Lust can be a funny thing, undoubtedly we all immediately desire it but it’s knowing how to handle it and use it to its full potential that brings us true fulfilment and edges a physical relationship closer towards love. Believe it or not I used to be incredibly shy, insecure and all too aware of my body, flaws and hangups, even more so after having my two children and becoming a single parent clocking up the years and candles on my birthday cake. I’ll be turning thirty in October and can hand-on-heart say that I have never felt sexier, more erotic and absolutely at ease in my own skin as I do now and it’s all because of my heartbreaking life experiences.
The majority of us will have looked into a mirror at least once and felt ashamed at the reflection staring back at us because nobody is perfect and we’re all our own worst enemies. Unsurprisingly women come under the daily strain of the media to match up to the celebrities on the covers of magazines and the false ideals portrayed by photoshopping and the ever increasing fashion of plastic surgery. Yet men can be just as insecure about their bodies as women, they just find it more difficult to talk about it to their friends – sadly none of us are immune to self criticism, but we’re always far harder on ourselves than we ever should be.
The way I see beauty is that we are all unique, all individual and what one person absolutely adores another will walk straight past without a second glance. You can’t please all of the people all of the time and not everybody will view you in the same light or respect. So stop worrying about what other people think of you, remove your expectations of others and be grateful that you have all of your limbs, your faculties and health because there’s always somebody worse off than you.
The sooner you accept you are who you are and you are as young as you’ll ever be right now, the sooner you will start to enjoy the skin you are in for all of it’s stretch-marked, squishy and wrinkly glory; after all, we can’t all stay 18 forever! I wanted to capture my transition from a shy and ugly duckling in life to the (somewhat) gracious swan that I am today and how I found my fiery sexuality through heartbreak and self-loathing. I wanted to show the world an honest, open and real approach to beauty and to spill the contents of my mind onto the pages of a book so that others realise they are not alone in their hangups and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I wrote an erotic trilogy based on my past relationships, how I was treated, how I felt, what I thought and how I discovered my love of sex, day by day building myself into the confident, adventurous woman that I am today. And now I’m pleased to share my erotic trilogy with you, a true life journey more humble than Fifty Shades Of Grey that women have connected incredibly with and men have been taking days off of work to finish reading because they’re so astoundingly aroused!
My books are available on Amazon and run in the order of Traces Of Me https://www.amazon.co.uk/Traces-Me-Tracy-Kiss-ebook/dp/B014Z5A46U, Traces Of You https://www.amazon.co.uk/Traces-You-Tracy-Kiss-ebook/dp/B01670887I/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1506614398&sr=8-1&keywords=traces+of+you+tracy+kiss and Traces Of Us https://www.amazon.co.uk/Traces-Us-Tracy-Kiss-ebook/dp/B01BLSZ0MC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1506614428&sr=8-1&keywords=traces+of+us+tracy+kiss and I’d like to share an extract with you now from Traces Of Me which was the first time that I experienced a shower with a boyfriend.
I smirk as I pad the three steps past the alcove to the bathroom, hardly bigger than an aeroplane water closet it snugly houses a toilet, sink, mirror cabinet and single shower cubicle with a sliding door. I hitch up my dress and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I sit down, my hair fuzzed up like something you’d pull out of a plughole and my face indented with diagonal creases from the pillow. I feel old, stale and unkempt, post alcohol blues in the harsh light of the morning mirror.
My dress is stiff and suffocating, overheating my skin and restricting my lungs. “Do you mind if I borrow a dressing gown?” I call through the crack in the door, briefly catching a whiff of my morning breath and underarms “…and a shower!”
I close my eyes as the water runs across my back and shoulders, warm, wet and cleansing, wrapping me up in a steamy safe bubble, I twist and turn to coat every inch of my skin, fresh and renewed. With a bottle of men’s shower gel and shampoo on a wire rack there’s no hope of washing my hair without conditioner, so I use the band from my wrist to scrunch it up into a bun as I immerse myself in the blissful waterfall of heat.
“I’ve hung a towel and gown on the back of the door for you” Shaun calls from outside, interrupting my blissful bathing.
“Oh thanks! Erm… how do I turn this off?” I fiddle with the metal dial on the wall, twisting left and right but to no avail.
“Pull it into the middle.”
“I am, nothings happening, it’s still running?” I raise an eyebrow.
“The middle at the top.”
More twisting “Nope!”
“Seriously, you really don’t know how to turn off a shower? Do you want me to come in?” I pause for a second with my hand on the dial as the water refuses to subside “…yeh…”
He steps into the single shower cubicle with me as I move against the wall, covering my breasts with my hands and crossing my legs. I can’t help but smile as his t-shirt and shorts become drenched with the spray of the shower head, his hair flattening against his face as he pulls the dial upwards and out and the water trickles to a halt.
“Ah, you didn’t say you had to tilt it!”
“That’s not tilting, it’s turning it off, look, on, off.” And he sheepishly blasts us both with another burst of water.
I place my hand over his on the dial and twist it slowly, “leave it on, it’s nice.”
We stand under the misty flow of water together, eye-to-eye with our bodies’ just inches apart in the tight cubicle as my heart builds itself into a heightened thrum. It’s been such a long time since anyone has seen me naked, and now all of my faults and imperfections stand on show and I’m helpless to hide them. The only salvation I have is to hold his eye contact so that he doesn’t look down at my body, my scrawny torso, wide hips, pointy uneven breasts, and flat arse. And as I gaze up at him I feel as though my ability to breathe rests entirely on his movement. I blink away the water as it now cascades over my hair and across my skin, like warm hands caressing every inch of me. I’m desperate for him to touch me, to respond, to make the first move but there’s a hesitation gnawing at the back of my mind, the threat of rejection and his body language is giving nothing away. Don’t leave me hanging here, please.
The tension is too much to bear and I can’t hold his eye contact any longer, against my own judgement I raise my hand gently towards his face, desperate to feel his warm skin and lose myself in his lips once more. But as I reach up he takes hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks, his eyes widening, smouldering and never leaving mine for a second. He turns my shoulders so that I’m facing the wall, away from him, and all I can think is that my horrendous arse is in full view with no eyes to save me. Please don’t look down and notice my cellulite. What is he going to do to me? He’s still fully dressed.
I steady myself with my hands on the wall in front of me, pressed up against the cold tiles, my nipples hardening from the pleasant sensation. I hear him reaching beside me for a bar of soap before lathering it in his hands as I stand aching for his contact, which he delivers with a gentle touch to my shoulders. Massaging, rubbing and circling his fingers and palms around the base of my neck, I tilt my head downward in appreciation and widen my stance to steady myself. His kneading becomes relentless, deep and rhythmic as I close my eyes and press out my shoulder blades. He runs his palms up the back of my neck, circling his thumbs behind my ears and into my hairline, squeezing gently as he drags his fingers back and forth, descending to my spine, pressing and caressing every vertebrae as I arch my back. Then onto my hips, he grasps me from behind, tracing his fingers inwards down the slant of my pelvis, sending shivers through my entire body as I fight to keep my hands on the wall and remain silent.
Pausing to lather the soap he takes hold of my arse cheeks, gripping them firmly, his hands upturned with fistfuls of my flesh. He circles them, squeezing as I clench and close my eyes with gritted teeth through curled lips. This is so, fucking, hot. My body responds by arching back further, titling my hips, and rising for him, ready for him. He lifts and squeezes, circling, exciting and I’m ready to explode from the single slip of a finger, craving his warmth and movement inside of me, yearning for him as I widen my stance even further. His thumb traces down between my buttocks as I drop open my mouth in anticipation, but instead he continues down to the inside of my thigh, squeezing his thumbs into the crease of my butt cheeks before slowly pulling me open and I moan with yearning. With that he leans down placing his lips between my shoulder blades to plant a single kiss, then steps out of the shower closing the door behind him. Panting, confused and insanely turned on I sink to my knees with my body effervescent from his silent touch.