She’s So Scandalous (steamy)

My thoughts turn to sensuous details. The look of desire that smolders in his eyes as we greet at the door.. the appraising look on his face as he takes in my clothes, my body, my cravings.

At 58 I am the sex kitten I couldn’t have even conjured up at any other time in my life. Relatively innocent when I lost my virginity in 1972. Full-time motherhood in my thirties. A gradual faint pulse awakening in my 40′s. Today, a deep throb pulsates slowly, heavily, as I listen to my iPod, sweating and gasping through a run/walk session on the treadmill.

The strain sends burning sensations up my calves and into the very core of my body. Velvet, dark chocolate, crisp sheets and the feel of skin against skin. The luxurious delights of a man’s touch. I imagine them as I listen to this song and force myself to keep running.

I’m thinking about the upcoming lingerie review and what it’s like to want to be sexy. And what it’s like to fully step into that and experience it fully. It means letting go, not thinking about the mundane or self-defeating thoughts women are prone to. Are my breasts sagging, what about the extra pounds, the scars and marks of birthing and life, will I satisfy him?

What does it mean to be sensuous at this age? Does it mean buying lacy bras or sexy nighties? Is it about having the right toys? Or is it a state of mind. The understanding of the pleasures of the flesh and a willingness to embrace them. Sometimes desire comes through exercise, just like a skill we work on developing. We set the mood, we play the part and gradually it begins to flow. We are that sensuous person and there is no more practice or discomfort involved.

How does it start? With preparation. The  body is primed and ready. The clothes picked with care. It may be a regular old pair of jeans, but the top is unbuttoned  to offer a glimpse of soft, creamy white flesh. The edge of black lace. As he walks by, my fingers caress his hair or touch his face. My body brushes up against his. I get quieter, softer.

Or maybe it’s a sassy sultry day and I show up in a lacy white short tunic with white lace-front boy panties. Barefoot, hair gently tussled. The kiss is teasing. I grab his lower lip and suck gently before letting go. I turn and walk ahead, swaying with intention. Feeling his eyes follow me. Smelling his urgency. We sit. I am across from him, legs casually propped up on the table as we pretend to drink our coffee. The panties reveal the curve of my ass, my nipples strain against the white fabric. I lean down to pick up an imaginary something from the ground, letting the deep v-neck of the blouse work for me. It’s fun. Powerful. Breath-taking to watch the results. It makes me feel scandalous.

He pushes me gently back on the bed,  clothes fall away and I shut my mind to everything but his touch. My body takes on a new form, it softens and opens. It welcomes the connection, flesh to flesh, raw emotion, desire, love.

Like a ripe fruit. Juicy, mature and willing. Eager to be devoured. This is the prime of my life. Scandalous. I love it, I want to shout it from the rooftops.

Scandalous.

 

It’s All in the Knowing

Me in kitchen eating a half-cut honeydew with a spoon.. I’m in at-home work garb today, a white tight t-shirt (braless) and a pair of comfy baggy linen shorts. The melon is juicy and I’m standing at the counter looking out at the yard,watching the sun flicker and peek through the trees. It’s gorgeous and those of you who know me personally can imagine the scene.

The melon is wonderful, a sensuous delight. A bit of the sweet nectar drips down my top, between the curves of my breasts.  It’s a surprise, cold and deliciously wet. I laugh and imagine the man who would, quickly without a moment’s thought, reach over and lick the juice away. Lustily.

That’s what I miss. A shared sensuousness.

 

The Scent of a Woman

I want to share this story from a psychotherapist, Dr. Marty Klein who blogs at Sexual Intelligence, a well-researched, thoughtful look at matters pertaining to sexuality in our culture. This recent post talks about an experience he had at a hair salon :

You check in, then go into the changing room to remove and hang your blouse or shirt, and put on a smock. On a busy day, there might be six or seven garments on hangers in there. Many of them smell like their owners—some of them pretty nice. Not just the occasional perfume, but more often just the scent of a woman. Silk + woman. Cotton + woman. Made in China + woman.

In that little room, it’s intriguing to inhale a few times, then go out into the salon and speculate—which customer belongs to the cute black sleeveless top? Which one wears that white poly long-sleeved number with the sequins? Is the brunette the one who smells active yet clean, or is it the one with the perm?

None of them knows that a fellow customer enjoys their collective wardrobe, or thinks about who embodies which scent.

But it’s interesting to ask: Is the enterprise erotic or sexual? Is the activity sex? If not, why not? If so, could it be considered infidelity? If not, what about briefly touching one or another of these lived-in garments? What about imagining each of their owners putting on their chemises this morning? I even showed the seminar attendees a photo I’d taken of the salon’s changing room, complete with blouses (and shirts) on hangers. Many attendees were fascinated—who talks about this? Who admits this? (“admits,” because it’s a vaguely disreputable thing to do, isn’t it?) How should a psychologist think about this—is it “normal,” “kinky,” a “fetish,” not even worth mentioning? Maybe too embarrassing for a therapist to contemplate?………

After the morning session, one of the attendees approached me and smiled. “You talked about smelling the women’s clothes as erotic or sexual,” she said. “I think of it as sensual.”

“I totally agree,” I said, “depending on definitions. What’s the difference between sensual and erotic? Erotic and sexual?”

More importantly, what’s the difference between smelling a flower and smelling a woman’s white silk blouse? And why, in 21st-century America, does it matter so much? (The article has been edited here)

It’s an interesting topic and one that caught my eye as I had an experience of being with a man who took my bra as we’d taken it off and smelled it. It was an intimate moment for me and I think a sensual moment for him.  And, not something I’ll easily forget.