A Sunday Morning Kind of Love (not poetry)

I wake to a day free from chores and to-dos. A day perfect for that Sunday morning kind of love. Where whispered ‘good morning’ leads to a few slow kisses interspersed by solutions to a few of the worlds problems; discussions of dreams leave no fantastical stone un-turned.  Laughter and smiles are easy to come by and so sexy, that they are almost love-making in themselves.

Sunday morning brings about the kind of love where fingertips play chase, skin is rubbed for the pleasure of touch and feel. The kind of love where he takes his sweet time visiting his favorite parts of my body and not even my “oooohhh baby, that feels so good” will hasten his exploration.

That Sunday morning kind of love where hearts beat stronger not faster the more our need for each other increases.

Its that, take our time, making love with our minds first, kind of morning. The kind where by the time he slides into my body we’ve both already gotten off on just being together. Where the joining of our bodies is the effect joining our souls caused.

Its still exquisite pleasure, that Sunday kind of love. Where release cums from Tantric pacing, the tempo dictated by the rhythms of old school slow jams. Backs arch, hips rise and fall for hours because the conversation takes precedence making the body feel the need over and over.  Where morning blends to afternoon with little notice.

This is when real love is made and bonds between lovers are formed. This is why I wake alone on Sunday mornings, waiting for the one whose presence in my life is foreplay to that Sunday morning kind of love.

(this brief posting is courtesy of Ana Michaels.  It represents our growing sensual nature that’s more about establishing mental / spiritual connections before the body becomes involved.  That is quite a departure from her original take on sex and sensuality.  I’m glad she’s moving in that direction as casual sex was never my forte.)

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