Life marker or scar?

I have been pondering what makes a woman sexy and or attractive. In my younger days sexiness was directly attached to weight. Thin was sexy, fat was ugly and repulsive. Who would want to fuck a girl who was overweight? - even a little bit. Even if you did manage to get yourself a boyfriend and you were overweight, how would you keep him if a thinner girl came along? This was all because I so completely bought into our media driven idea of the ideal body image.

With age I learnt this amazing little secret that what really seemed to attract the opposite sex was much more indefinable than my dress size. It was confidence and the desire to fuck. Men seemed to be driven towards woman who didn't give a toss what anyone thought, who loved who they were and who had a very firm grasp on exactly what they liked to do and have done to them. The less inhibitions the better. Freedom of spirit seemed to hold much more allure than a tiny ass and low BMI.

Yet despite this firm knowledge, despite trying to accept who I am and definately having figured out who I am sexually, I still have that quiet voice at the back of my head that says "Fat is failure".

This brings me round to my stretch marks. A large part of me finds pride in these. They are the direct physical affirmation of my ability as a woman to bring life into this world, they are the ribbons left on my body as fond reminders of the days I felt my babies nestled so wonderfully in my womb. However a part of me on my low days will always see unsightly scars.

So how does one quiet that voice? How do you truly let go to what vogue tells you is sexy and listen to your own inner confidence and the cooing compliments of your lover?

Answers on a postcard please!!!