The pretty ones you have been bred to adore, to look fondly on, to wane over- symmetrical everything, yay high, yay big, perfectly radiating smile inset behind proportionate features that sing of femininity- these begin to cost too much, cast a cold air about them, hair swirling in a brisk wind as if rustling leaves.
And the others suddenly, those ones you would have been ridiculed for in high school, the homely faced, the matronly-breasted, the ones with the stubby fingers with nails that look chewed and tattered and too small; the ones with eyes too close together or else too far apart, the big nosed, the spotty-complexioned, with teeth that show at inopportune times and a guffawing laughter, these are the ones you now find yourself attracted to. These are the ones that cast a warm light, warmth that feels friendly, something hospitable and generous and unnerving. No intimidations, no feelings of intense inadequacy, no constant fear of infidelity around the corner or worse: judgment. Sure, you hate them on occasion, grow tired of that snorting laughter and those stubby fingernails, look upon their body as if it were a cartoon; look forward to fucking them about as much as a root canal, but they bring with themselves a feeling of being mothered again, of safety and assurance in an insecure world. They'll wrap you between their meaty arms and breathe softly on you, tuck you inside themselves as if a hen hatching an egg. You will hate them for it of course, you will consider them nagging and a threat to your autonomy, and in the sight of others you will brush this warmth off of you like a bug buzzing by your ear. But in the nighttime, in the space of the bed and your head and between their limbs, you will be grateful for what they provide. This human cornucopia that never ends.
