Lust enters me when I least expect it. It tests my patience and tempts me to do the unacceptable. Lust makes my skin tingle and my body ache.
I’ve tried to fight it, to push my insatiable desire out of my mind. But then an ad appears on my computer screen. I fight the urge to click on the link and discover the forbidden temptation within.
Another invitation to suspend work on my manuscript pops up, and passion flares once more. My vision clouds and fantasy invades. My imagination fills in the vague glimpses of seductive images. I struggle to catch my breath and refocus on the task at hand.
I tell myself I am stronger than mere impulse. Yet, I am a liar.
Seven Deadly Sins: The Series
Teppi Jacobsen: Gluttony
Jenna Myers Karvunidis: Greed
Lyletta Robinson: Anger
Patrick O’Hara: Envy
Evan Moore: Pride
Sheila Quirke: Sloth
Crystal Alperin: Lust
Andy Frye: The Eighth Sin: Rebellion
I am barraged by seductive messages, by arousing images. They taunt me each time I turn on my computer or check email on my phone.
Lust glides across my skin and fills the air around me. It rubs against me, pushes into me and stretches me until I cannot resist another minute.
And when the next temptation arrives like it always does, I am unable to discard my burgeoning desire. I succumb to my baser instincts again.
I am weak.
Each time, I swear will be the last. I vow to be stronger. I promise myself I will resist the sweet siren’s call of the forbidden. I will control the lustful thoughts and desires coursing through my body.
Yet, I can’t. I’m seduced.
My wanton desire overwhelms. I sigh, click on the link and lose the rest of the day to my voracious appetite.
My pulse accelerates every time the UPS truck stops in front of my house. My palms sweat and my thighs tremble when the doorbell rings. I know exactly what brown can do for me. The compact weight of that little cardboard box excites me.
As I’m cooking dinner, I know the timing isn’t right. I whisper a promise for later and hide it into the laundry room.
Dinner is an excruciating affair when I know what awaits me later after the dishes are clean and the kids have gone to bed.
Finally, it is time.
My hands shake when I reach for the box. I’m tempted to rip it open and thrust my fingers deep within the contents. Respect cuts through the fog of my lust. She deserves more than a quick grope in my laundry room.
I dash upstairs to my bedroom, tear open the box and peel back the flaps. I hesitantly touch the plastic bag. The plastic crinkles and I moan. Unable to control my raging need any longer, I rip the bag apart and slide my hand inside.
She feels even better than I imagined she would. I caress her with my fingers and remove her from the packaging. I claim her and yank off her tag.
I place her gingerly on my bed, unzip my jeans and let them slide down my long, smooth legs. I grab the hem of my blouse, pull it from my fevered flesh and discard it in the heap of mundane mommy clothes.
She slides over my body. Her gossamer touch soothes me and temporarily satiates my desire. My arms encircle my body, and I can’t help but watch in the mirror as I zip her up. I bask in the afterglow, in the feel of delicate fabric and a beautifully tailored bodice and waist.
She fits perfectly. They all do. I pretend in that moment of complete calm and adoration that she will be enough, that she will be my last.
Yet, my lust is a fickle bitch. The beast within me is always lurking, waiting to pounce when the next offer promising “New Sale Dresses Added, Free Shipping, Easy Returns” appears on my screen.