Me Time

It sounds like I had a similar waking experience as Suburban Sexpot....

I woke up yesterday morning.. with no rush to get moving for a change thanks to our Presidents both dead and alive. I was feeling rested, relaxed... enjoying the feeling of the flannel of my pajamas and the soft cotton of my sheets and blankets.

Then came the mood killer...

"Hey, why don't you see how long it takes you to get me off. I have a breakfast meeting at 8:30."

Does a girl ever get a better come on than that? Surprisingly, I ignored that charmless invitation and let him roll out of bed for his meeting. I stayed put.

With the kids still asleep, the door shut and him now gone, I decided to treat myself to a little self love. In more of a manner that I deserve. Granted the possibility of kissing has been eliminated, but I wouldn't have gotten more than a peck or two at most anyway. Sigh.

But I am capable of touch. And I do. Running my hands over my skin. Touching my legs and stomach. The folds of flesh that have developed as a result of age and childbearing and frankly of just being me. The scars left on my body almost a decade ago that have become part of my familiar landscape and are included in the exploration. Can it still be an exploration after all this time? I don't know for sure, but the nerves in my skin feel fresh and new and untouched this morning.

By now, my body is feeling more alive, so now I begin to explore my sensitive flesh. My breasts, so soft and pale are not as firm as they once were... Gravity has a lot to answer for. Left to their own devices, my poor old tits slide off towards my armpits. But today, I am holding them up, giving myself a glimpse of their former glory.

They are both the bane of my existence and my crowning glory. Having gotten them too soon and then too much of them at that, I have often been embarassed by the attention that they received. Mostly since that attention has been so separate from me. I have always found it a bit ironic that my birthday is the same day as the feast day for St. Agatha whose breasts were cut off and served to her for her refusal to have sex with a pagan. My breasts and sexuality have long been tied together, not just because of the obvious attraction that men have had for them, but because of the pleasure that they have given me... Having them sucked while I am orgasming has always intensified the experience for me. And back when I was pregnant? Well sucking on them alone would make me cum. Like there is some invisible connection between them and my pussy.

Now that the sleeping beasts have been awakened I can move on to even more sensitive areas. And this I do. After wetting my fingers in my mouth, I reach down to complete that connection. And it is now alive and wilder than if I got the standard two kisses, a couple of nipple twists then a beeline for the jackpot. And sadly, that is what I have gotten lately.

But now, alone in the quiet and softness of my bed, my body is stirring with energy. My fingers glide slickly around and around my clit. And that ardor is beginning to build with speed and intensity. So quickly. The rustle of passion is now becoming a creeping prickle of craving that urges me forward. Faster, more intently now as my body begins to tingle and then convulse. Energy traveling along every synapse and nerve then discharging at their endpoints. For and endless moment. Bliss and peace.