Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
“Hey, baby! I need you to get your French butt over here. We’ve got to take pictures of my ass,” I told Dion.
“The invite for The Roundup. The chaps arrived. Hot, baby, hot. I love them. You will too.”
I hung up with Dion, and looked back at my reflection in the dance studio mirror: bone-white leather, with fringe on the outside-seam, and two medallions of beadwork, one on each hip. The cowgirl leggings were beautiful, heavy, and complicated. It took several minutes to understand how to push my legs into ass-less pants. But they looked great. I had thrown on an ivory lace thong, a cocoa-butter leather halter, and a straw-colored cowboy hat. Hah! Fear was receding, and facts were once again winning. Fifty looked mighty fine from the high side of forty-nine!
Why did I want to hang my butt out for my birthday? Fury. And audacity. This was a bitch-slap at the relentless limitations imposed by my presumptuous culture. Having arrived at the threshold of the fifties, I resented the opinion that a woman of age is expected to relinquish the only power that the patriarchy has ever encouraged her to possess. We spend all those years— and all that money—primping and posing and perfecting our itty-bitty oasis of recognition. Some women excel and some women opt-out and some women give up in despair, because the cultural bandwidth for female sexual power—like Barbie’s waistline—is notoriously narrow. Pussy power is personal and political—it speaks to how women see themselves, and how the culture sees women. I had arrived at that end date, where I could be dismissed, and not seen at all.
I had never let my age stop me from doing anything, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t spent way too much time in the roll up to forty, distressed over the inevitable. Contemplating fifty was an even bigger hump to hurdle. I was a sex positive feminist, with a harem of studs, and I still struggled with this bullshit.
Well, I was sending out a middle-finger message, to eliminate the residue of my own self-doubt, and overcome the fiction promoted by my culture. There is no universal expiration date on a woman’s power and influence. And just to advertise the truth of this reality, my cheeks were coming out for one white-ass reason: to prove those asses wrong. 220
TOMORROW: Chapter 71
Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.