Love...honestly

When I'm alone, I can do some pretty weird things. I have a tendancy to blast music and dance, watching myself in the blurry reflection of the living room window. I keep an idle hand on my crotch for no particular reason, which wouldn't be too odd except for the fact that I'm female. I pick my nose. I watch a sinful amount of porn. I look at myself in the mirror and make funny faces. Et cetera.
In my relationships past, I kept these things to a minimum. I tried to keep a level of what is known as "feminine mystique", as the girly magazine articles dictated. I tried not to be to "mean" or "weird". I never farted in front of a boyfriend, kept my burping muted, made sure my legs and pubic region were shaved on a daily basis, despite the agony of razor burn. And gentlemen, if you think razor burn on your face is a real bummer, you should try taking a sharp piece of metal to your genitals sometime. It might give you a little perspective.
However, as I began my newest relationship, I started to experiment a bit. I always thought of myself as an honest person, but this was honesty to a whole new level. I'd dance when I felt like dancing. I'd burp loud and proud after a good meal. I'd be straighforward and realistic, I'd be...well, me. But really me, not just the toned down relationship version of myself.
What can I say, it's love. And I know it's completely love, because there's nothing hidden, no secret rituals I only feel comfortable doing when I'm alone, no unspoken words sticky with tention, no opinions sugarcoated with politeness. When I burp, we rate it by loudness and potentcy. When I fart, he cheers me on. When we eat, I eat as much and as messily as I care to. If he tries to wake me up to cuddle or talk, I tell him to get the hell away of me. Interupting my sleep is a serious offense, punishable by vulgarity and moodiness. Undoubtedly, I am the most secure and happy now than I've ever been with anyone else.
This doesn't mean I've lost my feminity or sexiness; I still buy outrageous lingere, I still strut my butt when I walk in front of him, and of course, I'm still amazing in the sack. In a way I feel like I have become the perfect girlfriend to him; a best friend he can treat like one of the guys, but still have great sex with. I have no hesitations about our love because it's pure, and most importantly, realistic. He loves me.
And the real me.
The one singing to the furniture in front of the window.