This morning I woke up to find Kit examining himself in the mirror, naked. He seemed embarrassed when he noticed I could see him but I told him to carry on by all means. Even after all these months we have every right to admire, or gawk as the mood strikes. He was also prone to this behaviour when he was Greta, since he had gone from being her old over-the-hill self to being young, slim and foxy.
He doesn't complain much... after all, he's gained a lot of privilege and opportunity, so his looks are maybe a fair compromise. But I've heard him bemoan them once or twice.
"Why do I have to be so fat?" he moped.
"You're not fat," I said. If anything, Kitty has decreased Adrian's beer gut by, well, not drinking much beer, and watching what he eats. Is he a bit doughy? Sure. Is his jaw a little soft, his hairline a bit far back? Yeah. He's no Ryan Gosling, okay? Might as well face it. But it's ok.
"How can you like what you're seeing here?" he fretted over that hairline, recently shaved down.
"I don't know," I sleepily laughed to myself, "But I do."
I have a weird perspective on it, because I still don't consider men to be "attractive." I mean, I guess there's some added appeal there compared to when I was one, and my attraction to women has definitely decreased in response. But I don't sit around thinking about guys who are attractive to me. I don't sleep with him because his looks are irresistible, or because his scent has an animal magnetism - although I'm a bit embarrassed to find that I do get a little warmer when he leans in close and I can take in the full scent of the body wash he uses. But it's more about the person inside and what the face means to me than the quality of the face or body itself. It feels comfortable and safe, and at this point in my life, that's sexy.
I crawled out of bed and stood next to him, wrapping my arms around that gut, resting the side of my face on his back shoulder. I was wearing flannel pj's. I freed one hand and unbuttoned my top, revealing my saggy, stretchmarked breasts and belly, my lovehandles. I don't care about any of that, honestly - it can be hidden and I don't feel "fat" except when I'm bloated with water weight a few times a month. I'm more concerned, personally, by my flimsy arms, neck and shoulders, which remind me that if I gain or lose weight, if I didn't have these breasts and hips and bum, I'd be a physically weak woman, and... I mean, being "strong" isn't the be-all end-all but I must have been brainwashed by my upbringing to value that, same as Kitty was brainwashed by hers to value cosmetics and a lean figure.
We reversed positions and he wrapped his big thick arms down my torso, then ran his hands up my front to cup my breasts - taking the open invitation to feel me up.
"Do you like what you see?" I asked him coyly.
"How could I not?" was his reply.
I held his arms close to my body. "Somehow, we work." I leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips. "Crazy, isn't it?"
He nodded and we kissed again, then he said "Sometimes I wish we could freeze things like this... but I know we can't."
He ran his fingers over his chest hair in demonstration, "And I am pretty happy about that, too."
Using my hands to press my boobs together playfully, I smiled teasingly at him: "Well, all we can do for now is make the best of it."
Ladies and gets, you'd best believe he took the hint and carried me back to the bed. And while I also have mixed feelings about taking the woman's role in sex - it hasn't yielded life-changing results for me, I'm sad to say - I don't mind having such an enthusiastic partner.