Ever since our first date, I have loved the way Tristan’s skin looked against mine. We met in August, and I had spent as much time outside with my son as possible that summer, so I was pretty tan. Tristan is fair-skinned, and I felt golden and glowy when my skin was near his. I’ve always found the contrasts aesthetically delightful. His tattoos against my smooth skin, our tattoos next to each other, my painted nails on his fair, freckled, barely furry tummy, his tattooed hands touching me lovingly, and crudely — I fucking love it all.
It helps me see, appreciate and embrace my femininity, which is something I struggled with for years. Not believing feeling “feminine” was something for me, I was too tall, too big boned, too harsh, too nerdy, too, too – too many absurd reasons that had no validity, yet loomed over me for decades. I no longer feel that way, but am not so far removed that I forget what it was like. I appreciate how differently I feel now, than I did ten years ago.
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