Image via Mango Falls Vintage Photos

For my money there’s nothing quite like afternoon sex.

My libidinous urges tend to reach their peak after lunch. The Man of Mans and I both work during the week – we are rarely available to each other. I’m often left to my own devices…literally.

I’ve read articles in women’s magazines that recommend I resist the urge relieve my tea time arousal. I should let it simmer, while I send my partner suggestive communiqués about what’s in store when he gets home. This strategy seldom works for me.

My excitement doesn’t percolate. Rather it  boils away as the day progress and I’m left feeling slightly cranky. I don’t like to squander my opportunities for orgasm.

These days work and childrearing mean that partner sex usually happens at night. My body sometimes needs a little more prodding, or more acurately, a little more fondling. Fortunately I’ve married a generous man who, after fifteen years together, know me and my body very well.

But there was a time.

There was a time when we were young students, pressed together on slender dorm room cot and I let my 3 o’clock poli sci lecture fall to the bottom of priority list the moment he kissed me.

There was a time when Sundays didn’t start until eleven o’clock brunch, followed by a walk if the weather was nice. We would come home and veg on the couch. There was always snuggling…and often more.

There was a time when our son was an infant and we both worked from home. The baby took long afternoon naps, time that was frequently used to catch up on chores or sleep. But some days we’d simply sprawl in bed. I would relish in the feeling of sun and touch on my skin and the reassurance that yes, I could still be desired in my new role as a mother.

I love my family and my work. Sometimes the associated time constraints are less than ideal, but they’re a price I’m willing to pay. And self-sex is good enough that it might warrant a nostalgic post of its own, someday.

Someday there may not be as much work for me to do. My son is growing. Someday he won’t need or want his parents so much. The Man of Mans and I will no doubt lament the loss of the demaning little boy who commands so much attention and demands kisses, hugs and other tactile affection. But (fate willing) we will have each other. And I will no doubt seek comfort in the renewed pleasures of afternoon sex.