This morning I asked him, "When I try to look sexy, do I look like one of those dancing hippos on Fantasia?" I don't think I've ever made him laugh so hard.
I feel like one of those dancing hippos whenever I see myself in the mirror, but inside I feel like a horny little sex kitten, just like I was before my stomach could be said to have an "equator." Only two months ago I still fit into size 2 pants, the same size I've worn for over 20 years. In my mind, I'm still that woman. I forget all the time that now I'm a hippo. Hippos are not hot, they're comical.
I've tried to get in touch with my sexy pregnant side, trying to see myself in a new light, but it just doesn't work. I watched some pregnant porn, which was either sleazy in an unsexy way or too tame and gentle to be hot. I looked at photos of other pregnant women. Not even the "hot" photos of Britney Spears on her magazine covers showing her belly, or Demi Moore looking much more pregnant, or even the hottest pregnant models I could find have been able to make a dent in how incredibly unsexy I feel like I look. I think they're beautiful, adorable, or cute, but not sexy. I still feel like a a horny dancing hippo who is constantly chasing after my poor hunted boyfriend's cock.
I let TheBoyfriend off the hook the other night about how much it's bothers me that his sexual interest in me has waned noticeably. We were snuggling and slowly falling asleep, talking to each other while I lazily kissed his jawline. I said, "You know, (kiss) I really don't blame you for not being attracted to the baby bump. (kiss) I mean, practically all of your porn is about petite girls with slim waists and little bottoms. It's not like you're suddenly going to be attracted to a completely different body type. (kiss) What do I expect, right? This isn't exactly the body that you lust after. That's not going to change in a few months." I continued kissing his face.
He smiled really big. Then, the clever boy practically pleaded the fifth rather than respond to what I said. He said, "I'm sorry, what did you say? I'm just so tired. I missed what you said," and so on, but his grin was too big and I knew that he was lying, still stubbornly refusing to admit that my pregnant belly isn't sexy to him. I adore him for that, for being so stubbornly sweet.
I smiled and affectionately said, "You liar. You heard me." I continued kissing his face and he grinned back at me.
Then I said, "Just as long as this isn't part of some sort of virgin/whore complex. I want to be your slut in the bedroom, and the kitchen, and the living room, and the shower. Oh, especially the shower!" I was thinking of Elvis and the rumor that he never touched Priscilla again after she got pregnant.
He laughed and sarcastically said, "No, I'm never having sex with you again!" We both laughed, but I don't think he realizes that I get paranoid about things like that. I have nightmares about him no longer wanting me, and it feels especially real when you look like a comically absurd dancing hippo instead of a hot and sexy seductress and you're dating a younger man. Pregnancy is so humbling.
I dropped the subject and we both fell asleep.
I'm sure that he gets tired of reassuring me all the time and worrying about everything and complaining about all the aches and pains I have or the various daily humiliations and indignities of being a People Incubator, but he made me feel better about that, too. He told me that it would freak him out if I was one of those women who loved being pregnant, who felt spiritual and connected and powerful by the act of creating life inside me and who loved having a big baby belly. He said that it would frighten him because that just isn't me. It isn't the woman that he fell in love with. It made me feel wonderful, that even all my neurotic feelings that are surely annoying are things that he loves, because they're part of me, too.
I feel like one of those dancing hippos whenever I see myself in the mirror, but inside I feel like a horny little sex kitten, just like I was before my stomach could be said to have an "equator." Only two months ago I still fit into size 2 pants, the same size I've worn for over 20 years. In my mind, I'm still that woman. I forget all the time that now I'm a hippo. Hippos are not hot, they're comical.
I've tried to get in touch with my sexy pregnant side, trying to see myself in a new light, but it just doesn't work. I watched some pregnant porn, which was either sleazy in an unsexy way or too tame and gentle to be hot. I looked at photos of other pregnant women. Not even the "hot" photos of Britney Spears on her magazine covers showing her belly, or Demi Moore looking much more pregnant, or even the hottest pregnant models I could find have been able to make a dent in how incredibly unsexy I feel like I look. I think they're beautiful, adorable, or cute, but not sexy. I still feel like a a horny dancing hippo who is constantly chasing after my poor hunted boyfriend's cock.
I let TheBoyfriend off the hook the other night about how much it's bothers me that his sexual interest in me has waned noticeably. We were snuggling and slowly falling asleep, talking to each other while I lazily kissed his jawline. I said, "You know, (kiss) I really don't blame you for not being attracted to the baby bump. (kiss) I mean, practically all of your porn is about petite girls with slim waists and little bottoms. It's not like you're suddenly going to be attracted to a completely different body type. (kiss) What do I expect, right? This isn't exactly the body that you lust after. That's not going to change in a few months." I continued kissing his face.
He smiled really big. Then, the clever boy practically pleaded the fifth rather than respond to what I said. He said, "I'm sorry, what did you say? I'm just so tired. I missed what you said," and so on, but his grin was too big and I knew that he was lying, still stubbornly refusing to admit that my pregnant belly isn't sexy to him. I adore him for that, for being so stubbornly sweet.
I smiled and affectionately said, "You liar. You heard me." I continued kissing his face and he grinned back at me.
Then I said, "Just as long as this isn't part of some sort of virgin/whore complex. I want to be your slut in the bedroom, and the kitchen, and the living room, and the shower. Oh, especially the shower!" I was thinking of Elvis and the rumor that he never touched Priscilla again after she got pregnant.
He laughed and sarcastically said, "No, I'm never having sex with you again!" We both laughed, but I don't think he realizes that I get paranoid about things like that. I have nightmares about him no longer wanting me, and it feels especially real when you look like a comically absurd dancing hippo instead of a hot and sexy seductress and you're dating a younger man. Pregnancy is so humbling.
I dropped the subject and we both fell asleep.
I'm sure that he gets tired of reassuring me all the time and worrying about everything and complaining about all the aches and pains I have or the various daily humiliations and indignities of being a People Incubator, but he made me feel better about that, too. He told me that it would freak him out if I was one of those women who loved being pregnant, who felt spiritual and connected and powerful by the act of creating life inside me and who loved having a big baby belly. He said that it would frighten him because that just isn't me. It isn't the woman that he fell in love with. It made me feel wonderful, that even all my neurotic feelings that are surely annoying are things that he loves, because they're part of me, too.
