It’s Wednesday and you know what that means! It’s time for What to Read Wednesday. Please help me welcome author Cassie Mae to the blog today. I think you’ll enjoy her guest post!
Afterward, check out her release–Doing it For Love–and then don’t forget to enter her giveaway! (Don’t you love her cover???!!!)
Take it away Cassie…
For the SPANX Wearer in All of Us
Hey all! First, big thanks to Christine’s Words for letting me stop by :)
I’m about to get super candid here. Reality is my forte, I’ve been told ;)
SPANX, in case you don’t know what they are, are this stretchy, wiggle-into-it-if-you-can, don’t-put-in-the-wash, and try-not-to-sweat-too-much (yeah right), pair of underroos that you wear to hide those love handles and tummy pooches and under the boob rolls. Do they work? Sure they do. I know from experience. However…
These things are the modern day corset. Only corsets didn’t roll down your torso and make you look like a half-open can of Pillsbury dough. Corsets didn’t go all the way down to your thighs and they certainly didn’t have a teeny tiny hole that you have to try to pee through for “convenience.”
And you know, despite all of that loveliness, I decided to wear these things on a 6 hour flight because I thought it would make the person next to me on the plane more comfortable.
Yeah, that .000001 of an inch makes a lot of difference ;)
So, I’m a 300 pound woman. (I’m actually a 320 pound woman, but yanno, it’s kinda like rounding down, no pun intended ;) ) And I’m married to a sexy cop who looks fantastic in a uniform and he’s got some wicked awesome arms and yeah, he’s definitely not 300 pounds, but he loves me anyway.
He loves me anyway.
He loved me before and after the weight gain and loss and everything in between. He loved me when I fell down the steps on our wedding day and when he caught me talking to absolutely no one, and he loved me when I got so sick that I spent the entire day in the bathroom telling him to “not look because this is not ladylike!”
And even though I “know he’s wrong” and “no way can anyone be attracted to this flub,” he makes me feel like I’m a sexy goddess from the planet Perfect Body, even when I’m stuffing my face with a Butterfinger bar I kept hidden until the kids went to sleep so I didn’t have to share.
I write about the misfits. I love writing about them because I think we all feel out of place. We all wear SPANX to try to stuff and mold ourselves into what people expect of us or what we think will make us feel better. Instead we feel even more uncomfortable. So instead of trying to fit in somewhere, why not stand out?
Or maybe just buy some pants that don’t require SPANX to zip up ;)
If you want to read about my girl Liz and her SPANX experience, you can check it out here:
I chuck the negative test in the bathroom trash with a shimmy and a shake. Pregnant at twenty-two was not what I pictured when I did my aptitude test seven years ago. Those results said I’d be some sort of performance artist. I pictured myself famous, in all the Broadway plays, living in my penthouse suite with my best friend, Theresa, and having weekend nookies with Chase Crawford. Kids were on the bucket list under: Obviously, I was a dreamer at fifteen. Now that I’m more a realist, I’ve learned to be happy with whatever life has to offer me.
But I am happy that it decided not to offer me a baby
I start the water on the shower because I feel like I peed all over myself when I attempted to aim on the stick. Aunt Flo is fourteen days late, and I’ve been avoiding Landon and his semen. Not that he’s noticed.
If sex was a three-course meal, Landon and I would be the peas and carrots. We’re good together, but we’re still the vegetables. Basically we do it when there’s a commercial on, when there is no food in the fridge, or it’s someone’s birthday. It’s okay . . . that’s what happens when you move past the honeymoon stage.
We to be strawberries and whipped cream. Luxurious dessert, grinding on each other on public dance floors, car sex, kitchen sex, against the wall sex, balcony sex—which was an epic fail, by the way—and the always disastrous shower sex. Disaster because our bathtub is made for one person only, and so lying down ended with a faucet to the butthole and standing up made for slippery recoveries. But we were strawberries and whipped cream, so we’d laugh it off, not let it break the mood, jump into bed, and keep at it.
I refuse to think we’ve become raisin bran—the sex you have only because you have needs to take care of—despite what Theresa says. She’s permanently the palate cleanser between courses in her own sex life, and she’s not budging anytime soon. But she just hasn’t found her Landon yet.
Anyway, back to Landon not noticing the lack of sex. It’s because we’re so busy all the time. He works all day at a call center then he goes and films all night. He’s a director-in-training—got an award for his last movie and a grant to make the one he’s working on now. So he comes home smelling like sweaty socks—which he loves to leave on the floor in the living room. That’s what peas and carrots do, though.
It’s funny, for so long I wanted to know the story after the happy ending. What happens to the couple once they find each other, consummate their relationship, and get past their demons? Now that I’m in that story, I get why no one talks about it. I’m in love, so it pretty much trumps all the other crap. At least, it has so far. Despite Landon’s dirty laundry—literal—and his late nights—also literal—he makes me laugh. I’ve never had so much fun with another person. Even being vegetables, sex—when we have it—is . Probably why I wish we had it more.
Better check the effectiveness of my birth control first, though.
A hand whips back the shower curtain, and I scream like a banshee and chuck my washcloth at the attacker.
“Sweet mother,” I say, holding my heart. “What the hell?”
Landon slowly peels the washcloth from the bill of his hat. He’s wearing his matching graphic tee, a red stain on the upper right sleeve. Probably from the pizza he had to gobble between his job and his shoot this afternoon.
“Liz,” he says, holding the pregnancy test between two fingers. “What is this?”
“It’s a negative pee test. Don’t worry.”
“Did you think you were ?” He chokes on the word.
“Yes, but I’m not.” I lean forward and kiss his shocked lips. “So .”
He lets out this large breath, chucking the test back in the trash. “Fine, but you must promise on your precious iPod that you will tell me next time you think you are.”
I hold my hand to the square. “I vow to dispose of all my late-period secrets.” I drop my arm. “Now may I shower?”
“How long you going to be?”
“So till the hot water is out.”
I put a finger to my nose, and he pulls his cap off. His shirt goes next.
“Joining me?” I ask, my lady nethers perking up. It’s not even my birthday. What a sexy surprise.
“Yeah, I won’t have time in the morning.”
“Oh.” Calm down, girls, it’s just one of those “saving water” things, and not because I’m naked, he’s naked, and we’re going to be wet and slippery.
His cold hand splays across my stomach when he steps in, and I refuse to let my nethers get their hopes up again.
“You okay?” he asks, scruff tickling my neck.
“Paint me paranoid,” he says, backing me into his chilled body. I move the water so he warms up. “But I think something’s wrong. And I’m not letting you out of this shower till you tell me.”
A twitch of a smile finds itself on my mouth. “I’m fine.”
“Good thing you’re naked.” He taps my ass. “Your pants wouldn’t stand a chance.”
I shake my head, biting back my laughter. “You’re a tease.”
He knows why. The last time we showered together, he held me close like this, got me all revved up, then grabbed the soap, washed himself, and left for work. It’s not his fault. I did the same thing the time before that. Again, comes back to being the veggies of the sex meal.
“Okay. The guessing game,” he says when I don’t answer. “I’ll play, but you know I don’t like it.” He gently rocks me. “Your vampire show didn’t record?”
I snort a laugh into the water. “I haven’t checked. But it better have.”
He swipes my hair off my neck, and I feel his smile against my skin. “Hmm . . . the Jets have no shot at making the playoffs. I feel your pain. I cried it all out last night. Now it’s your turn.”
I playfully elbow him in the stomach, but despite my abuse, Landon’s arms tighten around me, thumb reassuringly rubbing my hipbone.
“No . . . I think I know what this is really about.” He pulls at the skin by my bellybutton. I raise an eyebrow because there is wrong. I’m just horny.
many—books. Since writing her bestselling debut, Reasons I Fell for the Funny Fat Friend, she has published books with Random House, Swoon Romance, and Tulip Romance. She has a favorite of all her babies, but no, she won’t tell you what it is (mainly because it changes depending on the day). Along with writing, Cassie likes to binge-watch Teen Wolf and The Big Bang Theory. She can quote Harry Potter lines quick as a whip. And she likes kissing her hubby, but only if his facial hair is trimmed. She also likes cheesecake to a very obsessive degree.