Sadie says… Nooners
This is a little matted image that sits on my window sill in front of my computer ~
I received it as a gift from Rosie Q. last year and I allow it to tease me daily about the fact that I haven’t had the decadent pleasure of a nooner in I don’t know how long.
But in my active, pervy little mind I occasionally recall the afternoon delights of my past, and hope against hope that in my nearest of futures I might be graced with the opportunity for another mid-day treat.
I had a date last week. It was one of those dates that made me feel both like a grown up and a teenager in the span of a small handful of hours. Dinner and drinks? Grownup. Emotionally intelligent, lively yet circumspect discussions about sex and relationships? Very grownup. Later finding myself on a couch making out full-fucking-tilt with a guy whose eyes when only half open scream sexy because he is so very aroused and perhaps even a little tipsy, and how they almost glow, glow for god’s sake, after he’s just said something to me in a whisper about Consuming. Me. Up?
I was transported to that time long ago when I cared about my makeup being kissed off my face, about the transparency the result would allow. But that night I didn’t give a shit. See me, I asked him soundlessly. I wanted nothing more than to be witnessed. And I was. Together we observed with frantic, frenetic, seeking hands. Hands that searched the smalls of backs and napes of necks and strands of hair. Lips found noses and chins and shoulders, fingers and collarbones and tummies and chests. For hours they searched.
Little treasures we discovered all along the way. Every bit of shell plucked from the sand as if from the hands of children. Teenagers. Until it was time for me to go home, clothes still on. Eroticism at its peak.
So really? Who needs nooners when there’s the innocence of that new discovery?
Well, me. But I am sure I will get back there eventually. No rush.
Growing up? It’s a process, after all.