Seeking an Orgasmic Life
FREE TO DO WHAT I WANT?
After leaping around the living room naked, (apart from the socks), boobs akimbo, cat joining in and skating between my feet on the laminate flooring, I sink onto the sofa.
Worn out. From all the leaping.
Yes, ok, I say to Rex, who looks back at me from her understanding eyes, I have the freedom, but I’m exhausted. A full-time job to pay a now massive mortgage, plus two nearly teenage kids, I really don’t have time, or energy, to search for sexual fulfilment. From the little I know, Tantric sex sounds like a time consuming business, with lots of omming and meditation before you get down to business. Anyway, I was always rubbish at picking up men. Terrified, totally lacking in confidence and completely inept at flirting – didn’t even understand what the word meant. That was in my twenties. Ha, how was I going to get on in my forties, the beauty of youth I had taken for granted now no longer on my side?
I take off my baggy jumper which I wear to hide the fuller figure I never got used to. Underneath I’m wearing a M&S vest ‘with built in support’. The moulded cups don’t exactly fit my breasts, so I appear to have two sets of boobs instead of just the one. I have four of these tops, I wear one every day. I slip off my shoes, a pair of sturdy tan Clarkes that have lasted me ten years, then unbutton my jeans. I wriggle my hips to slide them off and step out of my trousers, socks still on. My calves are the only part of my body that didn’t expand after I had a child; now they look spindly beneath my broad thighs. I pull my vest over my head and drop it on the floor. I look better bare-chested. I don’t actually have two set of breasts, just the one. I cup my breasts in my hands and squeeze. The thing is, since my husband left, my libido has returned. Not a gentle nudge, a light rekindling of a flame: no. Rather, a voracious tornado, whipping me up into a frenzy of longing.
” Longing to be kissed, to be teased, to be turned on and touched – very, very slowly. ”
It’s as though all the sexual desire I could have experienced over the last five years has been stored up and now my body has decided it’s safe to let it out…
You get into habits, without even noticing. I’d stopped wearing proper bras years ago and settled for the comfort of a ‘vest with support’ which conveniently covered my baby belly too. Clothes for hiding in do you no favours. I pick up the phone and make an appointment at M&S for a bra fitting, then I open my underwear drawer. All offending items are thrown into a pile on the floor, then it’s on to knickers. What a grim selection. I pull out a pair of pants that have faded from black to grey – in patches. The lace trimming has detached from one side and hangs .It’s ok to throw things away, I tell myself. Anything kept solely for that time of the month goes in the bin. I don’t venture into the bottom drawer, that’s a whole other kettle of fish and I am not ready to go there yet.
M&S underwear, I discover, has come a long way since I last visited.
Silk and French lace have found their way into the aisles of peach shapewear and cotton-rich high-waist pants. I leave wearing a Rosie for Autograph lace body and a bag full of silk Brazilian panties and push-up bras. I feel better. I look better: instantly. Every day from today, even though no one but me and Rex see, I will be wearing beautiful lingerie which I love, no rips, fading or loose threads.
Want new chapters before they get published?
Any questions or stories of your own?