I miss it, like a long, lost friend.
I’ve often said, if I never had sex again, I’ve still had more than anyone else I know, short of my friend Camille who holds the heavyweight title.
That said, it still doesn’t make up missing it so.
I always had a man in my life even if he was just a part-timer to call to cuddle up with. Being my mother’s daughter, I needed the closeness…the release, the feel of another to ignite that passion inherited for better or worse.
It’s so remote now, vaguely remembered as if it was experienced by someone else.
I ask myself, will I ever know its colors again?
I’ve loved a lot in my life quite often not having it returned. But did that stop me?
Unrequited love deserves the Purple Heart since mine forever mourns when it wasn’t embraced.
When you reach middle age, you can’t fuck like an alley cat anymore…mentally or physically.
Where before you could reap so much from a casual roll-in-the-hay, now it’s out of the question, your needs and tastes, tolerance and overall forbearance just not permitting it.
And we must include the body too tender to let just anyone touch its hills and valleys once so willing to be stroked and kissed for the mere thrill of it all (It feels as if I’m resurrecting Jacqueline Susann from the dead).
I guess what I’m really wondering…will I never be held again, or ravished or told…you are so, so beautiful? (and one doesn’t have to be a conventional beauty as long as he thinks so)
To dress for a man you can’t wait to see…
Wait impatiently for the bell to ring, your heart a flutter when he’s finally here.
Feel that throb in your underbelly when he’s knocking on the door.
Makes me wonder about my mother, the biggest femme fatale I ever knew living for that lusty exchange way past her 60th year like a lioness dressing her prey.
Did she too finally hang up her passion like a retired number?
I so wish I had the chance to ask her.