My sexuality has to do with what's up in my head. My freedom to think for myself, make all my own decisions, be the powerful and sexy woman that turns a man on, is what counts. More and more it counts, as the body is less what I might want it to be (in terms of working properly and hurting—not in terms of meeting some stupid icon of a supermodel).
My mind that ranges through all sorts of sexual fantasies and doesn't lower its eyes and mumble, “Yes, Sir,” to some man... unless I damn well feel like it!
That's what's sexy.
My imagination that feeds a man's fantasies... and makes him so trusting of me that he will willingly give up his safeword to me... instead of the other way round ;-) ...that's where I'm sexy.
It's not about the face, it's not about the body, it's about what is ticking in the mind and what is happening in the heart. It's knowing that I hold the secret to his desire and I can make him sigh and moan and beg for more.
No man has to bestow the Cinderella gift on me of telling me I am beautiful. I know what I've got. Beauty is skin deep, and skin wrinkles. Sexy is forever.