True Love

Now, where did we leave off? What were we talking about last we met? Right, tied up in hotel sheets and enjoying all that is gratuitous sex… with the one you love.

Love? Miss Nina, did you just utter a four letter word? Kiddies, it’s true. Miss Nina has stumbled across, tripped over, been smacked in the face with a glee that can only be found with true love.

Now, you may ask, does this mean we won’t get to hear any more tawdry tales of sexual misadventure? Why heavens no. For Miss Nina hasn’t fallen in love with a white bread partner, no siree, not at all. I can surmise that the tales may get more sordid and one may want to tell small children, if reading, to look away.

Wait, that last thought begs a further thought… why in the hell are small children reading lusty tales? Gentle reader, are you some sort of new-age parent educating your children on the strengths of sexual liberation through a refined stiletto strut? Or are you parents so shy you can’t talk about birds and bees without blushing, so you’ll let Miss Nina do the educating and save you from having that talk? No matter, I’m not ageist, or sexist, or even a parent, so as long as people are reading, and trying, and doing I’m a happy girl. Right, happy… that’s where we left off. Let’s nip that parental lecture in the bud and set our sites back on track; the love track.

I find myself in a decadent kind of love. A love that’s sensitive to all my inner needs, a love that satisfies my softness, yet is firm enough to take control. A kind of love that has me wandering the streets muttering to myself or humming sweet love songs in the grocery isles. For heavens sake, my gleeful heart even caught me off guard the other day and before I knew it I was hugging my mother. Apparently I’m bursting with excess love and may pop if I don’t spread the joy about. Dear lord, what has become of me?

I know, I know, I can hear your groans from here, and I’m telling you my darlings, your groans are not music to my ears—I promise, I will not leave you. You fear that I’ll become dull and boring. That my ankles will no longer rise to Jesus. That my knees won’t be up around my ears. That I won’t be riding, grinding, or gyrating the nights away. Have no fear; your sex kitten is here. I am neither suburban nor missionary and could never be happy with routine. I promise to never fall prey to the sexual monotony of long term love.

Hey, you never know, maybe my new tales will become educational. I may begin to regale you with ways to dirty those clean white matrimonial sheets. Ways to fluff your pillows just so to create the perfect arch in your back, or ways to present yourself so that all your angles are your best angles. But, you must remember sweet dears, the tales I tell will be told from my side of the bed only. Miss Nina is a lady, and as I said last month, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell. I intend to treat this love like a fine pair of French milled stockings… with care.

This pussy cat’s in heat. So, if you see a sultry sex kitten walking down the street strutting in her stilettos and wearing a silly grin, rest assured, it’s me. I’m okay. I’m better than okay. Your resident sex kitten is out amongst her pride flicking her tail in the air for all to see.

Love, sweet love, look what you’ve made of me.

Nina O'Keefe gives good read. Check out Nina's previous articles: