Slowly Touching Myself: My Morning Ritual

My morning ritual starts as soon as I stir. 

Every morning when I wake up, I take the time to run my fingers over my body. Sensual caressing and pure indulgence. I set my alarm early so I have the extra time I need for some self-love. Slowly touching myself makes me feel amazing. It really is the best way to start my day. And you know what? It doesn’t matter if I’m in bed with my lover or alone. It always starts the same way, unless I have a head between my legs… and even then, I touch my body in ways only I myself can. I KNOW my own body. I know what it needs and what I crave. Soft and slow sensual touch.

It’s that slow, sensual touch that will bring me to orgasm. The only competitor is a gentle tongue that knows a woman’s body and an owner who is prepared to listen. Yet, unfortunately, not all men listen. 

I hear my body… I know what works, and I get goosebumps as I explore it. My hands running over my breasts, the curve of my waist, skimming down my ribcage, and brushing gently over my stomach. I can spend what seems like hours doing just that. And I haven’t even touched between my legs…

You see, it’s all about slowly touching myself. 

Taking the time to explore every inch of my body. I arch my back as I moan softly. Before long, my areolas tighten, and my nipples start to get hard. There’s no denying my arousal as I moan softly with each touch. I’m lost in the moment, and there’s no “one thing” that I need to think about to get to this point. Although sometimes I do… my little secret fantasies or perhaps the long, lingering kiss I had last night.

All I know is that I cannot leave my bed until I climax. I’m starting to get breathless as my hands caress my hips and brush gently over my mound. My legs are now a little open, and I run my fingertips along my inner thighs. Slowly touching myself until I feel that sacred, sexy place. The softness of my labia is so smooth and now puffy, slightly parted. I gasp a little and run my middle finger along the wet slick of my slit.

Oh, I want this. I NEED this. 

I open my legs a little more and find my sweet clitoris. Already swelling and glorious, I gently swirl my finger… slo,w sensual circles. Now and then, the intensity is too much, and I have to ease off. It’s an art, and when you know what to do with that finger – or tongue – it’s a beautiful thing. 

I’m slowly touching myself, and my leg starts to shake. 

My toes start to curl, and I know there’s no going back. I feel a magnet pulling down through me into the pit of my stomach, and I feel like I might pass out. So intense is the feeling that I sometimes think I might stop breathing. And then it happens. Muscles spasm, words flood from my mouth. Profanity and exclamations as a firehose of juice squirts out of my little love box. I lay there awash with emotion and liquid nectar.

Minutes pass before I’m able to catch my breath. Sated and exhausted, I stay a moment to enjoy the post-coital glow of my self-indulgence. My lover may or may not be there. He may be sleeping, in the shower, or perhaps joining me in mutual exploration, but either way, my body thanks me for it. 

Rejuvenated, I feel the rain of the hot shower envelope me as I gently wash my still-sensitive body. My swollen lips, delicate to the touch. I have never felt more beautiful, more womanly, more sexy. More ready for my next passionate encounter.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t spend time slowly touching myself. Now tell me how that turns you on. Because I know it does.

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