I wake up naked and alone. Flicking my hair over my shoulder so it tickles my back, I smile at myself in the mirror. ‘Morning Sexy’, says the voice from nowhere. I sit up facing my reflection before angling myself into a pose that makes my nipples point upward, bringing my arm in and pushing my breasts together like a pin up would.
How long can you go without having sex, does talking or thinking about it count. Must I continually look for a sleeping outline each morning … will I ever have morning sex again?
I once made a video to The Girl from Ipanema where I am wearing a Stella McCartney lace negligee. I say nothing. I slowly – very slowly, pass the camera down my body. As it comes back up I highlight my hourglass curves and linger a little for emphasis – ‘each one she passes goes ahhhh!’. I’m no model or actress so as the camera returns I blush, giggle and cover my face in embarrassment. He knows. Drop everything and come home. That day he made it home within the hour. Early the next morning I dangle the negligee across his face, it tickles his nose, he wakes up smiling, he slides a hand under me and flips me over.
I am still looking at my naked image. I am still thinking about morning sex. The Girl from Ipanema was too busy to realise that someone watched each day, that someone out there was in love with her. Could someone be watching me too, watching me walk by, am I too caught up in my thoughts to see? From sex to sax my thoughts turn.
** Tried desperately to find a black model/ brown model/ slightly tanned model wearing stella mccartney … no dice … really? snooze fest in this day and age! **