Beloved Annalea asked this great question:
"I'm not the greatest at initiating sex with my husband. I never turn him down and I do make the occassional offer on my own. Though he never fusses at me about it, I know he'd love it if I initiated more. Any ideas?"
Well darlin, my answer is counterintuitive. If you want to really bless him, think about yourself more. I’d encourage you to initiate the things that are likely to arouse you and go for it when you find the sparks fly.
For example:
In the evening, when you step out of the shower and your honey is watching TV, take a hairbrush or comb from the bathroom and walk to the bed still nekkid*, hand him the brush, and say “Baby, brush my hair” and smile. He is very likely to say yes. You’re the only smiling nekkid woman in the room.
Now, this is the most important part: Enjoy it. I mean really enjoy it. Turn your whole focus and attention on your skin and scalp and hair. Lean your naked back against your husband’s chest. Notice how good this simple skin to skin contact feels. Feel the delightful pull of the brush going through your hair. Do not be afraid to sigh and say Ahhhh. Make whatever happy sounds you feel like making.
Now this is the part where your thoughts are so important. Do not allow any other thoughts to enter your head besides “he loves me” and “this feels good” and “I love him”. If any other thoughts enter your mind, let them go, by focusing on your skin and drinking in the sensations.
Imagine your spirit melting into his. Imagine his spirit melting into yours. Pretty soon, you’ll be wanting the rest of you to be touched and petted and fondled.
Move your body to expose whatever you want to be touched. Touch him back. Let yourself drink in the sensation and love you crave.
Give your husband the gift of knowing his wife is totally savoring his every touch.
There are some more overt, hot ways to initiate sex and we’ll talk about those in a future post. But first, I want to encourage this more “self-focused” approach. Get very used to the idea of going to your husband for touch that is loving and feels good. Get accustomed to receiving from him and receiving well. Get in the habit of letting yourself become aroused and following it up by seeking an orgasm with your husband. Train your body and your heart to anticipate pleasure with him and you will automatically find yourself initiating more.
* according to beloved Southern humorist Lewis Grizzard, Naked is having no clothes on, Nekkid is having no clothes on when you're up to sumthin'. (grin)
Showing posts with label making love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label making love. Show all posts
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Monday, December 1, 2008
Keep the Home Fires Burnin'
I'm really glad we have our Zepplin pillow in front of the fireplace. I'm just sayin'. (smile)
Friday, October 24, 2008
Simple Erotic Nurturing
In so many things in life, success is not about doing some far-out, unheard-of thing. Success is about doing simple things well and doing them consistently. This is true about sex. I can just SEE the grins on the faces of you dear readers. All roads lead to sex on SW's blog. Well, most of 'em. What can I say? It's my calling. (blush) (grin) So back to doing simple things and doing them well.
Nurturing words.
Talking during sex. Some of you love talking "dirty", smokin' hot, sultry, sexy, etc during sex. And good for you! I certainly talk like that some times. ;) Some of you may feel "not so much" about the "dirty" talk. Some of you may feel talking bold and playful with your mate there's nothing dirty about it.
Either way, doing the simple stuff and doing it well is always a good idea.
Here are some good examples of simple nurturing things to say during foreplay, sex, or afterplay.
Men, what do you think? Would you like to feel your wife's warm breath on your cheek whispering some of these nurturing words in your ear while she runs her hands down your back and squeezes your bum?
My thanks to Dr. Doug Weiss at sexaddict.com, some of these nurturing words are adapted from his "Best Sex for Women Only" resource.
PS There are some words that only Delighted Husband will hear me say. And that is so great. Each couple's private language helps create their own erotic world.
Nurturing words.
Talking during sex. Some of you love talking "dirty", smokin' hot, sultry, sexy, etc during sex. And good for you! I certainly talk like that some times. ;) Some of you may feel "not so much" about the "dirty" talk. Some of you may feel talking bold and playful with your mate there's nothing dirty about it.
Either way, doing the simple stuff and doing it well is always a good idea.
Here are some good examples of simple nurturing things to say during foreplay, sex, or afterplay.
- I'm happy to be married to you
- I desire you
- I love looking at you
- You're strong
- You're beautiful
- I love my life with you
- I thank God for your body
- I'm happy to be married to you
- I want you
- You're special
- I love it when you touch me there
- You feel so good
- I love how your (body part) is (adjective)
- That's so cool! I can see your (body part) (verb)!
- You're so hot
- Oooh, do that again!
- I love making love to you
Men, what do you think? Would you like to feel your wife's warm breath on your cheek whispering some of these nurturing words in your ear while she runs her hands down your back and squeezes your bum?
My thanks to Dr. Doug Weiss at sexaddict.com, some of these nurturing words are adapted from his "Best Sex for Women Only" resource.
PS There are some words that only Delighted Husband will hear me say. And that is so great. Each couple's private language helps create their own erotic world.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Text Message Sex
One of my favorite things about our marriage is how we get the giggles over the everyday things in life.
Delighted Husband and I were out and about running errands when I received a text message from one of my best girlfriends. I started to type out a reply and then decided what the heck I'd just call her. When I called her I got voicemail. I was so puzzled by this. I mentioned this to Delighted Husband and he wondered out loud, "I bet they're having sex and that's why she couldn't answer the phone when you called." I giggled and said something like "well good for her". Delighted Husband said "I wonder what the text message would sound like if she actually DID send you a text message while having sex with her husband?" By this point we were fullon laughing. We imagined the text message would look something like this:
iiiiii ccant taaaaaalkkkkk nnnnowwww OMG OMG OMG
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
The Fuel-Efficient Shagmobile
I can die now. My life is complete. I have just used the word shagmobile in an article title. (cue Austin Powers) Oh beHAVE!!
After all the fun we had talking about the day Delighted Husband and I traded in our big comfy van, I thought I'd post an update or two about the new wheels.
First of all, some of you know how fond I am of long walks and bike rides out in God's Green Earth.
Now, I can transport my bike with ease. More than 1 bike if one of the kids or Delighted Husband wants to come biking with me. This is way cool.
Speaking of shagging. We weren't, but I never let that stop me before. (giggling)
As I said, field testing for the effability of the new SUV has not yet been completed.
Our accessories have just arrived.
Wooo hoo! Oh babysitter, where art thou?
After all the fun we had talking about the day Delighted Husband and I traded in our big comfy van, I thought I'd post an update or two about the new wheels.
First of all, some of you know how fond I am of long walks and bike rides out in God's Green Earth.
Now, I can transport my bike with ease. More than 1 bike if one of the kids or Delighted Husband wants to come biking with me. This is way cool.
Speaking of shagging. We weren't, but I never let that stop me before. (giggling)
As I said, field testing for the effability of the new SUV has not yet been completed.Our accessories have just arrived.
Wooo hoo! Oh babysitter, where art thou?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Beauty That Nourishes
Fatigue is a powerful force and it takes something equally powerful to counteract it.
Beauty.
Delighted Husband and I have been working some long hours at our respective jobs. Both of us feeling a fatigue of unusual intensity. Fatigue is more than sleepyness or the sense of needing to sit down and catch your breath after an intense game of basketball. Fatigue is a bonewearyness of body and soul. This is what we're dealing with.
We arrive home and after sending one last important email I step away from the computer and walk with him toward the bedroom. We cuddle and he tells me about his day. About the stresses and strains of daily work life. I listen and blurt out sympathy and indignation. Our companionship is sweet. Two best friends sharing the victories and griefs of the day. Suddenly, he rolls on top of me. I blink in surprise. Then smile at what he says next. Then smile at what he does next.
Companionship, love, marital play all satisfied, hunger is the next need in line. He heads for the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal. That is one of the most adorable things about him I think—how Delighted Husband is pushing forty and still enjoys a bowl of colorful cereal with the unabashed gusto of a little boy. I prefer more substantial fare, and find the thought of sugary cereal on an empty stomach deplorable.
I doze and luxuriate until my stomach starts to growl. I close my eyes and remember waffles. I remember when my Daddy used to cook on the nights my Mama had to work late at her floral shop. That's right. I get the business owner bug honest. And her store was there to offer beauty and joy to women as well. What a heritage. So on nights Mama was working late into the night like Santa's elves to bouquet-ify an entire wedding party, Daddy would make waffles. Waffles. I hadn't had waffles in years.
I ambled into the kitchen, nearly stood on my head in front of the island cabinet, and dug out the waffle iron. While it was heating, I opened a box of whole wheat bisquicky stuff and whipped up a batch of waffle batter. I'm pushin' forty myself and my waffles are more carb-healthy than Daddy's but the thought still counts. I anoint my waffle with real butter and maple syrup—not even sugarfree stuff, the real McCoy—and take a bite. I swallow and sigh and think "God bless us all every one." I listen to my audiobook and savor the waffley bliss. By this time, Delighted Husband is in the gameroom playing Wii. The chirpy happy music and roaring car engine noise tells me he is off to the races with Mario Kart.
Having savored my waffle, I want something lush from the protein category. I know just the ticket. I whip up a batch of eggs the way Friend Dennis makes them. Spicy and seasoned just right with mushrooms and cheese. I remember the first time he cooked these eggs for us on the first morning of one of the vacations Friend Dennis and his Dearly Beloved took with me and Delighted Husband. I remember how special it was to have someone cook for me. Me the one who loves to cook being cooked for and how cared-for that made me feel.
And I feel cared-for all over again. Remembering the meals my Daddy and my friend cooked for me, I feel it and taste it all over again, and I feel nourished body and soul.
Such simple pleasures. Such beauty. And I experience the wonder of feeling nourished and satisfied instead of hungry and fatigued. Simple things will get you through, my friends. Simple rest. Simple play. Simple food. Simple love. Wow, do I feel better.
Beauty.
Delighted Husband and I have been working some long hours at our respective jobs. Both of us feeling a fatigue of unusual intensity. Fatigue is more than sleepyness or the sense of needing to sit down and catch your breath after an intense game of basketball. Fatigue is a bonewearyness of body and soul. This is what we're dealing with.
We arrive home and after sending one last important email I step away from the computer and walk with him toward the bedroom. We cuddle and he tells me about his day. About the stresses and strains of daily work life. I listen and blurt out sympathy and indignation. Our companionship is sweet. Two best friends sharing the victories and griefs of the day. Suddenly, he rolls on top of me. I blink in surprise. Then smile at what he says next. Then smile at what he does next.
Companionship, love, marital play all satisfied, hunger is the next need in line. He heads for the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal. That is one of the most adorable things about him I think—how Delighted Husband is pushing forty and still enjoys a bowl of colorful cereal with the unabashed gusto of a little boy. I prefer more substantial fare, and find the thought of sugary cereal on an empty stomach deplorable.
I doze and luxuriate until my stomach starts to growl. I close my eyes and remember waffles. I remember when my Daddy used to cook on the nights my Mama had to work late at her floral shop. That's right. I get the business owner bug honest. And her store was there to offer beauty and joy to women as well. What a heritage. So on nights Mama was working late into the night like Santa's elves to bouquet-ify an entire wedding party, Daddy would make waffles. Waffles. I hadn't had waffles in years.
I ambled into the kitchen, nearly stood on my head in front of the island cabinet, and dug out the waffle iron. While it was heating, I opened a box of whole wheat bisquicky stuff and whipped up a batch of waffle batter. I'm pushin' forty myself and my waffles are more carb-healthy than Daddy's but the thought still counts. I anoint my waffle with real butter and maple syrup—not even sugarfree stuff, the real McCoy—and take a bite. I swallow and sigh and think "God bless us all every one." I listen to my audiobook and savor the waffley bliss. By this time, Delighted Husband is in the gameroom playing Wii. The chirpy happy music and roaring car engine noise tells me he is off to the races with Mario Kart.
Having savored my waffle, I want something lush from the protein category. I know just the ticket. I whip up a batch of eggs the way Friend Dennis makes them. Spicy and seasoned just right with mushrooms and cheese. I remember the first time he cooked these eggs for us on the first morning of one of the vacations Friend Dennis and his Dearly Beloved took with me and Delighted Husband. I remember how special it was to have someone cook for me. Me the one who loves to cook being cooked for and how cared-for that made me feel.
And I feel cared-for all over again. Remembering the meals my Daddy and my friend cooked for me, I feel it and taste it all over again, and I feel nourished body and soul.
Such simple pleasures. Such beauty. And I experience the wonder of feeling nourished and satisfied instead of hungry and fatigued. Simple things will get you through, my friends. Simple rest. Simple play. Simple food. Simple love. Wow, do I feel better.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
After Glow
I'll tell you the same thing I've told all my girlfriends to whom I recommend scheduled sex and they wrinkle their nose and say "ohh but wouldn't that take all the fun out of it?"
Girls, I have walked into an evening of scheduled sex at many stages of arousal, desire, or lack thereof.
And I've never regretted it.
Ever.
I could tell you that making love regularly creates hormonal bonds with your husband, boosts self-esteem, and promotes an overall sense of well-being, ease, and satisfaction. But perhaps you'll understand it better if I tell you a little story.
It's 8:30pm and I have just been loved truly, madly, deeply and past the edge of reason. And now Boy Scouts are over and it's time to go pick up Dear Child. I groan, and stretch and peel myself out of bed. I'm looking for a little consolation prize so I decide to try on that cute little sundress that was too small the last time I tried it. It fits. Yeah, baby! This is just the boost I need. I glide out of the house pausing briefly to slip on some sandals.
I pull up to the door of the church and the scoutmaster who happens to be the pastor walks out with a smile and props his elbow on my drivers side mirror in a conversational pose.
"Wellll hellloooo!"
I give a quick little smile and beckon Dear Child into the SUV. Friendly Pastor will not be dissuaded.
"So how was date night?"
"Great!" I cannot suppress a smile.
"So where'd you go for dinner?"
I stammer, "Um, we, er, We had a picnic" I hope this is at least partially true. I think we ate something before we got busy. I could not tell you what we ate if my life depended on it.
"Ohhh a picnic! Great idea! Where'd you go?"
I feel the heat suffuse my face and know a blush is blooming over my cheeks. "Uhh, we had our picnic at home."
There is a brief tiny flash of recognition and Friendly Pastor draws back like he's been stung. He backpedals admirably with "Well thanks for letting Dear Child participate in our program! We sure had a fun time tonight!"
I smile a proper motherly smile and thank him right back. What I want to say but don't...
No problem, Rev. We wouldn't let him quit if he wanted to! We need the free babysitting!
Dear Son is hungry, so I drive him to Subway and I walk over to Starbucks to get a decaf sugarfree cinnamon dolce.
My walk becomes a saunter as I think of all the things I just did with Delighted Husband. To the casual observer, I am a thirtysomething housewife. A curvaceous soccer mom who shops at Lane Bryant. But I know I am a sex goddess. And Delighted Husband knows it too. I smile. Just feeling good in every joint of my body. I feel lithe and relaxed and absolutely gorgeous. Gorgeous is as gorgeous does. And gorgeous does. She certainly does.
Girls, I have walked into an evening of scheduled sex at many stages of arousal, desire, or lack thereof.
And I've never regretted it.
Ever.
I could tell you that making love regularly creates hormonal bonds with your husband, boosts self-esteem, and promotes an overall sense of well-being, ease, and satisfaction. But perhaps you'll understand it better if I tell you a little story.
It's 8:30pm and I have just been loved truly, madly, deeply and past the edge of reason. And now Boy Scouts are over and it's time to go pick up Dear Child. I groan, and stretch and peel myself out of bed. I'm looking for a little consolation prize so I decide to try on that cute little sundress that was too small the last time I tried it. It fits. Yeah, baby! This is just the boost I need. I glide out of the house pausing briefly to slip on some sandals.
I pull up to the door of the church and the scoutmaster who happens to be the pastor walks out with a smile and props his elbow on my drivers side mirror in a conversational pose.
"Wellll hellloooo!"
I give a quick little smile and beckon Dear Child into the SUV. Friendly Pastor will not be dissuaded.
"So how was date night?"
"Great!" I cannot suppress a smile.
"So where'd you go for dinner?"
I stammer, "Um, we, er, We had a picnic" I hope this is at least partially true. I think we ate something before we got busy. I could not tell you what we ate if my life depended on it.
"Ohhh a picnic! Great idea! Where'd you go?"
I feel the heat suffuse my face and know a blush is blooming over my cheeks. "Uhh, we had our picnic at home."
There is a brief tiny flash of recognition and Friendly Pastor draws back like he's been stung. He backpedals admirably with "Well thanks for letting Dear Child participate in our program! We sure had a fun time tonight!"
I smile a proper motherly smile and thank him right back. What I want to say but don't...
No problem, Rev. We wouldn't let him quit if he wanted to! We need the free babysitting!
Dear Son is hungry, so I drive him to Subway and I walk over to Starbucks to get a decaf sugarfree cinnamon dolce.
My walk becomes a saunter as I think of all the things I just did with Delighted Husband. To the casual observer, I am a thirtysomething housewife. A curvaceous soccer mom who shops at Lane Bryant. But I know I am a sex goddess. And Delighted Husband knows it too. I smile. Just feeling good in every joint of my body. I feel lithe and relaxed and absolutely gorgeous. Gorgeous is as gorgeous does. And gorgeous does. She certainly does.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Our Bodies Matter to Jesus
As some of you may imagine, one of the most frequent search engine terms that bring readers to my blog is the "sensuous"+"posted in blog". I clicked on this search this morning, and found a daisy chain of beautiful thoughts which I will share with you today.
The first link that caught my eye was "God's Sensuous Prescence". Y'all know, I am all about God and all about sensuous, so of course I was curious. This beautiful article is what I found:
"Men had turned from the contemplation of God above, and were looking Him in the opposite direction, down among created things and things of sense. The Saviour of us all, the Word of God, in His great love took to Himself a body and moved as Man among men, meeting their senses, so to speak, half way. He became Himself an object for the senses, so that those who were seeking God in sensible things might apprehend the Father through the works which He, the Word of God, did in the body."
At first glance this sounded at once beautiful and potentially sacreligious. Because when my woman-who-was-sexually-abused brain hears the words "an object for the senses", I recoil. But there was that beautiful phrase "in His great love took to Himself a body" and I believe that lock, stock and barrell, so I deliberately let go of my CSA thoughts and took another closer look. And what I saw astounded me with it's beauty.
I visualized my beloved Jesus extending his hand to Thomas, such a human loving inclusive gesture all by itself, and then he speaks "don't believe it's really me? Touch me. it's me, Thomas. Touch me, and remember all the many other times you touched my hand and were comforted. It's me. really. Touch me, and believe."
Of course, by then, poignant tears had gathered in my eyes and I was on board with the phrase "He became Himself an object for the senses." Oh yes he did. And there's my favorite name for Jesus too, Himself. A gift with purchase. Confirmation.
I wanted to hear more, so I clicked on the link provided by the blog author Eric Daryl Meyer (shown here with he and his wife. look at them! aren't they precious?)
This took me to Faith and Theology, a guest post by Oliver Davies. And what a treasure trove I found there!
Get a load of this!
"We constantly treat Christianity as though it were a philosophy or a work of literature (I am not against philosophy or literature) rather than a disclosure to practical intellect which calls us into the radical freedom of action in and for Christ in the world (i.e. the ascended, wounded and glorified Christ). Faith is faith in Christ who acts rather than thinks."
Seriously, y'all. I don't wanna just be smarter. I wanna be CHANGED.
Wait, there's more.
Instead of allowing ourselves to be opened up to the revelation of Christ in the world, communicated through command at work through the senses and the particularity of space and time events ("the command of grace", in Janz's phrase), we focus on the mind as the place of insight, generativity and meaning.
I'll tell you what this means to me. All my life, up until the point of my spiritual and sexual awakening, I thought it was true "Spirit good, mind good, body bad." I really did. As hard to believe as these words sound now, coming from from a woman who experiences God in every orgasm and feels the sweet nearness of the Spirit in every cool breeze on my sweaty face when I run, I used to really believe that. The condition of my heart, the condition of my marriage, the quality of how despised or cherished my sexuality was to me is a living lab test of what those ideas look like in behavior. When I believed my body was bad and my mind was good, I shrank from every touch from my husband and generally rolled my eyes at the depravity of man every time he got an erection. I'm not proud to admit it, but that was my reality. Oh but I was a good Christian girl who "selflessly ministered to her husband" by laying there and taking it. What a martyr! Not even good enough to be called a real martyr either, like Jim Elliot or the first disciple to be stoned to death, because I was laying down and dying for a cause that was contrary to scripture and so FAR from the life of joy God had called me to! What a senseless wasteful non-God-honoring martyr.
But you know my Jesus, he loves us just as we are and loves us too much to leave us that way. Read on.
"And here the third problem arises which follows from the first two: we have lost an understanding of the way we can and should access and be attentive to the presence of Christ in this way. We constantly bypass with mind the very place in which he is present for us in the here and now, which is to do with the senses and with command, since this is a place where the mind does not necessarily want to go."
Yes! Yes! Yes! I used to do that all the time, and folks, I'll tell you why. Because of my own sin and the sin of others, my senses were associated for me with sensations of pain, emotions of pain, shame, doubt, fear, self-loathing and just an overall sense of "ugh get me outta here". Maybe some of you can relate.
But here's the good part. Jesus still lives. And His Lordship in the nitty gritty details of our lives is the way we are to live not just as prescription (take 2 pills and call me in the morning) but as invitation. Invitation to the path to healing we are walk (come walk with me this way my darling and let me heal you, my love). That's my paraphrase and I paraphrase it that way because I have lived it that way. This is the path I've been walking for 16 years.
Oliver Davies puts it this way:
"Getting it" entails seeing that incarnational revelation still comes to us through the senses ("Jesus still lives, and his Lordship in the particularity of our lives is the mode for us of that life"), and that the senses cannot be absorbed without remainder into mind. Thus ascension allows that our faith in Christ can be far closer to that of the apostles than we might ordinarily admit, not on our own account, but on account of the nature of the transformation effected in Christ. Doctrinally (theologically) and anthropologically (philosophically) we have lost the tools and practices which help us to "recognise" him in his transformed state in the everyday reality of our lives where he comes to meet us.
As so often happens in my reading since the internet, I connected the dots between three unrelated poets and writers that from my point of view seem tailor made for each other. On one hand we have these brilliant intellectuals—theology professor no less!— saying in essence, "Excuse me, everybody. Something precious has been lost. And I'm going to do my darndest to show you what and how and show you why and more importantly, show you how to get it back."
For as I read the scholarly article, I remembered the last time—the only time—I've heard a scholar talk about these ideas. It was when I heard Christopher West speak about Theology of the Body at a Created and Redeemed Seminar. I remember Christopher's main point being "Jesus had a real body and our bodies are important because God Almighty thought to inhabit one so we should believe our body is important too and inhabit it well and with truth and honor." That is my paraphrase after attending the 7 hour seminar. (By the way, I do not believe that using birth control violates this cherished concept, since I believe any lovemaking between a husband and wife has the fruit of pleasure and oneness if not the fruit of children) So first as I'm reading, I'm reminded of Theology of the Body.
And then, I'm reminded of the song I sang in church last week. The song that so grounded me and comforted me by reminding me that every area of my life matters to God and is inhabited by God. The song that gave me opportunity to respond to this newfound hope and comfort by pouring our my adoration upon Jesus, or as we say in the South, "singin' my little heart out". Listen to this!
God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping
God in my resting
there in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
God in my hoping
there in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting
God in my laughing
there in my breathing
God in my hurting
God in my healing
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me
the hope of glory
you are everything
Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me
the hope of glory
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
God in my hoping
there in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting
God in my laughing
there in my breathing
God in my hurting
God in my healing
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
you are everything
So yes, beloved friends, our bodies matter. They matter to Jesus too, as he—by living in us—inhabits our bodies every single day. And everything we do in these bodies matters very VERY much! If it's sin that we're doing with our bodies—slapping our children, abandoning our husbands in the marriage bed, or using drugs or food or the absence of food to numb our aching hearts— we need grace and healing to get to the root of that sin and let Jesus heal us. And if it's not sin that we're doing with our bodies—laying our cool hand on our child's fevered brow, welcoming our husbands and drawing them into our body with passion and tenderness, or caring for and cherishing our bodies in beautiful small ways like eating with gratitude in an attitude of self-care—then we are in the acts of doing these very things, bringing the hands and love of Christ into our world, which is a humbling, immensely gorgeous thing to think about.
Isn't it?
Love,
SW
Epilogue:
Parenting
Once in the course of my life as a mother I lost my temper and slapped one of my children. It was listed as a sin in the article and also listed as a sin I am living in active repentance of. I don't refuse my husband anymore or do emotional eating anymore either. I don't believe there's a mother alive that hasn't lost her temper and slapped her child once or been sorely tempted to do so. But my experience of losing my temper like that disturbed me enough that I took myself to a licensed marriage and family therapist and learned some better parenting strategies. I also took my child to a child therapist and got some treatment for them and we're all doing much better on that regard. The licensed marriage and family therapist who treated me counseled me that my unresolved guilt over slapping my child that one time was far harmful to my effectiveness as a parent than the slap itself because that guilt gave me a propensity to cave into their demands and not keep firm loving boundaries. I hope any parent who reads my story will not hesitate to seek wise counsel for their parenting challenges.
Singles
I want to cherish my single readers by saying that there are many beautiful ways use use our bodies to bring the hands and love of Christ into our world, many many more than the 3 ways I listed. The reason that drove what I listed as ways to bring love is that I began with listing 3 ways I personally used my body to sin and 3 ways I used my body to repent and to love. You're not excluded, beloved darlings, or exempt from embodying the love of Christ just because you are not a wife or mommy. Never meant to imply that, beloved. Not in a hundred years did I mean to imply that. (squeeze your hand and look you in the eye for good measure) Love, SW
The first link that caught my eye was "God's Sensuous Prescence". Y'all know, I am all about God and all about sensuous, so of course I was curious. This beautiful article is what I found:
"Men had turned from the contemplation of God above, and were looking Him in the opposite direction, down among created things and things of sense. The Saviour of us all, the Word of God, in His great love took to Himself a body and moved as Man among men, meeting their senses, so to speak, half way. He became Himself an object for the senses, so that those who were seeking God in sensible things might apprehend the Father through the works which He, the Word of God, did in the body."
At first glance this sounded at once beautiful and potentially sacreligious. Because when my woman-who-was-sexually-abused brain hears the words "an object for the senses", I recoil. But there was that beautiful phrase "in His great love took to Himself a body" and I believe that lock, stock and barrell, so I deliberately let go of my CSA thoughts and took another closer look. And what I saw astounded me with it's beauty.
I visualized my beloved Jesus extending his hand to Thomas, such a human loving inclusive gesture all by itself, and then he speaks "don't believe it's really me? Touch me. it's me, Thomas. Touch me, and remember all the many other times you touched my hand and were comforted. It's me. really. Touch me, and believe."
Of course, by then, poignant tears had gathered in my eyes and I was on board with the phrase "He became Himself an object for the senses." Oh yes he did. And there's my favorite name for Jesus too, Himself. A gift with purchase. Confirmation.
I wanted to hear more, so I clicked on the link provided by the blog author Eric Daryl Meyer (shown here with he and his wife. look at them! aren't they precious?)
This took me to Faith and Theology, a guest post by Oliver Davies. And what a treasure trove I found there!
Get a load of this!
"We constantly treat Christianity as though it were a philosophy or a work of literature (I am not against philosophy or literature) rather than a disclosure to practical intellect which calls us into the radical freedom of action in and for Christ in the world (i.e. the ascended, wounded and glorified Christ). Faith is faith in Christ who acts rather than thinks."
Seriously, y'all. I don't wanna just be smarter. I wanna be CHANGED.
Wait, there's more.
Instead of allowing ourselves to be opened up to the revelation of Christ in the world, communicated through command at work through the senses and the particularity of space and time events ("the command of grace", in Janz's phrase), we focus on the mind as the place of insight, generativity and meaning.
I'll tell you what this means to me. All my life, up until the point of my spiritual and sexual awakening, I thought it was true "Spirit good, mind good, body bad." I really did. As hard to believe as these words sound now, coming from from a woman who experiences God in every orgasm and feels the sweet nearness of the Spirit in every cool breeze on my sweaty face when I run, I used to really believe that. The condition of my heart, the condition of my marriage, the quality of how despised or cherished my sexuality was to me is a living lab test of what those ideas look like in behavior. When I believed my body was bad and my mind was good, I shrank from every touch from my husband and generally rolled my eyes at the depravity of man every time he got an erection. I'm not proud to admit it, but that was my reality. Oh but I was a good Christian girl who "selflessly ministered to her husband" by laying there and taking it. What a martyr! Not even good enough to be called a real martyr either, like Jim Elliot or the first disciple to be stoned to death, because I was laying down and dying for a cause that was contrary to scripture and so FAR from the life of joy God had called me to! What a senseless wasteful non-God-honoring martyr.
But you know my Jesus, he loves us just as we are and loves us too much to leave us that way. Read on.
"And here the third problem arises which follows from the first two: we have lost an understanding of the way we can and should access and be attentive to the presence of Christ in this way. We constantly bypass with mind the very place in which he is present for us in the here and now, which is to do with the senses and with command, since this is a place where the mind does not necessarily want to go."
Yes! Yes! Yes! I used to do that all the time, and folks, I'll tell you why. Because of my own sin and the sin of others, my senses were associated for me with sensations of pain, emotions of pain, shame, doubt, fear, self-loathing and just an overall sense of "ugh get me outta here". Maybe some of you can relate.
But here's the good part. Jesus still lives. And His Lordship in the nitty gritty details of our lives is the way we are to live not just as prescription (take 2 pills and call me in the morning) but as invitation. Invitation to the path to healing we are walk (come walk with me this way my darling and let me heal you, my love). That's my paraphrase and I paraphrase it that way because I have lived it that way. This is the path I've been walking for 16 years.
Oliver Davies puts it this way:
"Getting it" entails seeing that incarnational revelation still comes to us through the senses ("Jesus still lives, and his Lordship in the particularity of our lives is the mode for us of that life"), and that the senses cannot be absorbed without remainder into mind. Thus ascension allows that our faith in Christ can be far closer to that of the apostles than we might ordinarily admit, not on our own account, but on account of the nature of the transformation effected in Christ. Doctrinally (theologically) and anthropologically (philosophically) we have lost the tools and practices which help us to "recognise" him in his transformed state in the everyday reality of our lives where he comes to meet us.
As so often happens in my reading since the internet, I connected the dots between three unrelated poets and writers that from my point of view seem tailor made for each other. On one hand we have these brilliant intellectuals—theology professor no less!— saying in essence, "Excuse me, everybody. Something precious has been lost. And I'm going to do my darndest to show you what and how and show you why and more importantly, show you how to get it back."
For as I read the scholarly article, I remembered the last time—the only time—I've heard a scholar talk about these ideas. It was when I heard Christopher West speak about Theology of the Body at a Created and Redeemed Seminar. I remember Christopher's main point being "Jesus had a real body and our bodies are important because God Almighty thought to inhabit one so we should believe our body is important too and inhabit it well and with truth and honor." That is my paraphrase after attending the 7 hour seminar. (By the way, I do not believe that using birth control violates this cherished concept, since I believe any lovemaking between a husband and wife has the fruit of pleasure and oneness if not the fruit of children) So first as I'm reading, I'm reminded of Theology of the Body.
And then, I'm reminded of the song I sang in church last week. The song that so grounded me and comforted me by reminding me that every area of my life matters to God and is inhabited by God. The song that gave me opportunity to respond to this newfound hope and comfort by pouring our my adoration upon Jesus, or as we say in the South, "singin' my little heart out". Listen to this!
God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping
God in my resting
there in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
God in my hoping
there in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting
God in my laughing
there in my breathing
God in my hurting
God in my healing
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me
the hope of glory
you are everything
Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me
the hope of glory
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
God in my hoping
there in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting
God in my laughing
there in my breathing
God in my hurting
God in my healing
be my everything
be my everything
be my everything
you are everything
So yes, beloved friends, our bodies matter. They matter to Jesus too, as he—by living in us—inhabits our bodies every single day. And everything we do in these bodies matters very VERY much! If it's sin that we're doing with our bodies—slapping our children, abandoning our husbands in the marriage bed, or using drugs or food or the absence of food to numb our aching hearts— we need grace and healing to get to the root of that sin and let Jesus heal us. And if it's not sin that we're doing with our bodies—laying our cool hand on our child's fevered brow, welcoming our husbands and drawing them into our body with passion and tenderness, or caring for and cherishing our bodies in beautiful small ways like eating with gratitude in an attitude of self-care—then we are in the acts of doing these very things, bringing the hands and love of Christ into our world, which is a humbling, immensely gorgeous thing to think about.
Isn't it?
Love,
SW
Epilogue:
Parenting
Once in the course of my life as a mother I lost my temper and slapped one of my children. It was listed as a sin in the article and also listed as a sin I am living in active repentance of. I don't refuse my husband anymore or do emotional eating anymore either. I don't believe there's a mother alive that hasn't lost her temper and slapped her child once or been sorely tempted to do so. But my experience of losing my temper like that disturbed me enough that I took myself to a licensed marriage and family therapist and learned some better parenting strategies. I also took my child to a child therapist and got some treatment for them and we're all doing much better on that regard. The licensed marriage and family therapist who treated me counseled me that my unresolved guilt over slapping my child that one time was far harmful to my effectiveness as a parent than the slap itself because that guilt gave me a propensity to cave into their demands and not keep firm loving boundaries. I hope any parent who reads my story will not hesitate to seek wise counsel for their parenting challenges.
Singles
I want to cherish my single readers by saying that there are many beautiful ways use use our bodies to bring the hands and love of Christ into our world, many many more than the 3 ways I listed. The reason that drove what I listed as ways to bring love is that I began with listing 3 ways I personally used my body to sin and 3 ways I used my body to repent and to love. You're not excluded, beloved darlings, or exempt from embodying the love of Christ just because you are not a wife or mommy. Never meant to imply that, beloved. Not in a hundred years did I mean to imply that. (squeeze your hand and look you in the eye for good measure) Love, SW
Saturday, April 26, 2008
If the Van is Rockin'
We sold our van today. Traded in our plush comfy conversion van for an fuel-efficient 4 cylinder SUV. What we were paying in gasoline every month was enough for a car payment. No lie. So we traded it in. The guys at the dealership appraised our van right away, and then we went out on test drives. When the sales manager came back from inspecting the van and gave us a good offer, he smiled and said, "We see you really enjoyed your van." "Oh yes", we said, "it's so comfortable. We took it on several road trips" We didn't really think anything of their comment. We quickly told him about a vacation road trip story, and then got back to the business of car shopping.
After a long day and many test drives, we made a deal, signed the paperwork and went out to the van to move our stuff from the van to the new SUV.
I was taking some maps and magazines out of the 2nd row seat back pockets when something pink caught my eye. I looked down on the floor between the 3rd row sofabed and the 2nd row captains chair and saw.....my favorite pair of panties! The lacy little panties had been peeled off in the heat of the moment on a date night that went very very well. I'd been wondering where those panties were! I sat down on the sofa and laughed and laughed and laughed. I showed them to Delighted Husband and said, "No WONDER the sales manager said We see you really enjoyed your van"! ;)
After a long day and many test drives, we made a deal, signed the paperwork and went out to the van to move our stuff from the van to the new SUV.
I was taking some maps and magazines out of the 2nd row seat back pockets when something pink caught my eye. I looked down on the floor between the 3rd row sofabed and the 2nd row captains chair and saw.....my favorite pair of panties! The lacy little panties had been peeled off in the heat of the moment on a date night that went very very well. I'd been wondering where those panties were! I sat down on the sofa and laughed and laughed and laughed. I showed them to Delighted Husband and said, "No WONDER the sales manager said We see you really enjoyed your van"! ;)
Friday, April 11, 2008
Warmth and Light
it's been more clear to me lately how important it is for me to shine my radiance and feel the light and warmth inside. And it's become increasingly clear how I can't make it happen by myself. All the radiance I ever shine, all the warmth and light I feel and share isn't my radiance at all. It's on permanent loan from God, I just have to renew my subscription. Check in and charge up.
And quite often the charging up I receive comes from people in my life.
But, and this is SO subtle, sometimes there can be this tiny or big shift in my heart and I start to look to the people in my life as if they are the source all feelgoodness or okayness or validation instead of perhaps being a frequent messenger from Himself. So I start to look to them instead of Himself and of course I am disspointed. What human—glorious and frail we may be—can compare with Himself?
So I start to feel cold and stung and dissapointed.
When the silent seismic shift took place in my own heart. It is my deal.
Then I remember this familiar ache and by the loving prompting of Spirit, I remember "hmmm, the last time I felt this achy sawdust in my heart it was because I turned one of the people that I love into an idol."
Ohhhhhhh
Then I bump Himself back to the head of the line where he belongs as primary lover in my life. And then all the other ones who love me look so precious and appealing and new. And I feel that borrowed radiance shining inside me again. Subscription renewed. Shine on!
and beloved Sara Groves said it better than I ever could, so I'll leave you with her sweet voice and haunting words.
I am the moon with no light of my own
still you have made me to shine
and as I glow in this cold dark night
I know I cannot be a light unless I turn my face to you
cause everywhere you are is warmth and light
Oh! It happens every time! Everytime I feel all alive and full of warmth and light, there are two things I want to do right away. I want to sing to Himself then I want to make love to Delighted Husband. Spread that warmth and light all over his dear self! ;)
Love y'all.
Have a good weekend!
-SW
And quite often the charging up I receive comes from people in my life.
But, and this is SO subtle, sometimes there can be this tiny or big shift in my heart and I start to look to the people in my life as if they are the source all feelgoodness or okayness or validation instead of perhaps being a frequent messenger from Himself. So I start to look to them instead of Himself and of course I am disspointed. What human—glorious and frail we may be—can compare with Himself?
So I start to feel cold and stung and dissapointed.
When the silent seismic shift took place in my own heart. It is my deal.
Then I remember this familiar ache and by the loving prompting of Spirit, I remember "hmmm, the last time I felt this achy sawdust in my heart it was because I turned one of the people that I love into an idol."
Ohhhhhhh
Then I bump Himself back to the head of the line where he belongs as primary lover in my life. And then all the other ones who love me look so precious and appealing and new. And I feel that borrowed radiance shining inside me again. Subscription renewed. Shine on!
and beloved Sara Groves said it better than I ever could, so I'll leave you with her sweet voice and haunting words.
I am the moon with no light of my own
still you have made me to shine
and as I glow in this cold dark night
I know I cannot be a light unless I turn my face to you
cause everywhere you are is warmth and light
Oh! It happens every time! Everytime I feel all alive and full of warmth and light, there are two things I want to do right away. I want to sing to Himself then I want to make love to Delighted Husband. Spread that warmth and light all over his dear self! ;)
Love y'all.
Have a good weekend!
-SW
Friday, March 14, 2008
Revival (sequel to Come Just As You Are)
sequel to Come Just As You Are
Afterglow was nothing less than a revival.
His sweat and my tears made me clean.
Baptism.
Just like I would at a revival, I began to weep for joy at the profoundly good overwhelming of being seized by the power of a great affection. The experience of being so deeply known in all my glory and imperfection and so deeply loved. The point wasn't being perfect. The point was being perfectly one.
I lay there reeling in afterglow grasping and caressing his forearm and hand. I didn't fondle him. I read him like braille. Savoring memory imprinted in body and soul from the countless times I had felt his hands on me, seen them, touched them. I began to recount the innumerable ways his hands have loved me. And I began to weep over them, kiss them with the devotion and passion of the woman washing Jesus' feet with her tears. In gasping little sobs, I recounted the story of his hands and the story of him as a man, and the story of us.
Afterglow was nothing less than a revival.
His sweat and my tears made me clean.
Baptism.
Just like I would at a revival, I began to weep for joy at the profoundly good overwhelming of being seized by the power of a great affection. The experience of being so deeply known in all my glory and imperfection and so deeply loved. The point wasn't being perfect. The point was being perfectly one.
I lay there reeling in afterglow grasping and caressing his forearm and hand. I didn't fondle him. I read him like braille. Savoring memory imprinted in body and soul from the countless times I had felt his hands on me, seen them, touched them. I began to recount the innumerable ways his hands have loved me. And I began to weep over them, kiss them with the devotion and passion of the woman washing Jesus' feet with her tears. In gasping little sobs, I recounted the story of his hands and the story of him as a man, and the story of us.
- These are the hands who work so hard to provide for me.
- These are the hands that caress my cheek, mold around my cheek in a palmed embrace.
- These are the hands who held our wet wriggling children after they emerged from me in the birth chamber.
- These are the hands who unconsciously pat my butt when he is deeply lost in sleep.
- These are the hands who open my door for me, car doors, restaurant doors, career doors, church doors, any and every door, for years without fail.
- These are the hands who wash the dishes after I have spent my energy in a fit of culinary creative passion.
- These are the hands that wordlessly grasp the tray or book that is slipping out of my grasp.
- These are the hands that steady me when I nearly lose my purchase on an icy sidewalk.
- These are the hands that when clasped with mine produce a powerful surge of erotic joy and friendly companionship from the very first handhold.
- These are the hands that have carried boxes into our new home after signing endless documents at closing.
- These are the hands that I hold without concious thought on every date whether that date is a grand fete or a watching a netflix movie snuggled on the couch.
- These are the hands that placed two ice chips in my dry panting mouth during the few precious seconds that punctuated each contraction.
- These are the hands that hold my Bible for me while we read together in church.
- These are the hands that do open-heart surgery on my computer when it is sick and make it well again.
- These are the hands that push the mower, wield the paintbrush, grasp the pressure-washer wand to keep our home presentable and inviting without ever being asked.
- These are the hands that press a proud jealous claim into the small of my back when we are out together on a date.
- These are the hands that clap for me when he sits in the second row of each and all of my performances.
- These are the hands that unconciously open like petals shyly blooming as he offers his worship to God when he thinks no one else is watching because his eyes are closed.
- These are the hands that press countless Christmas lights into the eaves of our home's second story because he knows I feel a child's delight for Christmas lights so he gives it to me as a gift even though he could go without them every year and be perfectly happy.
Come Just As You Are
Sometimes your best-laid plans going off-course is the best thing that could happen to you.
I had a major diva moment planned for this evening. I had been planning to think sex all day and I even took the day off of work to allow that to happen. But this was the busiest day off I've ever had. I love audiobooks, they're such a great companion along the busy day. So knowing I had loads of domestic goddess stuff to accomplish today, I was Proactive Polly and bought a romantic audiobook this morning so I could "whistle while you work" so to speak while I ran errands and did the laundry and paid bills. The blasted thing wouldn't work. Oh it would work on my computer, it just wouldn't work on my PDA or MP3 player. And since I can't lug my computer around with me all day, then for all practical purposes, the audiobook wouldn't work. I kept trying. In between errands and counselor appointment and lunch and laundry and I would take a crack at it every couple hours or so. No go. After the kids came home from school, I managed to sneak off for a hot bath with candles and perfume and that did the trick. I finally managed to get out of my head and into my body. Ah. Sigh of relief. SW is finally ready for DH.
Then.
The cellphone rings and it's the difficult customer from hell. Calling me on my day off because son-of-a-biscuit-eater! I am still on call. This customer is complaining like I owe them the moon when I am the one doing them an extra special favor from the get-go. But to hear them tell it, I have ruined their weekend and they are ready to take their favorhogging business elsewhere. Which to tell the truth, leaving would be the kindest most decent thing they could ever do for me. Let them go favor someone else adnauseum. But that's not how I was raised. I was raised to take the high road and let the customer win. To keep my promises and be noble and end on a good note. So I apologized where I could without outright lying and I promised to help them leave with all the loose ends tied up. You want to leave? Okay. Let's just have you leave the classy way not the bitchy way. Okay.
All this took a tremendous toll on my sexual mojo and my heart in general. And now it's nearly 6 o'clock. I have this great Mata Hari seduction scene planned and I can't get anywhere close to horny.
I'll skip the dinner and parenting moments except to say that they were positive and loving and took twice as long as usual thereby sucking up the time I planned to spend revamping my mojo by taking another bubble bath (hey it worked the first time) or reading a good old printed page romance novel.
DH came home early to find me reading Harry Potter to the kids wearing a green mask and pajamas.
But I had so many plans for this evening!
I was going to be the confident grand seductress!
So I hustle into the closet looking for a negligee the way Superman looks for a cape.
My precious momentum is shot. I feel discombobulated and frantic.
I hustle into the bathroom to put on a little lipstick and confidence.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he makes all kinds of approving happy sounds.
We begin to snuggle and I began to cry. I realize that lovemaking is like worship. We show up as we are. Happy, hungry, confident or broken, we show up and offer all that we are to our beloved. Just as we are without one plea. DH doesn't need a Mata Hari performance. Although he will surely enjoy one if I feel that I want to do some confident seduction. But I realized that, like God, all DH wants from me is me.
What a relief.
So we lay there entwined and told him I had hoped to be my confident sexy horny self and had taken deliberate steps toward helping that happen but that instead the woman in our bed tonight was loving tired stressed and willing. To him that was more than enough. He began to...well I want to cherish him by not giving you the blow-by-blow. I'll just say he began to adore me and enjoy me and I found myself aroused inspite of how far down the path the cares of this world had pulled me, he drew me back. Closer to home and closer and closer and closer. He, my most dearly beloved, made me do things and make sounds I didn't know I was capable of. It was a long road, much longer than usual, but his body is the roadmap to joy, his sexy grin is the beacon to the homeport, and he drew me out and helped me come home.
That derailed seduction scene turned out to be one of the most emotionally spiritually intimate and satisfying moments of my life.
Sometimes you "bring it".
Sometimes you come just as you are.
I had a major diva moment planned for this evening. I had been planning to think sex all day and I even took the day off of work to allow that to happen. But this was the busiest day off I've ever had. I love audiobooks, they're such a great companion along the busy day. So knowing I had loads of domestic goddess stuff to accomplish today, I was Proactive Polly and bought a romantic audiobook this morning so I could "whistle while you work" so to speak while I ran errands and did the laundry and paid bills. The blasted thing wouldn't work. Oh it would work on my computer, it just wouldn't work on my PDA or MP3 player. And since I can't lug my computer around with me all day, then for all practical purposes, the audiobook wouldn't work. I kept trying. In between errands and counselor appointment and lunch and laundry and I would take a crack at it every couple hours or so. No go. After the kids came home from school, I managed to sneak off for a hot bath with candles and perfume and that did the trick. I finally managed to get out of my head and into my body. Ah. Sigh of relief. SW is finally ready for DH.
Then.
The cellphone rings and it's the difficult customer from hell. Calling me on my day off because son-of-a-biscuit-eater! I am still on call. This customer is complaining like I owe them the moon when I am the one doing them an extra special favor from the get-go. But to hear them tell it, I have ruined their weekend and they are ready to take their favorhogging business elsewhere. Which to tell the truth, leaving would be the kindest most decent thing they could ever do for me. Let them go favor someone else adnauseum. But that's not how I was raised. I was raised to take the high road and let the customer win. To keep my promises and be noble and end on a good note. So I apologized where I could without outright lying and I promised to help them leave with all the loose ends tied up. You want to leave? Okay. Let's just have you leave the classy way not the bitchy way. Okay.
All this took a tremendous toll on my sexual mojo and my heart in general. And now it's nearly 6 o'clock. I have this great Mata Hari seduction scene planned and I can't get anywhere close to horny.
I'll skip the dinner and parenting moments except to say that they were positive and loving and took twice as long as usual thereby sucking up the time I planned to spend revamping my mojo by taking another bubble bath (hey it worked the first time) or reading a good old printed page romance novel.
DH came home early to find me reading Harry Potter to the kids wearing a green mask and pajamas.
But I had so many plans for this evening!
I was going to be the confident grand seductress!
So I hustle into the closet looking for a negligee the way Superman looks for a cape.
My precious momentum is shot. I feel discombobulated and frantic.
I hustle into the bathroom to put on a little lipstick and confidence.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he makes all kinds of approving happy sounds.
We begin to snuggle and I began to cry. I realize that lovemaking is like worship. We show up as we are. Happy, hungry, confident or broken, we show up and offer all that we are to our beloved. Just as we are without one plea. DH doesn't need a Mata Hari performance. Although he will surely enjoy one if I feel that I want to do some confident seduction. But I realized that, like God, all DH wants from me is me.
What a relief.
So we lay there entwined and told him I had hoped to be my confident sexy horny self and had taken deliberate steps toward helping that happen but that instead the woman in our bed tonight was loving tired stressed and willing. To him that was more than enough. He began to...well I want to cherish him by not giving you the blow-by-blow. I'll just say he began to adore me and enjoy me and I found myself aroused inspite of how far down the path the cares of this world had pulled me, he drew me back. Closer to home and closer and closer and closer. He, my most dearly beloved, made me do things and make sounds I didn't know I was capable of. It was a long road, much longer than usual, but his body is the roadmap to joy, his sexy grin is the beacon to the homeport, and he drew me out and helped me come home.
That derailed seduction scene turned out to be one of the most emotionally spiritually intimate and satisfying moments of my life.
Sometimes you "bring it".
Sometimes you come just as you are.
Monday, January 14, 2008
At Peace with the Ebb and Flow
Perhaps the most beautiful benefit of knowing my body and knowing my sexual self is this marvelous sense of acceptance and joy about every phase of my fertility cycle and sexual response cycle. So much satisfaction and peace from knowing that every color in the pallete has beauty and is worth painting on the sheets and on my lover.
For example.
During the armful of days leading up to ovulation, my sexual response cycle has a ravenous, saucy edge. Multiples are the norm and waiting with jagged breath for Delighted Husband to get home from work (he has a longer commute than me) is punctuated by hot text messages. Some with pictures. Love takes on a lusty hue. I don't objectify him. And all this heat happens in the context of lovingrespect. But I have to agree with my friend Dena when she calls the days leading up to and including ovulation as Wanton Woman Week.
The morning after ovulation, I can feel the drop in hormonal hornyness. A deep peaceful sigh and an internal awareness that Hurricane Horny has blown over. But I know she will re-appear next month.
Thus begins the next phase. What I call the Sure Darlin' Sweet and Meaningful phase. I love Delighted Husband just as much as always, and this phase allows me to savor him instead of gulping. I love being the sweet sacred place his heart and body go on vacation. I love receiving him. And here's where the sweet acceptance has made all the difference. I now know the joy of not trying for multiples when it's not hurricane season. I no longer lose my connection to him as I frantically try to make it happen. I just enjoy the dance. The invitation is always open. Delighted Husband knows he possesses my only Season Pass. So when he initiates lovemaking during this phase, I give him my biggest loving smile of Welcome Home. And I enjoy his loving invasion. Every. Single. Thrust. I have finally "gotten" the loving inner revelation of enjoying the journey without thinking about the destination. Now if you tell me that during Hurricane Horny, I'll tell you you're effing crazy! (laugh) Cause in the midst of that storm, I'm whispering, "Destination! Destination! Come home early, Destination!".
THAT'S being at peace with the ebb and flow.
God, I love being a woman.
-Sensuous Wife
For example.
During the armful of days leading up to ovulation, my sexual response cycle has a ravenous, saucy edge. Multiples are the norm and waiting with jagged breath for Delighted Husband to get home from work (he has a longer commute than me) is punctuated by hot text messages. Some with pictures. Love takes on a lusty hue. I don't objectify him. And all this heat happens in the context of lovingrespect. But I have to agree with my friend Dena when she calls the days leading up to and including ovulation as Wanton Woman Week.
The morning after ovulation, I can feel the drop in hormonal hornyness. A deep peaceful sigh and an internal awareness that Hurricane Horny has blown over. But I know she will re-appear next month.
Thus begins the next phase. What I call the Sure Darlin' Sweet and Meaningful phase. I love Delighted Husband just as much as always, and this phase allows me to savor him instead of gulping. I love being the sweet sacred place his heart and body go on vacation. I love receiving him. And here's where the sweet acceptance has made all the difference. I now know the joy of not trying for multiples when it's not hurricane season. I no longer lose my connection to him as I frantically try to make it happen. I just enjoy the dance. The invitation is always open. Delighted Husband knows he possesses my only Season Pass. So when he initiates lovemaking during this phase, I give him my biggest loving smile of Welcome Home. And I enjoy his loving invasion. Every. Single. Thrust. I have finally "gotten" the loving inner revelation of enjoying the journey without thinking about the destination. Now if you tell me that during Hurricane Horny, I'll tell you you're effing crazy! (laugh) Cause in the midst of that storm, I'm whispering, "Destination! Destination! Come home early, Destination!".
THAT'S being at peace with the ebb and flow.
God, I love being a woman.
-Sensuous Wife
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Scheduled Sex and Being Too Tired
I'm learning that saving time to be together is important and that you don't have to feel energetic and horny before you walk in the bedroom in order to have a beautiful pleasurable evening. Some of you have known this for years. For me, it's big news.
I knew Delighted Husband and I had saved this evening for each other. And on evenings we plan to be together, I usually save some mental and physical energy for him and deliberately think carnal thoughts all day in anticipation. But I didn't this last time. I had a good but busy day at work, had an emotionally uplifting lunch with my girlfriends, and had a challenging couple of hours helping the DC with their homework and coaching them through several tudes. By the end of the two hours, I felt wrung out like a sponge. I went to DH and said "I need skin to skin for a few minutes. I"m worn out." He was quick to oblige, as he had heard me calmly standing my ground with the children who were trying to turn "bitch moan and argue with mom" into an Olympic sport.
We locked ourselves in our room and quickly got naked for some cuddles. I sighed with comfort and pleasure as I nestled into his arms. "Remind me" I asked. And so he did. Delighted Husband gave me two or three sentences reminding me good things about myself. Words of affirmation and physical touch together are a powerful combination. I began to feel myself recharge, like a dead cell phone on a charger lighting up again. We cuddled and caressed each other and without trying, words spilled out of my mouth, complimenting him and loving on him. Reminding him what a wonderful man he was. Which took absolutely no effort to come up with affirming words considering how loving he had just shown himself to be.
This wasn't steamy talk by any means. Our skin-to-skin contact was for bonding and affirmation, not arousing. It was the "sharing your heart's life force" definition of Eros, not the "tingly thrilling do me" definition of Eros. Our fifteen minutes passed quickly and the doorbell ringing with the first trick or treaters told us our time was up.
I went to get dinner going and DH took over door duty with the trick or treaters.
Dinner was yummy and punctuated by doorbell ringing every few minutes. It was fun to chat with the neighbors, although difficult to eat between visitors, but what do we expect?
Finally got the DC tucked in after their sugar rush, and DH and I knew our "date" time had arrived. We were both tired and achy, but wanted to be together. Both of us said something to this effect while we were standing in the kitchen. We decided to go for it and see what God might do for us.
Walking in our bedroom and locking the door was an act of faith. We had zero tingly erotic urgency. Our muscles were tired and achy. But we felt emotionally connected and a desire to make the most of the opportunity. After all, we were in our bedroom at 9pm with kids already tucked in their own beds. Just watching TV or going to sleep would feel like we squandered an opportunity.
I suggested a massage and spread the liberator throe over the comforter to keep massage oil off the bed. After joking over whose turn it would be first, I laid down on my back with my knees supported by the liberator whirl. This is where the first of many miracles happened. It didn't take five minutes of smelling him and feeling him touch me that I was very aroused. As our arousal became more visible, we kept joking, "I'm too tired" "Oh me too. I'm way too tired." That position actually did become tiring for Delighted Husband so we switched so he could lie down with the whirl under his knees. I became the active pleasurer which I enjoyed very much. DH let me know how much pleasure he was receiving which of course made my heart feel that good feeling you get inside when you know somebody is enjoying the gift you gave them. It was also a huge turn-on. We warmed to the task. Delighted Husband became the active pleasurer again, while I rocked happily. He asked me to hand him a certain toy while he told me what he was about to do to me and how he knew I was going to respond. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Gazing into his eyes, I came in about 6 seconds, which surprized the heck out of both of us. How'd we do that? We're too tired!
After I caught my breath, we switched to our favorite finish position. Delighted Husband positioned me the way he wanted me, which is such a small simple thing, but I love that because it demonstrates our being relaxed and comfortable and his matter-of-fact intent to take me which is just such an emotional rush. I have no idea how long we made love because time stood still. Smiling into his eyes while watching my husband come is one of the sweetest spiritual and emotional experiences I've ever had. He is magnificent.
Once we came back down to earth, told each other it was time for a quick shower and then sleep, cause we really were tired. Shower was shared and quick with much grinning at each other. I happened to glance at the clock on my way back to bed from the shower. It was 9:30!
"Oh My God! Honey, look, soup to nuts this whole lovemaking was 30 minutes! Can you believe it?" To say we both thanked God would be putting it mildly. I thank God for the toy and pillows that helped us coax pleasure out of an evening when the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. I suspect that the DHA and EPA supplements I took for the last few days may have had something to do with my quick response. (I'm on The Orgasmic Diet which is another article). Most of all, I believe miracles still happen. Even in the marriage bed. I blame this miracle on our generous loving God rewarding our small act of faith of locking the door even though we were too tired. -SW
I knew Delighted Husband and I had saved this evening for each other. And on evenings we plan to be together, I usually save some mental and physical energy for him and deliberately think carnal thoughts all day in anticipation. But I didn't this last time. I had a good but busy day at work, had an emotionally uplifting lunch with my girlfriends, and had a challenging couple of hours helping the DC with their homework and coaching them through several tudes. By the end of the two hours, I felt wrung out like a sponge. I went to DH and said "I need skin to skin for a few minutes. I"m worn out." He was quick to oblige, as he had heard me calmly standing my ground with the children who were trying to turn "bitch moan and argue with mom" into an Olympic sport.
We locked ourselves in our room and quickly got naked for some cuddles. I sighed with comfort and pleasure as I nestled into his arms. "Remind me" I asked. And so he did. Delighted Husband gave me two or three sentences reminding me good things about myself. Words of affirmation and physical touch together are a powerful combination. I began to feel myself recharge, like a dead cell phone on a charger lighting up again. We cuddled and caressed each other and without trying, words spilled out of my mouth, complimenting him and loving on him. Reminding him what a wonderful man he was. Which took absolutely no effort to come up with affirming words considering how loving he had just shown himself to be.
This wasn't steamy talk by any means. Our skin-to-skin contact was for bonding and affirmation, not arousing. It was the "sharing your heart's life force" definition of Eros, not the "tingly thrilling do me" definition of Eros. Our fifteen minutes passed quickly and the doorbell ringing with the first trick or treaters told us our time was up.
I went to get dinner going and DH took over door duty with the trick or treaters.
Dinner was yummy and punctuated by doorbell ringing every few minutes. It was fun to chat with the neighbors, although difficult to eat between visitors, but what do we expect?
Finally got the DC tucked in after their sugar rush, and DH and I knew our "date" time had arrived. We were both tired and achy, but wanted to be together. Both of us said something to this effect while we were standing in the kitchen. We decided to go for it and see what God might do for us.
Walking in our bedroom and locking the door was an act of faith. We had zero tingly erotic urgency. Our muscles were tired and achy. But we felt emotionally connected and a desire to make the most of the opportunity. After all, we were in our bedroom at 9pm with kids already tucked in their own beds. Just watching TV or going to sleep would feel like we squandered an opportunity.
I suggested a massage and spread the liberator throe over the comforter to keep massage oil off the bed. After joking over whose turn it would be first, I laid down on my back with my knees supported by the liberator whirl. This is where the first of many miracles happened. It didn't take five minutes of smelling him and feeling him touch me that I was very aroused. As our arousal became more visible, we kept joking, "I'm too tired" "Oh me too. I'm way too tired." That position actually did become tiring for Delighted Husband so we switched so he could lie down with the whirl under his knees. I became the active pleasurer which I enjoyed very much. DH let me know how much pleasure he was receiving which of course made my heart feel that good feeling you get inside when you know somebody is enjoying the gift you gave them. It was also a huge turn-on. We warmed to the task. Delighted Husband became the active pleasurer again, while I rocked happily. He asked me to hand him a certain toy while he told me what he was about to do to me and how he knew I was going to respond. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Gazing into his eyes, I came in about 6 seconds, which surprized the heck out of both of us. How'd we do that? We're too tired!
After I caught my breath, we switched to our favorite finish position. Delighted Husband positioned me the way he wanted me, which is such a small simple thing, but I love that because it demonstrates our being relaxed and comfortable and his matter-of-fact intent to take me which is just such an emotional rush. I have no idea how long we made love because time stood still. Smiling into his eyes while watching my husband come is one of the sweetest spiritual and emotional experiences I've ever had. He is magnificent.
Once we came back down to earth, told each other it was time for a quick shower and then sleep, cause we really were tired. Shower was shared and quick with much grinning at each other. I happened to glance at the clock on my way back to bed from the shower. It was 9:30!
"Oh My God! Honey, look, soup to nuts this whole lovemaking was 30 minutes! Can you believe it?" To say we both thanked God would be putting it mildly. I thank God for the toy and pillows that helped us coax pleasure out of an evening when the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. I suspect that the DHA and EPA supplements I took for the last few days may have had something to do with my quick response. (I'm on The Orgasmic Diet which is another article). Most of all, I believe miracles still happen. Even in the marriage bed. I blame this miracle on our generous loving God rewarding our small act of faith of locking the door even though we were too tired. -SW
Sunday, October 21, 2007
For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful
There was an article here that I really liked. It was very raw and vulnerable and I had a hard time posting it because it was about me experiencing an episode of depression when I quit taking the full dose of medication. The article compared taking medication that God has provided so I can be healthy and whole and alive physically and emotionally.....and taking communion as a reminder of the atonement that God has provided for me so I can be spiritually healthy and whole.
If part of the healing God has provided for me is a maintenance dose of antidepressant, I need to be humble and grateful and take it. Who am I to send a plateful of healing back to the master chef asking for a smaller serving?
I went to edit the article to change just a teeny word or two. I wanted to copy and paste it to save it offline. When I shift-clicked to select the whole article, the whole thing dissapeared. And a split second later, blogger autosaved my newly emptied article. Oh the horror!
I could try to re-create the article and I think I will because I think it served as an important reminder that the lovely moments I post about here are not without cost. I don't live in a scot-free pink haze of joy and pleasure. But often, quite often, when I stick with the painful growth process, God surprizes me with joy so lush that I can't help but write about it. I am redeemed. and I can't shut up about it.
But I think it's important to show, even at my own vulnerable expense, that all joy has a cost. My deep hope is that all of you will pay the high cost of growing in your own lives and reap the joy. I want that so bad for all of you I can't tell you how much. Wiping tears as I type, SensuousWife
If part of the healing God has provided for me is a maintenance dose of antidepressant, I need to be humble and grateful and take it. Who am I to send a plateful of healing back to the master chef asking for a smaller serving?
I went to edit the article to change just a teeny word or two. I wanted to copy and paste it to save it offline. When I shift-clicked to select the whole article, the whole thing dissapeared. And a split second later, blogger autosaved my newly emptied article. Oh the horror!
I could try to re-create the article and I think I will because I think it served as an important reminder that the lovely moments I post about here are not without cost. I don't live in a scot-free pink haze of joy and pleasure. But often, quite often, when I stick with the painful growth process, God surprizes me with joy so lush that I can't help but write about it. I am redeemed. and I can't shut up about it.
But I think it's important to show, even at my own vulnerable expense, that all joy has a cost. My deep hope is that all of you will pay the high cost of growing in your own lives and reap the joy. I want that so bad for all of you I can't tell you how much. Wiping tears as I type, SensuousWife
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
I've been given so much
I've been given so much.
As I consider my life, I am astounded at the too-much grace of God.
I'm having one of those moments of clarity, y'all so please be my witnesses.
Life is good.
Life is immeasurably good because life is the gift of an immeasurably good God.
I have come to believe that the best way I can write a suitable thank you note to God is to live this life he gave me in such a way that I don't miss a morsel.
My life is filled with immeasurable sweetness.
The curly hair on my husband's head brushing my fingertips as I caress him for the millionth time.
The wind cupping my hair and cheek in a rushing caress as I race my children in a bicycle race.
The calm stately aliveness coursing through my posture as I stand erect arms outstretched chin lifted a smile hugging my face as I sing out my worship.
The pleasure on the faces of my family as I read to them.
The winking twinkle of delight in my brain as I learn something new.
The incomparable comfort of a friend's voice on the phone whether I am giving them my comfort or they are giving me theirs or both as usually happens.
The soul-deep gratitude for the afterglow of lovemaking, cherishing the feeling that for a few minutes every cell in our two bodies are lined up and doing exactly as they should be and that sweet awareness that every star and cell and planet in the world is dancing their known beautiful rhythm.
The sweet understanding that suffering will sometimes happen and that its purpose is to draw me to God, to nudge me into that sweet leaning on the everlasting arms.
The honoring humbling beautiful certainty that every choice I make counts and that I've been endowed with the power to offer beauty to the humans in my world.
Every folded towel
every lovely nourishing meal
every sharp word swallowed instead of spoken
every time my palm wraps around the cheek of someone I love, it matters. They all matter.
Every flower I coax out of the ground
every endless mess I sweep from my floor
every laundered and unshrunk outfit
every guest who feels welcomed and set free to make memories
every customer who is treated fairly and generously
every piece of paper that counted and filed and processed and administrated
every piece of jewelry selected and worn with a smile and a spring in my step
every sorrow I give to God on suffering bended knees or on fists clenched in outrage
it all matters.
Very very much.
Every phone call I do not answer so I can make love to my husband
Every phone call I answer holding the invisible hand of my girlfriend
Every hastily sent "i love u" text message
Every "bye darling" hollered as I walk out the kitchen door
Every "I'm sorry. I was wrong. Will you please forgive me?"
It all matters.
Very very much.
Every miraculous moment when the heroic grace of God bumps my mind out of the selfdestructive rut it sometimes finds itself
It matters.
And God Almighty is in every single one of these moments.
I talk alot about sex on this blog.
I talk alot about feelings and beauty and love.
Seen by itself, this blog isn't balanced.
Seen up against cnn, msnbc, foxnews and every grisly headline in every newspaper, this blog is my little pebble towards equal time and balance. When pebbles of grace outweigh boulders of despair, you know God has put his hand on the scale.
I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
As I consider my life, I am astounded at the too-much grace of God.
I'm having one of those moments of clarity, y'all so please be my witnesses.
Life is good.
Life is immeasurably good because life is the gift of an immeasurably good God.
I have come to believe that the best way I can write a suitable thank you note to God is to live this life he gave me in such a way that I don't miss a morsel.
My life is filled with immeasurable sweetness.
The curly hair on my husband's head brushing my fingertips as I caress him for the millionth time.
The wind cupping my hair and cheek in a rushing caress as I race my children in a bicycle race.
The calm stately aliveness coursing through my posture as I stand erect arms outstretched chin lifted a smile hugging my face as I sing out my worship.
The pleasure on the faces of my family as I read to them.
The winking twinkle of delight in my brain as I learn something new.
The incomparable comfort of a friend's voice on the phone whether I am giving them my comfort or they are giving me theirs or both as usually happens.
The soul-deep gratitude for the afterglow of lovemaking, cherishing the feeling that for a few minutes every cell in our two bodies are lined up and doing exactly as they should be and that sweet awareness that every star and cell and planet in the world is dancing their known beautiful rhythm.
The sweet understanding that suffering will sometimes happen and that its purpose is to draw me to God, to nudge me into that sweet leaning on the everlasting arms.
The honoring humbling beautiful certainty that every choice I make counts and that I've been endowed with the power to offer beauty to the humans in my world.
Every folded towel
every lovely nourishing meal
every sharp word swallowed instead of spoken
every time my palm wraps around the cheek of someone I love, it matters. They all matter.
Every flower I coax out of the ground
every endless mess I sweep from my floor
every laundered and unshrunk outfit
every guest who feels welcomed and set free to make memories
every customer who is treated fairly and generously
every piece of paper that counted and filed and processed and administrated
every piece of jewelry selected and worn with a smile and a spring in my step
every sorrow I give to God on suffering bended knees or on fists clenched in outrage
it all matters.
Very very much.
Every phone call I do not answer so I can make love to my husband
Every phone call I answer holding the invisible hand of my girlfriend
Every hastily sent "i love u" text message
Every "bye darling" hollered as I walk out the kitchen door
Every "I'm sorry. I was wrong. Will you please forgive me?"
It all matters.
Very very much.
Every miraculous moment when the heroic grace of God bumps my mind out of the selfdestructive rut it sometimes finds itself
It matters.
And God Almighty is in every single one of these moments.
I talk alot about sex on this blog.
I talk alot about feelings and beauty and love.
Seen by itself, this blog isn't balanced.
Seen up against cnn, msnbc, foxnews and every grisly headline in every newspaper, this blog is my little pebble towards equal time and balance. When pebbles of grace outweigh boulders of despair, you know God has put his hand on the scale.
I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Allies Til Death, Part Two
for I have said before that you are in our hearts to die together and to live together.
2 Corinthians 7:1-4 "1 Therefore, having these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God. 2 Make room for us in your hearts; we wronged no one, we corrupted no one, we took advantage of no one. 3 I do not speak to condemn you, for I have said before that you are in our hearts to die together and to live together. 4 Great is my confidence in you; great is my boasting on your behalf. I am filled with comfort; I am overflowing with joy in all our affliction."
What does this have to do with marriage?
Plenty.
Who else? Above all other humans, who else? In all relationships in my life, none other should characterize this kind of supercharged dedication more than my relationship with Delighted Husband.
So lemme just say it right here and now: "Baby, you are in my heart to live together and to die together. I choose you above all other humans. We are Allies Till Death."
This is where the sweet abandon in the bedroom comes from. We don't just like each other. We're not just attracted to each other. We don't just tolerate each other. We don't just love each other. We are allies till death. This kind of supercharged dedication is the mattress we rest and play on. This is where nudity becomes the sacred naked. When each touch, every whispered scream, each sensation is an affirmation and celebration of our alliance, that's when God's glory falls all around us, turning our bedroom into a cathedral built for two. -SW
2 Corinthians 7:1-4 "1 Therefore, having these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God. 2 Make room for us in your hearts; we wronged no one, we corrupted no one, we took advantage of no one. 3 I do not speak to condemn you, for I have said before that you are in our hearts to die together and to live together. 4 Great is my confidence in you; great is my boasting on your behalf. I am filled with comfort; I am overflowing with joy in all our affliction."
What does this have to do with marriage?
Plenty.
Who else? Above all other humans, who else? In all relationships in my life, none other should characterize this kind of supercharged dedication more than my relationship with Delighted Husband.
So lemme just say it right here and now: "Baby, you are in my heart to live together and to die together. I choose you above all other humans. We are Allies Till Death."
This is where the sweet abandon in the bedroom comes from. We don't just like each other. We're not just attracted to each other. We don't just tolerate each other. We don't just love each other. We are allies till death. This kind of supercharged dedication is the mattress we rest and play on. This is where nudity becomes the sacred naked. When each touch, every whispered scream, each sensation is an affirmation and celebration of our alliance, that's when God's glory falls all around us, turning our bedroom into a cathedral built for two. -SW
Monday, June 4, 2007
Art and the human spirit
Back from Austin and while I don't have time to give you the whole enchilada (or margarita!) I wanted to mention two works of art that really moved me while I was in Austin.
The first, a group of sculptures at Umlauf Sculpture Gallery.
The second was this amazing novel Love and Honor.
Both really really beautiful. I actually had tears in my eyes at this sculpture. They are SO in love and their mouths and pelvises are literally fused.
More later.
I just wanted to get this out there because now I'll have to finish it even if I get busy.
It was a soul-nourishing experience interacting with these artists' works.
More later.-SW
The first, a group of sculptures at Umlauf Sculpture Gallery.
The second was this amazing novel Love and Honor.
Both really really beautiful. I actually had tears in my eyes at this sculpture. They are SO in love and their mouths and pelvises are literally fused.
More later.
I just wanted to get this out there because now I'll have to finish it even if I get busy.
It was a soul-nourishing experience interacting with these artists' works.
More later.-SW
Monday, May 28, 2007
Travelblog....Austin, Texas
I've always wanted to do this. And here I am blogging by a hotel pool.
I love the idea of of being in this picture. Dear Child cavorts in the pool. Delighted Husband schmoozes his clients, and I lounge in a chaise, my laptop anchored on a snowy towel in my lap. The technological life of Riley. Right? Except the screen is difficult to see and the keyboard is getting hot!Reality never quite measures up to fantasy does it? What am I talking about? Of course if does sometimes! But I digress. How about I just tell you what I was going to tell you about the fun we're having in Austin?
We initially stayed at Hotel A which promised a suite and gave us a tiny room with a token 1/3 wall separating the bedroom from the living room. The living room where Dear Child is supposed to sleep. Privacy? What a crock. Our bed is about 2 feet from the sofabed. Hello. That's not privacy. It's too bad too, because the bed is a puffy cloud of a bed. With a full length mirror directly across from it. I was *really* looking forward to making and viewing some hot little love scenes in that mirror but it was not to be. Dear Child drank too much caffeine soda pop (cause we're on vacation!) and the beloved little darling could*not* go to sleep. I called in the reinforcements by asking my girlfriend to pray and lo and behold Hotel B presents itself. When Hotel B says suite they mean sweet. A separate bedroom with a wall full of mirrors. Booya!
I love the idea of of being in this picture. Dear Child cavorts in the pool. Delighted Husband schmoozes his clients, and I lounge in a chaise, my laptop anchored on a snowy towel in my lap. The technological life of Riley. Right? Except the screen is difficult to see and the keyboard is getting hot!
We initially stayed at Hotel A which promised a suite and gave us a tiny room with a token 1/3 wall separating the bedroom from the living room. The living room where Dear Child is supposed to sleep. Privacy? What a crock. Our bed is about 2 feet from the sofabed. Hello. That's not privacy. It's too bad too, because the bed is a puffy cloud of a bed. With a full length mirror directly across from it. I was *really* looking forward to making and viewing some hot little love scenes in that mirror but it was not to be. Dear Child drank too much caffeine soda pop (cause we're on vacation!) and the beloved little darling could*not* go to sleep. I called in the reinforcements by asking my girlfriend to pray and lo and behold Hotel B presents itself. When Hotel B says suite they mean sweet. A separate bedroom with a wall full of mirrors. Booya!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
We're Busy
storms throw tantrums all around us
sharp rain slaps our faces blends tears
already there
no peace
elusive comfort a bird that can't be caught
we stagger into love
a grass hut made of blended bodies
warm palm cradles my head
soothes me like a child
other hand delights my breast
awakens adores
distracting pleasure
makes rain possible to ignore
pleasure fills my senses
tells pain to wait in line
we're busy.
sharp rain slaps our faces blends tears
already there
no peace
elusive comfort a bird that can't be caught
we stagger into love
a grass hut made of blended bodies
warm palm cradles my head
soothes me like a child
other hand delights my breast
awakens adores
distracting pleasure
makes rain possible to ignore
pleasure fills my senses
tells pain to wait in line
we're busy.
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