Spring. Sunshine. Warmer weather. Perfect for day dates. I see breezy floral dresses frolicking with the moving air. There are smiles and laughter. There are shy blushes and flirty glances as I amble around the corner and into the apartment complex.
I open the door and walk in. There she is stretched up and reaching for the copper handle of the top shelf. I’ve seen her do this many times before. Naked. I’ve gotten familiar with the look of her body; the undulations of her generous hips when she moves, the way the depressions on the sides of her butts relax as she settles on the deep blue satin sheets splayed across the damask cushion of her vanity table’s chair. She’s been working on her iPad, as usual. Her fingers move as she strokes lines on the bright screen.
“What are you working on, babe?” I ask.
“Bras and panties” she replies coolly
“Ah, you’re shopping” I say casually as I shrug out of my work suit.
“Yep. I want to feel sexy again”
She’s had three kids for us. Her body has changed, but she is home, she is my wife and I love her.
“You are sexy to me” I assure her from across the room. She rises gently to her feet and saunters towards me, gives me a smile and a firm kiss which softens and deepens. When she pulls away she says “I know. I want to feel sexy for me”
OK. I think. But, I feel off. I bristle. I see the line at the middle of her back disappear behind the swoosh of floral dress as she briskly wraps it around her waist and ties the sash. It’s girls date night Wednesday. She has left the kids with her mother and I know she would wear a pair of mules with the dress. I still feel off. I am still bristling. So, I process. It’s ok, Right? That she wants to be sexy for herself. Why then does it feel like I’m about to lose her to someone else? She’s been comfort. Regular. Reliable. Predictable. Now, she’s sexy for herself. Not for me. For her.self. I’m curious. I want to know what lingerie she’s picking. I want to know each and every lingerie she’s going to choose and I want to know when she’d be wearing each one. I go after her. She’s doing up her hair. I kiss her neck from behind and trail my kisses to the back of her lightly perfumed ear. I notice the gentle rise and fall of her cleavage.
The base notes of her signature fragrance register anew. I notice I’m feeling warm. My ears are getting hotter. I wonder if she’s already wearing a new lingerie underneath her floral wrap dress. I want to undo the sash and find out.
“See you when I get back, babe” she says as she sashays out through the bedroom door. I almost pout. Friday is our brunch date. I wonder if her purchase would come in before then. I become self-conscious. I want to clean up before Friday. For her.