52 Baby!

It’s two in the morning and suddenly, I’m ravenous. I stand at the kitchen counter over a tub of artichoke dip piling some into my mouth with the remnants of a bowl of tortilla chips, a leftover party favor from my very recent party of two. Only moments before, the other half of my party walking out the door after a five hour makeout session. 52 baby. These teens got nothin’ on us. Seriously, when is the last time that you made out for hours upon hours, breaking only for the occasional sip of water or race to the bedroom? Did I mention 52?

The skin on my chin feels raw, my lips swollen, but I don’t mind a bit. In fact, it puts a smile on my face, remembering the night before…his hands, my hands, hips, arms, face, hair, kissing. Oh man, is there anything better than when two people meet in the middle of a good kiss? Sweet, sexy, passionate, playful, there’s nothing better than a good kiss with a well-matched player. Those teens wouldn’t even know what to do with that. 52 years of practice: knowing, sensing, connecting. 52 years of wisdom, experience, being in the moment-no thoughts, just being in the moment.

The endorphins are still coursing through my body, so grateful for the time to just be me. Not a mother or a woman with bills and responsibilities, just space and time to be me. To connect. To play. To feel like a teenager again. Only better. So much better. His tall muscular frame enveloping me in his arms. His deep sexy voice. That couch got a healthy dose of makeout olympics and we just won the frickin’ gold medal. No one existed outside of our party of two and that’s just the way I like it. Mmm, there they go again, those endorphins coursing through my body, tacked on to my sleep-induced hangover after night two of our 2:00 A.M. closing time rendezvous.

It’s a good morning. Sun bright, house quiet, body relaxed, brain calm. Who needs church when you have the memories of party of two to elevate you higher? Hallelujah! Amen.