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.