I love being a woman. I love the feel of sliding into a pair of five inch heels and I thrive in the authority they give my strut. I adore the moments after your hairdresser has laid your hair to the gawds and you walk out the door prepared to stop traffic. I love the way the shower feels against my smooth, exfoliated skin. And I live for the moments you’re sitting in a board room and you completely floor the room with your intelligence and knowledge when they were too distracted by your curves in that pencil skirt. Being underestimated and/or disregarded just increases my power, and I love that.

More than all that, though, you know what I love most about being a woman?  Men.

There’s nothing in this world better about being a woman than having the ability to experience a man. A man’s heat. A man’s strength. His hands. His baritone in your ear. To feel a man’s hands caressing your scalp as you fall to sleep or gripping your hair as you throw it back is one of the greatest pleasures of life.

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