Before the first kiss…

That moment when a crush turns into lust…

The time before any action is taken. When anything is possible and you don’t yet know how his lips will taste, there is a moment of dizzying anticipation. The heart beats faster, your palms sweat just a little, and your eyes dilate.

All the lovely physical signs of arousal.

When I was younger I would spend hours imagining what that first moment would be like. As I got older I found that the most erotic relationships happened when I could not imagine what kissing a new lover would be like.

Unknown territory attracts me.

People I don’t yet know, things I haven’t yet done, lips I have yet to touch.

Yummm…

It’s been too long since I kissed him.

Time apart can make everything feel new again. So I have a fantasy.

He comes to my door, tired from his travels, weary. I step up to him taking his face in my hands, brushing my thumbs down the curve of his cheekbones, memorizing his face again. His hands wrap around my waist. Saying nothing we stand there, caught in the moment, building a memory. My heart does a jig in my chest as his hands move down to cup my bottom. Leaning in, we almost kiss, as he pulls me to him. But I extend the moment… brushing my fingertips across his lips… stalling… enjoying the anticipation… waiting for the next heartbeat before....

I’ve forgotten what it felt like. Memory is capricious at times and although there are images that I hold in my head that bring me joy, there are holes.

Holes that I’ll fill with actual moments… soon!

Licks!

Ewww…. Soft hands!

Okay, I admit I have issues.

But don’t we all?

I had a lover once that I adored but his touch made my skin crawl. Once I got over first contact I was fine… but those first few moments were touch and go.

“Why?” You ask.

“Because he had soft hands,” I answer.

It took everything I had the first time he touched me not to run screaming from the room. So imagine my horror when last night as I escaped into fantasy one of my favorite manly men on television stated, as an enticement, that he had soft hands.

Sorry Castle I’ll never be able to think of you in the same way. And Nathan, I want Mal back.

Shit! Can’t a girl have her fantasies?

There are several things about men that thrill me. I love what time does to them. The wear and tear of life on their faces makes my blood run hot. Don’t bother with the pretty boys – they got nothing on a man of experience. I want to know the person I’m with has lived life not just watched it pass or played it on a computer.

(Oh, yes… back to my thing about men who play video games.)

When I have more scars and rougher hands then the man I’m with…. Huston, we have a problem.

If the extent of your manly labors is playing with a joy stick and microwaving packaged meals…well…sorry…I want more. Not that I need an arctic explorer or a cowboy but I’d like someone who interacts with the world.

So no more soft hands please.

Slow hands. Strong hands. Sensitive hands. Those are a delight.

But soft and hands should never go together.

Licks!

If Masturbation is a Sin…

…I am so going to Hell!

This morning I woke with the most delicious fantasy in my head. Me, an old lover, some good music, and a lap dance that turned into a wild ride. Of course this then required a little assistance from the toys, which wait for just such occasions, in my bedside drawer.

It was a lovely way to wake up.

Sigh, these days it is my usual way of waking up.

Not having a lover means not being touched, kissed, fondled, held, licked… all things I miss so much. It also means no morning sex.

I do miss morning sex.

A former lover once asked how often I masturbate.

I thought deeply before I answered. Was this a trick question? Was he looking for a little titillation, imagining when and how I might masturbate, to spice up his days? Was he fishing for a better understanding of my sex drive worried that he wasn’t satisfying me, feeling that my desire for self-fulfillment might somehow be a comment on his abilities?

I took the middle road and averaged it explaining that it changed depending on if I was seeing him, writing erotica, or just having one of those days.

I haven’t had one of those days in awhile.

Those wonderful days where you wake with the itch just on the periphery of you vision. It grows as the day progresses and you feed it. Gently at first by how you walk, sit, and stand. You feed the thoughts that come keeping them fresh and alive in your head. Subtle changes occur. You are just slightly damp all day. Your voice takes on a richness that is usually reserved for the bedroom. In the end you are a walking erogenous zone. The slightest touch or shift of fabric makes you sigh with pleasure.

Walking through the halls you start looking at your coworkers in a new light. Wondering naughty thoughts and curious to know if they can sense your mood. You lick your lips when you shouldn’t wondering if the single guy down the hall would go for a quickie in the storage room but knowing that what you want is no quickie.

After all this, the teasing and fantasies, what you want is your lover and oodles of time. No rush. You want the burning feeling that tingles on the edge of your flesh to drop deep inside you, where only he can touch. You want to explore the chair, the table, the couch, the floor and maybe later… the bed. To be taken every way you ever have before and to try a few new things….

Yes, that is what you want after a day that starts with an itch and ends by burning through you until there is nothing left.

Mmmm…those are good days.

Licks!