Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to me. I’ve got a pretty package to open.
You come home from work exhausted. Utterly. You tell me about the biting boss, the cranky coworker, the detestable drive home. Your forehead crinkles between your tired eyes. I stand on tiptoes to wrap my arms up around your shoulder. I lean my warm body against yours–my chest, hips, and even my thighs press into you for a long hug. I want to melt your troubles away. I want to smooth out your concerned expression.
I nuzzle my nose into your neck and brush you with kisses right below your ear. You shiver a little and laugh at yourself because it tickles. I know just how to get you. Then I pull your face down to mine and smooch the spot between your eyes that wears the stress of the day. You’re home, baby. Forget the office and the bothersome associates who lean on you like you can’t break.
But I know you. I know you put up barriers to the world. You guard yourself against the severe realities of existence.
With false smiles.
With witty jokes.
With a blasé shrug of the shoulders.
But I know you.
I know that inside you cringe at the leering men. They sneak glances at your ample bust despite your “fuck off attitude,” and giant hoodie in which you cloak yourself.
I don’t blame them–who wouldn’t want to snuggle into them. To hold their weight with both hands and search for the pointy treasures hidden under layers of cotton and lace.
The men at your office are incompetent at best. At worst, they pawn off their work onto you. Onto the one with a quick brain able to solve their every trouble. And you do. If only to get them to back off. To let you do your own work. Let you listen to your low fi tunes and suss out the back orders and deliveries and transportation and numbers of it all.
I know you. I know you want me to peel off your clothes layer by layer. I know you want me to lead you to our bedroom and playfully shove you onto our quilted mattress and cool cotton sheets. I know you want to moan into my silk pillow that I bought to tame my crazy curly hair. Moan because the things I’m doing below your waist are just so delicious.
But not yet. First we sit on the couch. Me with my feet curled up under me, sipping my one glass of sparkling wine I allow myself on tough days.
Yeah I had a rough one, too. Teaching is not for the faint of heart. Especially if you’re minding three and four year olds who cannot figure out what an “indoor voice” means and constantly shriek like banshees. Especially if you decided to do a craft with finger paint that turned out to be “washable” paint that certainly did not wash out of your sweater. The level of exhaustion is endless.
I hand you my drink because you need it, too. You hand it back after a big gulp. I lean in to grab it and sneak a kiss. As you tell me about your day, I scratch your back, tug on your hoodie strings, and feel the warmth of the alcohol spread through my chest. My eyes feel heavy.
You ask about my day. I show you the paint stains and we both cackle about the kids’ favorite weird video which they watch on repeat. It’s a bizzare AI created one (no human could dream this up) where each letter of the alphabet is alive. Like a letter H that has two pink ponytails for hair that it wiggles around as a racoon blow dries it. The whole thing is like a fever dream that I can’t escape because of the cries, “again! Again!” And it’s Friday, so, all bets are off.
I sink into the couch, clutching the last of my chilled beverage, taking two more swallows before setting it on our faux roughed up coffee table that was all the rage 5 years previous. I know it’s out of style, but your could truly care less, so we let it sit there holding our morning coffee and late night popcorn bowls.
You’re watching your favorite show, head resting back and exhaling the busy day. We are home together. Our safe place. Our oasis. My head is feeling increasingly foggy.
I theatrically fall into your lap and with the biggest stage whisper I say, “you’re my favorite,” before falling into a comfortable sleep.
Laughter on the tv brings me back into the world of the living. My head is resting on your jeaned legs and I turn to look up at you. God you’re gorgeous.
Your full lips, piercing azure eyes that arrest me every time they catch mine. Take me now, officer. Take me right into those baby blues. I gaze at your numerous ear piercings, one stud, one dainty chain, a silver star, a tiny dangling heart.
You bend over in the middle of my study of your face. You gently pulling my chin up, and bring that soft mouth onto mine for a deep kiss. You are so ready now. I can feel the buzzing energy between us.
I stretch my petite body across your lap like a cat who just awoke from a doze in the sun. I know exactly what I’m doing. You take the opportunity to put your fingers on my exposed belly and inch them towards my ribs.
I giggle and pull my shirt back down, slapping your hand away. You’re not getting it that easily.
//
To Be Continued…
