Recently I found myself at a swingers club participating in and spectating at an amateur strip competition. The club owners conceived the competition to encourage their patrons to get up and strut their stuff all in the name of good fun. The general idea was complete acceptance of all body shapes and confirmation of the appeal of all people whatever their shape and size. Unfortunately for me I chose to enter on the same night that a whole lot of young bendy sexy things were in attendance and I found myself wondering what I had been thinking when I put my name down to do this.
I had decided to do a duo with a friend and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Her partner and mine also enjoyed our performance as well. Which at the end of the day was all that really mattered to either of us. Once the younger more stereotypically attractive girls took over we decided that we would find something more interesting to do than hear what we already knew, that we didn’t win.
In one way it was disappointing I kinda hoped that there would be some kind of triumph of real bodies over young bendy bodies. The younger women had lacked showmanship and their appeal was based mainly around the attractiveness of their bodies, not around how they entertained the crowd. Typically, their friends and supporters were enthusiastic in their support of them but didn’t even bother to watch the other competitors.
Earlier in the day I had shopped with a vague notion of finding a new sexy club dress to wear to the event, I have put on a small amount of weight recently. I hadn’t really given it much consideration but I found myself in change room mirror after change room mirror admitting that the dress that looked great on the rack did not have enough room for my boobs and sometimes my ass.
I am not large by any stretch of the imagination but in stores that sell the kinds of clothes I was looking for stock mainly size 8. There isn’t much hope for a size 12 to 14 woman. What rubbed salt even deeper into the wound was that the stores stocking size 12 – 14 were also about sensible mumsy fashion. Not about cleavage and short skirts. The take home message I got from that? I am too old and too fat to wear sexy clothes.
In the aftermath of my failed shopping, dealing with sexy women with perfectly pert breasts and firm, smooth asses made me begin to wonder if I was the sex goddess that I perceived myself to be. I began to question the things that Mr Jones and other men told me and started to think that their compliments were just ruses to get into my pants. I started to believe that I was just another fat old lady.
It is strange how much ego stroking we all crave. Clearly I am a sexy beast, Men (and women) did notice me. More than one man (and woman) expressed a desire to have sex with me; so clearly I am attractive, But even such rational thinking was not convincing my self esteem. Somehow the small voice of self – doubt was screaming louder than the calm voice of reason. I was like a drug addict craving the next hit
A couple of years ago I was completely confident in myself. Now I find myself wondering. Spending the evening comparing myself to women who were much younger than me was definitely not doing anything to improve my self confidence. Just as the only real way to feel good about yourself is to truly believe in yourself the most efficient way to feel bad about yourself is to spend an evening comparing yourself convince yourself that you don’t measure up to other people around you.
Eventually the rational part of my brain managed to gain control. Yes the young bendy blonde was hot and all the guys were ogling her. But only in the same sort of way they look at models in a magazine. I am never going to be one of them. Maybe once I was but it must have been in an alternative universe because I don’t remember it. I don’t truly believe that I am a stunning sex goddess but enough people out there seem to. So it must be true on some level. Today I am in the process of re-convincing myself. If I tell myself enough, then one day I might just believe it.