Dear me… two glasses of red and i’m feeling warm and tactile…
When I feel clean and warm and dry when i’m in fresh clothes and recently showered I enjoy sweeping my hands across the skin that covers my hips and waist. The area of fat that gently swells over my pelvis that’s streaked with translucent strands of cellulite and pokes out inappropriately when i bend over- the not quite right area- well, it feels kinda good.
I guess its like my stomach- never going to win any prizes for muscularity or beauty, but feels good to the touch. Soft and giving. At odds with the lack of stereotypical femininity I suppose; the softer reality of what I try and be, the failure.
It’s not failure of course, nor is it weakness; it’s just a part of me that needs a little attention and acceptance. So I can say I don’t think my fat is overly bad and that I quite like the feel of it (if not the look); I enjoy the feel of my body pretty much from my head to my toes. As long as I am able to move and feel I will always carry with me something that will comfort. Hooray.
Two glasses… I’m a cheap date as everyone knows…
Due to my alcohol consumption i’ve come to the conclusion that i’ve not been doing enough kissing of late. I mean “proper” kissing, where you delight in the texture and pressure and variety of sensations lips can produce. Deep or shallow, light or rough, one lip or t’other etc etc. I’m always so surprised when I receive a passing kiss i’ve barely time to reciprocate…
I suppose i’m just lacking the passionate kiss, the kiss where you ignore whatever is going on around you and your partner, where you close your eyes and take deep breaths and take in the smell of the warm body pressing against you.
It’s different from sex- it’s different intimacy-wise I suppose. Two glasses of wine and i’m all “woe is me” because I get the feeling that I need to be kissed… dork-o-rama. Of course, I don’t just want the kissing- I want the fingers through my hair and fingers gently sliding across my hips…
Woe is me…
