I love sex, in all of its’ many acts and forms. Probably more than the average person and for a plethora of reasons. I love orgasms just as much as anyone could possibly love them. And I very much miss both sex and orgasms. There is, however, something I venture to say I actually miss more - indulging my sensuality. Stimulation of the senses, sometimes for sexual pleasure but, more often, just for the pure gratification of reveling in an almost hedonistic delight at something as simple as a smell, touch, taste, sight or sound.
I am an extremely sensual person. I find joy and comfort in aromas, textures, flavors, aesthetic visuals and auditory expressions. My grandmother’s pound cake baking or that positively enticing cologne on the gentleman that just walked by. The way a particularly soft piece of clothing soothes across my skin or the way my fingers caress and linger across smooth skin. The tingly burst of spearmint in my tea or the traces of whiskey on a lover’s lips. The most magnificent sunset gracing my retinas or the way her eyes crinkle and her chin dimples when she really smiles. The waves crashing on the shore or the timbre of his voice when he speaks. It is all so delightfully gratifying and pleasurable in the deepest parts of my soul.
This what I miss more than anything sometimes. Indulging my senses through shared experiences. I want to smell the oil being massaged into my skin to keep it moist and smooth. I want to enjoy the lingering scent of deodorant and person when I press my body to theirs as if I’m trying to hide from the day. I want to feel fingers combing through my hair. I want to feel someone between my thighs as I methodically find all the tight spots in their back and dig my fingers in to work them out. I want to taste the juices of the fruit we just ate as we share a kiss. I want to taste myself on their tongue after they push me over the edge. I want to watch them get dressed, so innocent to them but erotic to me, as I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the tension. I want to see their hands as they caress over my body to find all the hidden spots. I want to hear the way their voice rises and falls, the inflections in their tone, as they discuss their passions. I want to hear them tell me good morning with sleep still in their voice, raw and raspy after a long night sharing each other.
Yes, I greatly miss my indulging of the senses.
