Totally Naked Little Woman.

"Why do I have to clean up a mess that I didn't make," he said while he was trying to mop the floors, taking away all the beer and wine stains from many nights ago, the nights that he had spent at my place, leaving his roomate home alone.
"Because life is a bitch babe" I replied. I couldn't look him in the eye. Actually I was trying to hide between his huge ripped grey sofa and my sense of guilt.

In a way, he wasn't just cleaning up the floors, but also my life, my heart, my past.

For so long I've been crying for an old young love that I had. He has been the reason why I constantly write and why I, all of the sudden, stop doing it.
There are just a few words to describe my pain, and I've used them all.

I met him last week, it's funny, that night i didn't make  an effort to find what to wear.
I picked my sequined 70s blue and red shirt, and my high rise black pants from American Apparel. Again, I had to wear wedges just to feel part of the tall crowd.
He was there, with his messy brown hair, beautiful young smile and very kissable lips. Wearing a tight vest, vintage tie, and an amazing pair of black biker boots, for which my old young lover could have killed for.
I thought he was hot, but what I liked the most was that he radiated some kind of innocence, like if he stills believes in the world.

For me, it was a regular party. Fancy people, hipsters all over the place, going from one way to another, holding cigarettes without a filter and  cheap beer, in a 70s lighted dance floor in which nobody was actually dancing.

"Stop! Don't kiss me, I just put some lipstick on" I was trying to protect my infallible Chanel red lover french complice. 
"I don't care," he said and grabbed me from my shoulders. I had to look up, he is taller than me, and I found a  kind teenage smile.
"I wont kiss you," was my response, even though my eyes were challenging him to do it.
"Then, I will do it". And he gave me a cute warm kiss, that took me far far away from that roof. We made a memory that we have been sharing  in our pillow talks.

That evening, when I chose what to wear that night, I wasn't expecting to take any of my clothes off, at least not in front of someone.
He drove my car, and parked it outside of my building.
I went upstairs with a giggle.  My heart was racing like a teenager about to make out for the first time.

The wowman who wants to see me happy

In this case, my parents weren't sleeping in the other room, instead, my recently "in a relationship" roommate was. I didn't want to wake her up, but also didn't want her to judge me: "How could you say you still love your old young lover if you are going to get a stranger under your sheets?"
Now I know that she wouldn't say something like that to me. She just wants to see me happy, not crying 24/7 in my bed. And right now, I kinda look happy, But I know that sometimes happiness could be mistaken with excitement.

It's been so long since I had sex: I lost my libido since my old young love crossed our front stoop for the last time; leaving me with all those bills, all the furniture, all the memories and empty walls, and the worst part: All the silence from what used to be a noisy love nest.
Getting laid wasn't something in my plans, I have been busy trying not to cry every fucking time that Russell Brand appears on T.V. or in a magazine. He reminds me of my old young love. Sometimes I feel the Mexican version of Katy Perry, and that our destiny will be to be together, just like them, probably without the expensive Indian wedding though.
It seems that  the teenager's logic never disappears, in spite of the age.

I never had to come up with an elaborated conversation that would help me to reveal "my secret" in the future with a stranger.
In a way, I've always expected my old young love to come back, So I didn't have to talk about a secret that we both share.
I've a STD, nothing too serious, nothing mortal, Thank God.
Before I met my Russell Brand, I was perfectly healthy, just a regular free of STD girl. Then, a couple of months after we moved in together, I noticed something strange; he and I went to the doctor and that was it, one of my worst sexual nightmares became true.
I don't blame him, it wasn't his fault. Actually it was nobodies fault. He didn't know he had it, he couldn't warned me.
For the first few weeks I was devastated, then I learned to live with it, I have a new tenant in my body, and I will always will.
The time passed and we started to act normal again, like no tension for the bad news, after all we were going to be together forever. What a joke life and love plays to us. I knew that nothing is forever, but now I truly believe it.

So, there I was, all naked, no pants, no sequined blouse, no shoes, no make up on, just my fearful skin lying on my flowery comforter, and then, I realized I was still "wearing" something that I had to take it off: "my secret".
No designers, no brands, just the truth.

"Look"- I said while I was staring at a phrase I wrote on my window: Live the life you imagined.- "I have to tell you something before we do anything".

I kept talking, I was scared, but I had to do it, even though that could mean:
-not seeing him again.
-not having his company again.
-Losing him before I even had him.

"So..." - and I sighed - "That's my secret".
I felt ashamed, unprotected, exposed. There wasn't my Chanel sunglasses to wear and hide my glossy eyes under the shades.No my Gucci high heels to make me feel taller and strong. Nope, there was nothing but a revealed secret, a naked conscientiousness.

I could never put someone throw the horrible experience of going to the doctor and leaving his office with more than just a prescription.
These are new times, and if we, woman want to become a wowman, and wanna be in control of our lives, we have to be strong and brave enough, not just to dare to wear a super high heels, Eiffel Tower size; or to put on our lips some exotic color; or even wear as many bracelets as we want... No, sometimes we will have to show a clean face, no make up on baby, just the truth, even if that means letting someone else to see a part of us that we dislike.
It's easy to cover up a pimple with foundation; or to make our eyes or lips look bigger or smaller, depending on our complexes.
It's easy to look slimmer wearing the right clothes on, or to look sexier with the help of a  Wonderbra. but there are somethings that you cannot hide, you should not hide, things that you must reveal, no matter what.

We didn't have sex that night, but shortly after I confessed, I felt a warm breeze on my skin, I felt proud of myself. We could see the sunrise through my window, writing on the floor with a courageous shadow the phrase I had written when I moved to this apartment.

My fears were gone, being honest didn't take him away from me. We are just two people excited about what can happen tomorrow, two people smiling.

Today, just like he said, I realized there's gonna be many episodes in this life, and in some of them, someone will have to clean up a mess that he/she, didn't do, didn't cry, didn't enjoy.
He left the mop for a moment, and before he came and silenced me with a kiss, I kept repeating to myself: "Life's a bitch babe, life's a bitch".

The mexican contribuitor kissing Audrey Hepburn, a wowman.