Kissing is not enough
It’s been a long day. I feel completely disconnected from my body and there is a list a mile long formulating in my head of all the things I need to do.
I haven’t seen my husband in a week. I am longing for him. There’s an ache in my heart — and in my pussy. But the mind chatter is constant. I wish it would stop for just a moment so I can be present.
We start kissing — slowly, intentionally — his hand cupping my face. It should feel good, I mean it does feel good, but I also feel a million miles away.
I’m thinking about my son’s head and the fact I saw him itching it earlier, along with the comment my husband made about our son saying he has eggs in his head.
Did he pick up head lice on our trip away?
I slept with him every night, is my head itchy?
God, if he does have head lice, I’m gonna have to check his sisters hair, treat the whole family, and wash all the bed linen.
Oh that’s right, we’re meant to be getting in the mood.
These kisses feel nice, but, oh I’ve got an itch. Shit.
I’m trying really hard to be in the moment. I’m trying to pay close attention to the warmth of his tongue on mine, his hand in my hair. I try tracing my fingers over his biceps and arching my neck back — exposing my neck to him. His mouth moves to my neck — soft, small licks on the nape of my neck and across my collar bones — this is usually my go to spot. I can orgasm from neck kisses alone, my body pulsing and contracting like the swells of the ocean…
but not tonight.
I just can’t get the idea of head lice out of my head and kissing is not enough.
I notice what’s happening. I need to get out of my head and back into my body. I can’t think my way into pleasure and connection.
I ask him to touch me — slowly, deliberately, without expectation.
I need touch that moves me away from my head and further down my body.
He starts slowly, gently, almost like a tickle. Running his fingers down my arms, my torso, my thighs. Within seconds, I am following his touch with my mind. Noticing where he touches me, how softly, where it triggers a response from me.
My body starts waving. I can feel the sexual energy awakening and coursing through my body.
My legs part — an invitation.
My pussy is aching for his touch. I’m surpised at how fast I got here. A few minutes ago I was planning the whole fumigation and elimination process for head lice, and now, I am begging for him to be inside me.
And this is something I wish more people talked about.
Because we’re sold this idea that desire should just appear out of nowhere — spontaneous, fiery, effortless. Like we’re supposed to be instantly horny the moment our partner touches us.
But for so many of us — women especially, but honestly men too — desire is responsive.
It wakes up because we start.
Which means sometimes “not in the mood” isn’t actually a no — it’s just a not yet.
And if we always wait to feel turned on before we begin, we might never begin at all.
Sometimes that looks like the simplest thing: kicking off the blankets, lying naked, and asking my husband to just touch me. No agenda. No performance. Just skin on skin.
His hands on my bare body bring me down out of my head.
My body starts to wake.
His body wakes too as he glides his hands over my curves, watching my breath deepen and slow. The visual stimulation and physical touch bringing us both into the present moment and allowing us to feel pleasure.
And before long, the energy is moving between us like a current.
Not forced.
Just… activated,
responsive.
Sometimes, all we need is to move attention away from our minds. To surrender to touch, to sensation, to presence. And when we do, even a distracted, chaotic day — potentially filled with head lice — can be transformed into connection.
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With love,
Bryony