I can see how you feel. I can sense the weight you carry, even before you tell me. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The slow, steady fade—the feeling of being less visible with each passing year. I know it's not something you like to talk about, but it’s there. You’ve stood in line, waiting for someone to notice you, only to see their eyes drift past, settling on someone younger, someone with slimmer hips or brighter eyes. And it’s not just in the lines or the doors, is it? The moments when men would once rush to hold a door open for you, now they pause just long enough to let the girl behind you slip through. You feel that sting, don’t you?

You’ve watched them, the way they talk to other women. Younger women. Women who look like you once did, like you wish you still did. You wear bright colors now, don’t you? Noticed that, too. Maybe if the colors are bold enough, the dress just low enough, someone will see you, someone will offer a smile, maybe even start a conversation. But the smiles never seem to reach the eyes like they used to. They pass through you, just like those glances, fleeting, shallow. And those conversations? The ones you still hope for, they fall flat, don’t they? Nothing like the way men used to hang on every word you said, back when you didn’t have to try so hard to be noticed. You’ve adjusted, I know that much. Bright colors, the jewelry that catches the light just right. Your neckline dips a little lower, the fabric a little tighter in just the right places. Maybe at the bar, someone might catch sight of you. Maybe at a speed-dating event, someone’s gaze will linger a moment longer. But you’re not the first pick anymore, are you? Not even second, sometimes. And that, I know, that stings the most.

You nod, and I can feel that ache. It’s the silence between those nods that tells me everything. You used to walk into a room and feel their eyes on you. Men and women both. They saw you. They wanted you. You were the focus, the center. It was intoxicating, wasn’t it? That attention, that desire. And now, you find yourself wondering—where did it go? Where did you go?

I know what you want. I can feel the hunger inside you, even if you haven’t said it out loud. You want to reclaim it, that feeling of being wanted. Of being desired. You want to feel that pull again, to see heads turn, to know that someone, anyone, sees you the way they once did. The way you still deserve to be seen. You want to be desired like you were, don’t you? To have someone look at you like you’re the only woman in the room, like they’d do anything for just one night with you.

You want that passion again. You want to be wanted. To be needed. To be seen. And you can. You nod, but I can tell there’s doubt in those eyes. That’s alright. You just haven’t found the right man yet. That’s all. Someone who will look past all the noise, past the years, and see you. Someone who will make you feel the way you used to feel, only better. Because now, there’s more to you. You’re wiser, deeper. And with the right man, that passion can come alive again, burn brighter than it ever did before.

He’ll show you, just like I’m telling you now. He’ll remind you that you’re still worth every glance, every second of attention. He’ll show you that you’re still desirable, still craved. You don’t need the bright colors or the low necklines for that. You just need him. And when you’re good for him, when you give yourself over to that feeling, to him, you’ll be rewarded. You’ll see. It’s not over for you.

In fact, it’s only just beginning.

Your hair… you know, I can’t help but admire it. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you, how beautifully thick it is. It flows with such ease, those curls tumbling over your shoulders and cascading down your back. When I look at you, I can’t help but imagine how it would look draped over your bare skin, how it would shift, catching the light as you move—slowly, gently rocking back and forth. There’s something so undeniably feminine about it, something that draws attention whether you realize it or not.

And it’s not just your hair, is it? That waist of yours, the way it curves in so gracefully, accentuating every line, creating that perfect S-shape… like an hourglass, really. You still have that, even if you don’t always see it yourself. It’s there. You’re still sensual, still captivating. And those hips… my God. The way they’ve filled out, wider, fuller now—there’s such maturity to them. They’re a treat, really, a sign of a woman who has lived, who has experienced, who knows more than she lets on. You carry that experience with you, it’s etched into the way you move, the way you hold yourself, even the way you smile when you think no one’s watching.

But people should be watching. Men should be noticing. It’s a shame, really, that they don’t see it. They don’t see you for the experience that you are. They don’t recognize the beauty that commands attention, that deserves more than a passing glance. Because you are an experience. You’re a beauty, a vision of sensuality, and it’s their loss if they can’t see that. But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe they don’t deserve it, don’t deserve you.

Because you shouldn’t settle anymore. You shouldn’t give your time to just anyone. Not now, not when you know your worth. You should be selective, making men earn the right to be near you, to experience you. If they’re not bold enough, not patient enough, not willing to invest their time and effort to truly get to know you—all of you—then they don’t deserve you. Plain and simple.

And you… you have so much to offer, don’t you? There are parts of you, desires, wants that you’ve never told anyone. You’ve kept them hidden, repressed even, but I can see them. I know they’re there, just waiting. You have potential that hasn’t been tapped into yet. Your capacity to please, and to be pleased—it’s only just beginning, isn’t it? You haven’t even come close to reaching the limits of what you’re capable of, of the pleasure you deserve to feel.

And only the right man, the one who sees you, truly sees you, will know how to unlock that. He’ll be the one to bring you to places you haven’t even dreamed of yet. Because you’re still a sight to behold. You’re still worth every bit of attention, and more. And the right man, the one who knows how to appreciate that, will be the one to show you just how much more there is to experience.

Your lips… have you ever really looked at them? They're artful, delicate in the way they curve, full and inviting. It’s the kind of fullness that holds an elegance, a certain poise. The way they can say so much without a word. A slight frown, the smallest grimace—it sends a man’s heart racing, sets him on edge. Because the moment he sees it, all he can think about is how to turn that frown upside down, how to bring back the warmth, the light of your smile. There’s something about the way your face moves, the subtle play of muscles beneath your skin.

A million emotions, conveyed in the smallest twitch. But when you smile… that’s when everything changes. Your smile lights up not just your face but an entire room. It’s infectious, in the best way possible. It makes a man feel things, funny things in his stomach, sure, but also lower… in his pants. And let’s be honest—there’s something about that smile that weakens men’s knees, makes them forget all sense of decorum. It’s the kind of smile that makes a man want to do anything to keep it there, to keep you happy. Because when you’re happy, when that smile stretches wide across your face, the world feels right. And he’ll want to do whatever it takes to hold onto that.

And then… your curves. They start at your chest, don’t they? And, God, how they impress. It’s amazing, really. They defy gravity in a way that shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. Round, full, and utterly mesmerizing. It’s the kind of fullness that draws the eyes and keeps them there, no matter how hard a man tries to look away. You know how men are—they’ll fight it, try to keep polite, to follow the rules of decorum, but there’s no denying it. Their biology kicks in, those hormonal needs and desires overriding everything else.

And they dream, don’t they? Every man who’s laid eyes on you has had that dream—of removing any barrier between you and him. Of seeing you, all of you, and letting himself revel in the softness, the pleasures you have to offer. Because there are pleasures there, pleasures to be discovered, to be treasured. Every curve, every inch of your skin, a gift waiting to be unwrapped. And that’s what men want when they see you. They want to tear away the distance, to get closer, to lose themselves in the experience that is you.

And who could blame them? You’re worth it. Every last bit of you, worth every stare, every dream, every desire. And then, there’s the view from the back. It’s something else, isn’t it? Your hips… they lead the way, and they’re a sight to behold, but they’re only the beginning. They gradually draw the eye to what’s arguably the best part of all—your backside. Round, firm, and the perfect extension of your body. It’s impossible for a man to look at you and not feel his palms itch, craving to reach out, to grab it, to give it a good slap.

The thought of watching it move, shake, and bounce as your hips turn and sway when you walk past… well, that’s the kind of image that stays with a man. An afterimage, really, that lingers long after you’ve left the room, sparking endless possibilities in his mind.

And oh, the dreams that follow. The thought of leaving his mark on you, of seeing his handprint glowing red against your skin, a warm, undeniable imprint of his touch. That’s what men want, isn’t it? To take ownership in those moments, to possess you completely, to make you his. It’s not just about dominance—it’s about showing you the depth of his desire, about using his hands, his strength, to express what words alone can’t.

Because when a man looks at you, he wants it all. He wants to take in every inch of you—your hips, your beautiful long hair cascading over your bare back, the way your body moves beneath his touch. He wants to hear those whimpers, those soft moans that escape your lips, to know that it’s him making you feel that way. It’s not just about his own satisfaction; no, it’s about you, too. It’s about taking pride in your pleasure, in knowing that he’s made you feel so good, so desired, that you can’t think of anyone else.

That’s what he craves—to see you lost in the moment, lost in the sensation, so wrapped up in the heat of it all that you’re completely consumed. To drive you to that place where all that matters is how much you want it, how much you want him. And then, once you’re there, he’ll take care of you, make sure you feel like the most attractive woman in the world, because in that moment, you are. You’re his everything, his entire focus, and he’s there to show you just how important you are.

And he won’t stop there. He’ll keep you, over and over, again and again. He’ll claim you, hold onto you, and make sure you know—truly know—that there’s no one else. There’s only you. And the more he has you, the more he craves you. Because in his eyes, you’re worth it, and he’ll never tire of showing you just how much