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There’s no sense in teasing anymore. I’m a big girl now. Now I can have what I really want. He gently pats my body dry and I lean my backside against the vanity, allowing my legs to open slightly, tentatively, just enough to reignite his carnal interest in the heat rising between them.

He hasn’t even kissed me, or touched me in a way that is overtly sexual– and yet, I am on fire… engorged with want. If he made a move to have me right here and now, even against the bathroom countertop, I would be helpless to stop him in this condition.

Wrapped in a white terry robe, I rest on the edge of the turned-down bed, watching him sift through the shopping bags, pulling out the items he bought for me to wear: soft, white cotton bikini panties with a matching camisole  with lace edging at the bodice and delicate spaghetti straps.

In an attempt at modesty, that seems laughable, after all he has just seen– I step into the bathroom to slip into the outfit. I leave the door ajar, knowing perfectly well that he can still see a sliver of my reflection in the wall mirror adjacent to where I stand. The thought pleases me in ways I can’t explain.

I’ve never been with someone like this. I’ve had my share of boyfriends, for sure, and a few of them older, yes, but no one like Rick. I spent a good deal of my leisure time at college trying (and failing) to satisfy my restless libido with late night partying and one night stands, alternating between occasional attempts at “real” relationships with these boys, who were merely leaning toward manhood. But this. This is different.

Truth be told, I’ve had a steady boyfriend for the past year. Or I did… I should say. It got pretty serious. We even considered moving in together. But the more we talked about a permanent arrangement, the more restless and unsettled I began to feel. I became overly critical of Jeremy’s little quirks that in the beginning I found endearing. I became suddenly more uncertain that he was “the one”. Last weekend we had a long, serious discussion, which ended with me asking him for space. Time, I said…to think things over.

If I am honest with myself, though, I know the Jeremy is not the right guy for me. We are good friends, but he doesn’t make me feel excited like this. He has never made my every nerve ending tingle with pleasure, the way I’ve always read about in romantic novels.

His lovemaking although vigorous, is ultimately lackluster, leaving me  with a sense of something missing.  I see our sex life as an extension of our affection for one another, but not nearly enough to quench this craving for passion. Yes, passion. That is what  I’m missing. I want to feel a man’s passion. I want to feel adored in (and out of) bed. Maybe even worshipped. Like a sexy goddess. And that’s exactly how I feel right now.

He offers a pale pink silk kimono through the crack in the door and I drape it over the ensemble. He has thought of everything, even including toiletries and a new toothbrush in the bottom of the bag. I am surprised, yet amused at his confidence, retrieving a large, expensive wooden hairbrush and running it through my damp hair, a smile of quiet satisfaction on my lips.

To be continued…

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