfortunately, that makes being intimate a major roadblock. I knew it, and was sorta hoping he wouldn’t notice or take issue with it. But wouldn’t ya know… I Googled the word “male” and testosterone showed up as the #1 search result; he winked at me. There is no hiding.

Mr. Big finds my curves sexy and couldn’t be more encouraging of me, svelte or with extra rolls to spare. But no matter how many reassurances that come out of his mouth, my kangaroo pouch still doesn’t fit into Victoria’s Secret garments. I’ve tried. The truth is that we can’t just be roommates. It isn’t fair to play hard-to-get.

It certainly doesn’t help that bachelors are inundated with warning messages from married men telling them that sex severely slows down once you get married, and now I’ve gone and become an overachiever before even becoming Mr. & Mrs.

Cliché as it may be, January 1st kicked off my journey back to health, and I’m already on my way to shedding insecurities and dusting off my sensual self. It’s time to come out of the shameful closet and face reality. I don’t want my manfriend to think his future life partner is a prude, quite simply, it’s just the pudge.

The cookie monster swallowed my confidence and I’m determined to bring sexy back.