Cortigiana Onesta

Some have never been in love

Some have only felt familial or friend love

This is about how it felt for me

Maybe it helps

Maybe it makes you wish to find something similar

Maybe it makes you want to avoid it

To start, my chest feels full, at all times.

Tendrils of warmth flow out to my limbs

As if my love for him is directly in my veins

When he touches me, my scalp tingles and my skin sensitivity heightens

When I look at him my brain releases such doses of happiness and pleasure that I can feel my stress and anxiety melt away.

When I hear his voice on the phone, that deep baritone stirs inside me, making me anxious to see him again so I can “be close with him”.

When I smell him on my sheets, on the discarded shirt I use as pjs as I make breakfast, it’s arousing. His natural, clean, male scent is intoxicating.

When my lips come into contact with any part of his body, my body responds, instantly, aggressively... proximity is all it takes for arousal.

That is not to say we never fight or argue... but he as a person is intoxicating to me. He may not be perfect looking to the world, but he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life. My brain literally explodes with pleasure when his blue eyes catch mine.

It’s been 5 years. I knew the moment I met him I loved him. And it’s only grown. Highly sexually actively, romantic, supportive type of love. The type of love where living together is just an continuously awesome sleepover full of conversation, bonding and ... ya know ;)

I feel love for Eric from my head to toes, every sense heightened and attuned to him. And as a woman that does NOT believe in soul mates or love at first sight, I DO believe in a true love. A love so right and well suited that any problem is worth working through, because the love is worth it. If they don’t fill your heart, Center you, insipire you with purpose... is it the love that will last? Will it survive the growth and change people naturally go through?

I waited 30 years to find you, lose my virginity to you, because I knew just any boy would not do

I waited for you when you said you were not ready for a relationship, because I knew our connection was strong

I waited for you and as your best friend as you went back to your ex that you were not in love with, because I hoped you would change your mind

I waited when you moved in with a different girl that you considered her the best one for you, because I could see her controlling nature would lose in the end

I waited and helped you keep your company afloat because I knew how much you needed me

I waited through the numerous fights with your girlfriend until her mental abuse got too much for you to take, because I knew it was coming and you would need shelter

I waited for the year of back and forth where I felt I was going crazy with the hot and cold way you treated me, because I knew loving the you away from her was worth it

I waited throughout the many moodswings and lies, because I knew the real you was better than the cruel version she encouraged

When you left the city (me) to be with her, I stopped waiting... because you had made your choice. Because no matter how much I tried to explain, why we worked better... you could not hear it.

I waited for the pain to stop because losing my best friend was worse than losing my lover

I waited for my appetite to return, because nothing held flavour any more

I waited to enjoy company of friends because the thought of looking for a new man was impossible

I waited to feel happy again, but I did not wait for you, because you chose to leave, and I honestly wished you the best because that’s what you do for someone you love

I did not wait for you to come back, but you came back, because it felt wrong

Because you had finally realized what I meant to you

Because you finally understood I was never why the two of you could never workout

Because you finally understood how patiently I had waited for your love, only to watch you leave and support you through reddened eyes

Because after only two months away... you finally got a taste of life without me... and it was bitter

And the confusing, hot and cold, lying man did not return with you.

The man who came back was the man I had waited 30 years for

The one who expressed kindness and empathy

The one who pulled me in close every night

The one who never failed to make me laugh

The one who forced me to love myself

The one who would slow dance with me

The one who would give my butt a swat and kiss my neck

The one who held me after the loss of a loved one.

Me: I am tired of having genetically giant tits. I am going to do the healthy thing and get a breast reduction which will save me from my constant back pain.

Every man on the internet: nooooo I will carry them for you!!! Don’t get them reduced!!!

Seriously... every man, they all say it. Word. For. Word.

Me: gets a breast reduction anyway because I am living for me and I love my new chest

Every man who finds out I had a reduction: nooooo why did you do that? I would have carried them for you!!

It’s like men think I cared about their opinion on my body or like I was supposed to take a vote on whether to stay a size H and in crippling pain... for... asthetics? Have men really thought out what that would actually entail? Being a living bra? It’s not all glamour. Holding them while she is pooping, doing laundry, going to work. He gonna carry those tits you’re entire waking day? The bonus would be that you get to see the dumbasses whither and die as the constant occupancy of their hands mean they starve and dehydrate themselves to death... then what? Shop around for a new man-bra? End up with man-bras strewn all over the bedroom floor, throwing one in the washer but hanging it to dry... after the 30th new man-bra cups your chest in, the smell of the rotted fallen all around him as he silently soils himself as he is no longer permitted to use his hands for anything else while I am awake... he begrudgingly mumbles “ok maybe we didn’t think this through”. I shrug as I watch the light and joy of holding tits leave his eyes as he is resigned to his fate.

About 6 months to a year I go on a kick where I buy a sh*t ton of makeup, something new and trendy, usually involving many steps.

I get it home and realize.

1. I am not a “pretty” girl

2. I don’t like the effort required to wear a lot of makeup

3. I don’t even know how to use this makeup

4. It doesn’t look like it does on YouTube

5. I go back to my little mascara, little eye liner and a little lip gloss, nothing else. Because I just don’t have time for it

Ok so a little backstory. When I was under a year old I had ended up getting a bad skull fracture that fortuneatly did not crack through the entire skull which made me bleed out under my skin rather than into my brain. My mother (who was deaf) went to turn my head to make me look at her (so she knew I was paying attention to her) when she felt something “squishy” at the side of my head and felt the pillow of blood. She called my aunt in a panic (basically just screamed into the phone to come over repeatedly as she had no way to know if my aunt even picked up the phone or not) and I was whisked away to the hospital where I had the blood drained and was fitted with a tiny blue helmet since they did not make helmets that small. It happened hours before the discovery and it was a mystery to her and my dad. After a year of wearing it (to let it heal and prevent further injury to my forming head) we donated to the hospital in case any other children needed it.

Fast forward to my teens. I reconnect with my estranged father (cool dude just had some growing up to do). He loved to tease me. Especially since I am horribly accident prone. So accident prone my aunt calls me “Grace” because of how ungrateful i am. (My name is nowhere near that and starts with an S). For YEARS my dad, my half siblings etc would always tease me for having to wear a helmet as a baby and how “oh that explains it” when it comes to my personality. I was honestly a little ashamed of the story and embarrassed that I had to wear a helmet. I was literally 33, sitting with them at Boxing Day dinner when a light finally went on in my head. Why the fuck was I being tormented for this (even if it was just in joke). I turned to my dad and said “oh? And how did I end up with the fractured skull?” He said the same thing my entire family said “oh you likely cracked your skull falling off the back of the couch or trying to climb out of your crib”. Except I wasn’t leaving it at that today. I said “and why didn’t mom, you or anyone know definitely how it happened?” My question made unease rise in his eyes. “I was under a year old. You tease me about this like it’s my fault. But I am pretty sure someone was not paying attention to me... in the middle of the day...”. He kind of nodded and admitted that it’s hard to watch kids at all times but admits that no one has seen it happen.

I leaned in and doubled down. “And what about the baseball thing?” My half sisters were not familiar with that story or if they had heard it, they forgot. “What do you mean?” He asked, knowing the incident I was speaking of. 2 WEEKS after I got my helmet off I got smoked in the head by an adult wielding a baseball bat. And everyone in the bleachers saw. I was just over 2 and at my aunts baseball game when I toddled over to where the batters were warming up. Someone went to toss a bat over to where they were kept and I stepped out of their way and in behind a woman windmilling a bat that soundly connected with my forehead *TING*. It was seen by everyone and my parents lept up and rushed me to the hospital and the game was called as too many women were upset at the possible critical injury to a little girl. So back to Boxing Day. My father admitted that no, they should not have let me wander to the batting area. To be fair my parents were never bad parents or even that neglectful, it just seemed that when they weren’t paying attention something was happening to “grace’s” head.

I never got teased for a lack of theoretical brain cells again. For it had been made clear to everyone, but mainly myself that it was not ever my fault. Not at that age. But I had been raised in a home where you were always held accountable for your own actions and I felt guilty for being such a klutz, less aware, and causing distress on my parents when those two knuckleheads should have been paying attention to their only spawn (at the time).

And there are other instances from childhood that did not include my parents... or child protective services (nothing came of it, like I said, good parents) where I have experienced so much guilt over the years for my misdeeds, accidents or misbehaviours. As an adult, as each pop into my mind, I forgive myself for these indisgressions and accept the fact that even if I am to blame. I was a child, it’s ok to forgive myself, stop beating myself up over little things like running face first into a parked car when I was 7, for angering my step dad when he was already in a bad mood, for embarrassing my mom by bringing a stranger in the house when I was 6 because I thought my mom had disappeared from the apartment, when in fact she was asleep in her bed... in a skimpy nightgown... and the man probably saw a whole lot more of my moms ass than she would have cared for... anyway... my point is, I am tossing out old moldy guilt like trash I should have got rid of years ago. It feels great and it’s all due to the fact that my dad would not stop teasing me about cracking my skull

I included 3 pics. One was from when I was legit wearing my helmet. The other I am sporting the goose egg on my forehead from the baseball bat. And a third from when I was 4, fell asleep in the back of a Jeep and burnt the sh*t out of my face. You know, for funzies

1. To explain to my dog where I am going so he doesn’t need to leave the comfy goodness of the couch to follow me to watch me shower

2. He is slightly cross eyed and I feel like he needs glasses but I will never know what his script would be

3. So he can tell ME what he needs. No really. Sometimes he just comes up and sits on his hind legs like a 80lbs prairie dog and it could literally be any one of 5 things he wants.

I am 35 years old. Do you know what I am doing tomorrow? Dying my hair blue. Which isn’t a big deal in the sense that people dye their hair wild colours all the time. But for me, it’s huge.

My 35th year has been a game changer for me. Some things I knew I wanted when I was young. Things my mother never would have approved of or my grandparents etc. It took me to 27 years old to get my first visible tattoo and I was TERRIFIED at what my grandmother would think. I dyed my hair brown instead of blonde (family’s preference is me blonde) and never heard the end of it... at 35 I stopped. And thought... who am I living my life for? Why have I wanted to dye my hair blue since I was 12 and have never done it for fear of disappointing my family (it would not effect my employment as many have brightly coloured hair at the factory I work at). Why have I lived my entire life by comittee? Will everyone like my choices? No. Will they love me any less... no! So why the fuck is my hair still brown? Why don’t I have a few more visible tattoos. Why do I have to defend getting back together with an ex when we sorted out the underlying issue and we are 100% solid and 10x better and stronger than we ever were before and could ever be apart.

But if someone hurts me I get quiet and I internalize it and if someone calls me on being upset I try and cover it up hard because I am terrified of the confrontation because I don’t want to make them mad that I am mad or afraid I am gonna get punished for being upset?