It is inevitable that when one is fixing the ties of one's halter-top, one bends one's head down and in, forcing the eyes to one's bosom. It is in this situation, fiddling with a pair of black strings against the nape of my neck, that I contemplate the low arc of my neckline.
Hugging soft, full curves, but also coyly promising shadows, It seems to me like a deep, unrepentant smile -- not brazen, but not entirely modest either. It is absolutely aware of its bodily appeal.
I enjoy it.
I take great pleasure in my body now (though its flaws are not forgotten) and take care in showing it off. This has become natural to me, yet only a short while ago, it would have been unthinkable for me to look as I do now, for any purpose, much less seduction. I would have thought it hollow and frivolous.
Before I can catch myself, I wonder, Who could have predicted that I would one day stoop to such ... boobery?
I giggle gleefully -- because of the pun, because of the incongruous mix of intellectual wordplay and vulgar slang, because I have demonstrated that my mind had kept pace with my body -- but sombre upon the realization that no one is around to enjoy one of my rare, genuine witticisms.