How to Recognize What We Desire Most Comes From Within

This past Saturday morning, I woke up to find a photo of a bare-chested man in my inbox. Don’t get me wrong–I’m not going to complain about the view. However, its unexpected appearance was surprising to me for a number … Continue reading

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Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel…Saucy

From Francois Truffaut’s "Stolen Kisses"

There was something about the salty ocean breezes of that summer holiday. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other even if we had tried—and no, we didn’t ever want to. A squeeze of the cheeks here, a glance down the front of the dress there, stolen kisses down the long hallway…

Every look had a double meaning—a sweet, safe-for-company smile with a head cocked just so, that one could bend up to look at the other, eyes twinkling with mischief. That ever-present video camera, damned one minute, blessed for capturing what the mind so quickly forgets, was witness of our daring flirtations.

It was as if we were teenagers again. The very real possibility of getting caught with, quite literally, our pants down, added fuel to the fire. As soon as we could steal a few moments away—the kids were playing noisily in the backyard, the other adults were busy working—we’d glance at each other knowingly.

Not a single word sneaking past our lips, I’d run to the door at the bottom of the narrow staircase. I sensed more than heard him closing in behind me, feeling his eyes branding his name across my ass as we ran up the stairs like horses rushing to the finished line. He pushed me into one bedroom, across the quaintly made bed.

“Her mother’s friend sometimes sleeps here,” he said. “I’d feel guilty.”

“He sometimes is here?” I asked. “I’m sure he doesn’t sleep on the covers.” I know. I’d see things differently if the tables were changed, but I didn’t care. I wanted my man. I wanted him now. I didn’t care where. I just cared how.

The other bedroom was off-limits because that’s where the children might sleep…though of course, they haven’t. Each night, they’ve been sharing a tent with us. Still, from that room, with the windows open, we could hear them as if they were standing beside us. Surely they could hear my voice rising with the crescendo as he plucked my strings of desire.

We moved to the next room, where we could easily slip to the bathroom if we heard someone come up the stairs. I helped him slip out of his shorts, I shimmied out of my panties. Have I ever expressed my love for dresses before?

With my legs astride him, his eyes were on fire. And then we heard a sound. “Was that the door?” The one at the bottom of the stairs.

“I don’t think so,” I said. We held our breath, held our positions. No clambering up the stairs. I slipped down to my knees to distract him in other ways. It worked.

Finally, he stood up and pushed me into the small bathroom. Leaning me up against the cool porcelain sink, he dove into me, like I was a cool pool of water on this hot summer day. With each refreshing dip, I grabbed onto the sides of the sink and tried to mute my pleasured moans.

Then we heard the door creak open for real. It was one of the kids. His shorts were pulled up and zipped in half a second. With barely a kiss, he was gone, leaving me in the bathroom to wash up.

Almost caught. But not quite. My heart was beating quickly. Too close.

I wasn’t too surprised that each of us was ready for round two, or was it three, not to much longer after that.

It wouldn’t be our last bathroom rendezvous.

That was a sensuous summer. A night where we waited for slowed breaths of sleeping babes, so we could unzip our side-by-side sleeping bags and join our two cocoons. I could slide my hand across his slender body, remembering where the dips below his hips were, the moles on his skin, the hair on his chest. The ways my hands could find his growing pleasure.

And eventually our pleasures would commingle and explode like the firecrackers we watched on the 4th of July when we first felt this feeling of oneness, just barely touching but leaning into each other, at the center of a park,  in the middle of a crowd.

He was all mine, and I was all his during that magical period of time. It was lust, yes. But not just. Lust intermingled with falling in love. Lust of the very best kind.

Check out the rest of the IC’s thoughts on lust.

Please check out what everyone else in the Insomnia Club thinks about lust…

Simone Grant: Lust in My Heart

Met Another Frog: Lust, The Jazz Singer, and Me

Train Wreck Love: Lust, love, greed and consciousness

Women Are From Mars: I have a healthy relationship…with Lust

My Pixie Blog: Sometimes You’re Nothing But Meat

Confronting Love: Dance with Me.

The Urban Dater: The Night Lust Made Me Its Bitch

Single Much?: Lust…When You Just Can’t Get Enough

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