No Guilty Pleasures

This morning, I woke, remembering the feel of an ex-lover’s skin under my lips. It was the thin, warm, tender skin of the crook of his neck. I could hear the sound of his panting and the way he fit between my legs. 

I wanted nothing more than to call him, to beg him to meet me in a lovely hotel for one more rendezvous. 

You know what? It was okay for me to feel this way. I didn’t need to feel guilty because I missed someone I had once (still) cared for deeply. 

One of the myths of a committed relationship is that you can never remember or dream of someone else. Your sexuality now belongs to your partner. 

It doesn’t. You get to have your lawless desires. You get to fantasize and orgasm from thinking of whom ever you want. 

(Need I say that desiring some one does not give you permission to be a jerk to your main squeeze?)

My delicious dream stayed with me. It brought great pleasure to my day to think on such sensuous activity. I had a glide in my stride and a dip in my hip, as Parliament/Funkadelic would say. Instead of beating myself up for my unconscious brain, thinking that perhaps I had inadvertently cheated on My Charming Man in my dreams, I allowed it to be a joy, a delight in the person who had been the focus of my passion. 

I refuse to feel guilty for any of my pleasures. I hope this gives you permission to savor your pleasures, too.  

Kisses, Tony Stark. Even now, you bring me great delight.