I wasn’t sure what to call this. But, after a friend read it and suggested ‘Beautiful’, I went with it. It is long…probably too long, but it wrote itself. I was just the fingers on the keyboard.
****I grimaced, looking in the mirror as tears slid down my cheeks. The healed scars on my chest where my breasts had been were horrible and broke my heart. When George told Barbara to wear her dresses cut low in back after her surgery, I hadn’t really understood her dismay or his caring response. Thinking of the scene in the movie about Sleeping Beauty, I now felt a kinship. When the actress compared her character’s pain with losing her wings to the personal loss of her breasts, it made sense. I realised how a woman losing her breasts was as difficult as the loss of a limb. Breasts nurture, feed, and are an asset. I remembered playing with my Barbie knowing how the breasts defined her out of proportion shape from her younger sister, Skipper. I stifled a sob. I was now Skipper.
How could I hide my deformed body? I recalled hugging a woman with fake boobs and they were solid and painful to my own soft body hug. Mom had some inserts and they were ugly. She had to hand wash the foam, so she rarely wore them. Mom wore a sports bra anyway. I guess she wanted to cling to that adult idiosyncrasy of under clothing. I rarely wore a bra and now my tank tops would display nothing inappropriate. I still couldn’t go topless, though. Our stupid society would be as horrified as I was, only for different reasons. Maybe.
I slipped on an old T-shirt, wiping the salty moisture from my face. Perhaps if I pretended nothing was different, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I was different now. I was surgically changed and for all I could see, it was for the worse. My beautiful orgasmic nipples were gone. The flesh of my breasts had been diseased, cut off, and thrown away. I couldn’t bear to touch my chest. I couldn’t’ see anyone else desiring to do so. My own love, I hid from. My sexuality was eliminated with the stroke of a surgeon’s knife. I knew, deep inside, my insights were false. I couldn’t see anything else. I was a mess and convinced of my Frankenstein appearance.
On his way home from work, he stopped for flowers again. He knew she wasn’t fond of roses, so he purchased her favorite carnations. In purple this time. He knew she was feeling vulnerable and afraid. He also picked up a pint of her favorite ice cream. At the post office, he discovered a healing massage essential oil he’d ordered had arrived. He smiled with hope, perhaps he’d let him touch her. Show her she was as beautiful to him as ever.
Once home, he enfolded her in gentle arms. Ready to release her if she desired. Their lips met and he wanted to devour her, but stilled his desire. Her clinging kiss cried out for protection and he was so willing to do so. She gratefully smiled as he handed her the flowers and ice cream. She was so afraid he was blinded to her change. Perhaps they were both in blindfolds. He was not able to see she wasn’t the woman she had been and she could not see past her deformity. He was constantly giving and she was terrified she couldn’t receive properly or give back.
Later that evening, she fell asleep on top of a pillow on his leg. His hand lightly rested on the curve of her beautiful ass. He didn’t want her to awaken or chill, so changed the end of the movie over to soothing jazz and snagged a blanket off the back of the couch to cover her. She sighed and snuggled against the back of the cushions. In her sleep, her fear seemed to abate. A hand slipped from under her cheek, falling against his leg, then curling under it. He froze and relaxed into the warmth of her palm. Slowly, he stroked the shortened hair on her head. He missed her longer locks, it didn’t matter, those would return and if they didn’t, it wasn’t what was innate. What he truly missed was her joy in life and loving. Quietly, ever so silently, he whispered words of love and affirmation to his sleeping beauty. Maybe she’d sense in her subconscious how much he cared.
I could hear words echoing in my sleep. It wasn’t from the movie, I identified the gentle play of horns and reeds dancing under the voice. The words were calling to me. Repeated phrases of love. Instances of times before, hints of what could still be. I laboriously climbed from the depths of dreams into reality, tears wet my face and the pillowcase. Turning my head, I looked up at my lover. He, too, was crying. He felt me move. Our eyes met and his arms scooped me off the couch onto his lap.
He nuzzled my face with his beard, wiping and combining our sorrow. My hands involuntarily reached out to touch him. Blue eyes stared into mine. I gulped, throwing my arms around his neck and stormily crying into his shoulder my fears. Disjointed words fell like stones in a calm lake. He rubbed my back, soothing my lonely girl. Eventually, I stopped. Tiny breaths stuttered and he held me closer. He continued to speak words of care and of my beauty. My headshaking negation made him angry. So, he kissed me fiercely. With all the longing of the past and hope for the future centered into one passionate kiss.
Startled, I mewled and melted under his lips. I had thought I wasn’t ready to be loved. My body said otherwise. I knew he’d stop if I asked, yet, I realized he needed me as much as I needed him. Recklessly, I straddled his lap, shoving away the pillow and blanket. Something inside me said to try to give, I could once. Could I again? I’d been existing for so long in my sorrow. A sorrow which still claimed me, but if I didn’t remove my shirt, maybe I could give to him. I recalled a former lover who preferred me mostly dressed for intimacy and felt I could do that. He gathered himself to lift us both us and a giggle escaped. I’d lost weight through the treatments and ensuing depression, but I wasn’t going to let him hurt himself lifting me. I slid to my feet, surprised at the giggle and my thoughts.
Ever diligent, we strolled to our room turning off lights and locking doors. Moonlight was coming through the open shades on the large windows I’d insisted on for our room. Shadows gathered in the corners and I froze. He stood in front of me, caressing my bare arms lightly, kissing my neck and face and collarbone. I reached for his buckle and he stopped me. Confused, I was ready to withdraw again when he told me to wait. He led me to our bed and tugged down the down comforter, exposing the sheets. Gently, he pushed on me til I bounced on my ass. He knelt at my feet to remove my shoes and socks. He then took off his. I heard the tang of his belt buckle and the glint of the metal as he released it from his sexy hips. My heart clenched, he’d lost weight, too. I’d not noticed. Slowly, his jeans slid from his lean hip into a puddle of denim on the floor.
Fuck, I’d forgotten how gorgeous this man was. My fears of ugly were starting to rear up again. How could perfection want to couple with what I was? He took my limp hand, moving it to brush against his tenting underwear. I stared and bit my lip. He wanted me, was it just because any man will take any woman if they are hungry enough for sex? Lightly he toppled me onto the bed and proceeded to remove my leggings. I was bare underneath. I don’t wear panties with leggings, but I’d not shaved recently. I didn’t see a need because no one would touch me again. My pussy hair was sparse anyway from the chemo I’d gone through. He licked my inner thigh and nipped the flesh before licking again. Gently he nibbled to my center and tongued his way deep inside. I shivered in delight. He didn’t stop. I tugged his head closer and he lifted my ass in his arms. I screamed out and flooded his mouth with my cream. Leaving me limp, he stood again and removed the remainder of his clothes. In the moonlight he was godlike. I knew he was, even in sunshine, but I adored those compact muscles he kept hidden under work clothes. It only made me more determined to keep on my top, although, I didn’t close my eyes to his beauty.
He scooted me to the middle of the bed, flipped me to my tummy, and straddled me. I noticed he had some sort of bottle with him. He said it was an essential oil blend he’d purchased. It smelled soothing and sensual when he mixed it in his hands with the ever present carrier oil I kept nearby. He began rubbing my butt and up my back. He had to lift my shirt, but it wasn’t my front, so I didn’t care. He grumbled about the fabric and proceeded to rip if off. I had known it wasn’t one of my better tops, but I hadn’t realized it was that worn! The sound of the fabric tearing was almost liberating. I made a brief mental note to shop for more worn out t-shirts. I could feel his cock growing along my back as he reached for my shoulders. I moaned in delight and relaxed into his touch. I’d not done that since I’d had the chemo treatments and started to get ugly. With every fingerprint he left on my skin, he followed it with a kiss, telling me of my beauty. I was so relaxed when he finished with the back of my legs, I almost didn’t register he’d flipped me over again. My eyes flew open and I tried to grab the tattered tee to cover my deformed chest. He stopped me with kisses. I could feel his body on mine and cried for my missing nipples and breasts. He held my hands tight as he sat up. My eyes were closed again, my head turned away.
He asked me to look at him, I did so reluctantly. He poured oils on my broken body and massaged every scar and mark. He kissed me, making sure to not miss a single place. I hadn’t realized there were so many tears in a person, my cup of pain was tipping over and flooding our world. Once again, he was crying while he whispered words of loving care and desire into my flesh. Warming my soul with his firm workman’s hands. My own were released to rest on his knees and thighs. He begged me to touch him and I did. His cock grew on my stomach and wept with us. I reached out one finger to taste the pearly drops and remembered how good he was.
He moved up my body to my face and, obediently, I sucked him inside my mouth. We moaned together as I rolled my tongue around his length and down to his balls and back. He thrust deep, I breathed through my nose, and took him. His scent filled my nostrils, overriding the oils he’d poured onto me. I grabbed his firm sexy ass and pulled him deeper. He cried out he wasn’t going to last this first time and grabbed his hard dick from my starving hole. With one quick twist, he came in my open mouth and on my cheeks and neck and chest. The glistening lines of his release didn’t drip from my titties, they lay in sexual calligraphy on my body. He slid down and slid his still hard cock into my empty cunt. I mewled in pleasure and we fucked. Over and over, he thrust himself into my body in every way we’d ever enjoyed. While he did, he reminded me of how much he loved every part of me, always. He held my legs upright, pressed tightly together so he could nip my ankles. His cock was held secure in the tight channel he’d made. Squealing at the bites, my pussy contracted and we came in a gush. Laughing a bit at the ensuing mess, he grabbed a nearby towel to put under us, together we pulled the comforter up over our sticky, cooling bodies.
Sated and loved, we lay in each other’s arms in the early morning moonlight. It had moved as had the shadows. They might return, but I’d taken the first steps to acceptance and at the moment, I was content, naked, and unafraid.