“Go straight to the bedroom. Make yourself comfortable gorgeous, I’m fixing you a drink.”

I texted, as I slipped into the shadows of the darkened kitchen. “Bloody hell!” My husband was home early, and he’d caught me in the midst of the finishing touches to my “welcome home darling” handiwork.

Not ten minutes earlier, I had been attending to the seams of my come hither silky black stockings, lighting “everything looks better in candlelight” candles and gathering ingredients to make a delicious love potion (Dutch courage) before my phone alerted me that his plane had landed earlier than expected and my king was on en route to the castle.

My text delay tactic was a success, and he wordlessly took the hallway route directly to the bedroom, beautifully avoiding the slight scramble playing out in the kitchen. Having bought myself a few extra minutes, I returned to my preparations and to my Dutch courage.

I took a languid sip from my most lovingly crafted libation and smiled. “Damn that tasted good.” Casting aside my slippers, I eased my stocking feet into a pair of appropriately teetering stiletto heels. Another sip, another smile as I pressed the play button to release the strains of The Black Keys into the room.

I’d spent considerable time that day performing a mental scan of oh so many artists, oh so many songs, to choose the perfect playlist for my head fantasy. Another sip, another smile as I rewound the day and reflected on how this present moment had come to be.

It had all begun that morning, after school drop-off and on my way to the gym when the provocative rhythm of “Psychotic Girl” by The Black Keys came on the radio.

I’d had a week of solo parenting and after a marathon hamster wheel of juggling the jostling roles of resident short order cook, laundry department, worker bee, personal shopper, taxi driver, baseball Mum, errand girl, cleaning crew, homework tutor, caring mother/wife/friend/daughter/entrepreneur, I was very much looking forward to either some well earned beauty sleep, or a naughty play date.

Thanks to the inspiring hypnotic pulse of the Black Keys the naughty play date trumped beauty sleep.

This is a reoccurring theme. My mind’s movie reel flashed with a menu of potential choices for the evening’s feature presentation and my imagination was off to the races in conjuring up a most delightful and pleasurable reunion with my king.

After returning home from my workout, I snapped a close-up detail of a pair of sexy lacy underpinnings and texted the photo to my husband. No comment required. He responded appropriately. My game was on!

More details of my fantasy evening played out whilst I indulged in a much longer than necessary shower and my morning writing assignment became fraught with distracting “flashes” of lingerie, skin, dancing, teasing, pleasuring, hot, fun, love.

After lunch I sent another image. This one featured my current task—folding laundry, but with the addition of a toy for interest. Not one of our child’s Matchbox cars, but an adult toy. Again, no comment required. My husband’s response affirmed that he too was enjoying our foreplay dally.

We returned to our respective workdays, but as the day drew on, the excitement of the approaching evening heightened.

In the interest of stoking ones sex life, I can’t recommend engaging the imagination highly enough. Everyone wins!  With the undertone of a delicious tease playing in the background of the day, “have-to do” tasks such as errands, homework, after-school sports and dinner prep stand to benefit from the addition of ones imaginative, sensual “want to do” perspective.

The old adage of “a happy wife, means a happy life” rings true, but I also consider it’s my responsibility to be the author of my own happiness.

Our last text exchange, featured an image of the aforementioned underpinnings, in a setting that would suggest they’d been enthusiastically discarded, no comment required. I hit send and then went about the business of putting our offspring to bed. My husband’s appreciation was clearly evident by his response, which served to further our alluring dance of come-ons.

Another sip and another smile, this one tinged with a hint of insider information (the envisioned finale was the culmination of my creativity after all) and loaded with the thrill of anticipation.

My stage was set, the Dutch courage had been a great call, my carefully considered wardrobe selection was working fantastically in transitioning from doting mother to the sexpot, temptress look I was aiming for and it was time to up the ante on this business of foreplay.

In keeping with the theme, I sent a final text to my patiently waiting husband in the bedroom. “Join me in the living room darling, your drink awaits.”

He arrived wordlessly, sporting nothing but a smile.

Friends and strangers alike often comment on how often I smile. My response is always the same.

“Well it’s because I have a lot to smile about.”

The business of life is busy. But consider your answer when asked the question what matters most to you?  Family? Loved Ones? Happiness? Health? Career? Don’t you owe it to yourself to honor your response? Perhaps this will inspire you to be the author of your happiness, design your own moments and create an abundance of smiles.

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Relephant Read:

The Cure of Foreplay. {Adult}

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Author: Jo Miller

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Image: pixoto