source: deviantART.com


I don’t know what the popular terms are in the rest of the world but, down here on Africa’s southern tip, there’s only one word to describe that peculiar feeling that you get in the southern tip of your own body: Salt. In my mother tongue, it’s ‘letswai‘. And that feeling, if I must be crude, is horniness.

source: deviantART.com
Intimacy by KatersArt (c)

As a mother, a wife and a woman in general, I know it all too well. It’s that feeling that makes you want ‘things’ (ahem) in a way that you think you can’t have them because of the titles, the roles, the ‘what’ of who you now are.

Personally, I’ve always considered myself to be a sensual being. Always been that ride-or-die chick when it comes to bedroom matters; but life has an uncanny way of throwing all manner of spanners in our respective works.

Where I once couldn’t possibly get enough, the line that separates “too much” from “not enough” suddenly seems a whole lot closer and finer than I remember it to be. The physical dexterity that I once prided myself on has given way to a tired old-lady shuffle and a comfortable, almost involuntary proneness to bending over to asssume the ‘toy-pick-up’ position – whether it’s appropriate or not.

For me, that’s the case most of the time. But every once in a while – the mood takes you, the feeling strikes you, and you must be attended to. Immediately.

I grew up raised by a single (and, might I add, successful) mom. I saw her do and achieve things that I only now know to be extremely difficult on your own. And, although she was not the one who taught it to me, from the time that I discovered my body, I had always been one for seeing to my own physical needs. Yet since getting married, it just doesn’t seem to hold the same allure anymore. I can’t recount how many times I’ve had the stimuli but not the will (and I do mean all sorts of stimuli). It used to be cool for me to just satisfy myself because I had an itch that needed to be scratched. But, add the pesky details of a life-time commitment, bearing a child and raising a family – then suddenly everything changes. Suddenly I’m concerned about love, feeling, depth, meaning. Hello…? When did I ever need a good, solid ‘romp in the hay’ to mean anything?!?

Suddenly I care how I look under the harsh light of a tungsten bulb… Suddenly it matters that I’ve gained a few kilograms or have a couple more stretch marks… It means something to me that he fell asleep within minutes of arriving home, and I feel I can’t be responsible for tiring him out any further because I know the effect it’ll have on the rest of his week too.

I think, feel and do for him because it’s what marriage is. I take myself and fold myself into a neat, unobtrusive package because there are times when that is what’s best.

But not right now. Right now my husband is fast asleep. Content. Not worried about a thing. And here I am… horny as hell, writing this post and contemplating rounding this off with some futile attempt at self-gratification. Why? Because right now I don’t need a husband; I need a salt-shaker. A shaker to just shake the sh*t outta me! More to the point, I know that there will be no more shakers in my future. My days of indiscriminate shaking  are over and all that’s left is love, feeling, depth, meaning…

I’m cool with that.

All I really want is to have someone that’ll love and feel me with the depth and meaning that I need from a life partner and still shake that salt all over me (real vigorous and unsentimental-like) when I ask or really need it. I know I already have that… just plucking up the courage to tell him so.

Image: KatersArt (c)


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