Monday in Not All Who Wander Are Lost

W takes off my shirt, then spins me so my back is pressed up against his chest, my bare skin against his soft t-shirt. He’s spending the night for the first time, a pretty big deal for both of us. I haven’t shared a bed with someone in over a year. We’re on the couch. I made him eat Indian food on the floor in the living room and watch competitive cooking shows. We’re still watching the show. Or at least I’m trying to. His fingers skim across my arm, my breast, down to my belly, where he gently grabs and tugs at my mom-pooch, the little flab of skin and fat that won’t go away no matter how many sit ups I do, proof that this body once carried 3 babies inside of it.

“I love this part of you,” he says, his warm breath on the back of my neck giving me goosebumps. I squirm uncomfortably, laughing a little as I try to push his hand away, back to someplace more pleasing like my tits or my neck.

“Do you? I hate it,” I admit.

He widens his palm, gripping my belly in his hand.

“It’s a part of you, how can I not love it?”

So I relax, settle back into him, and let him caress every part of me he wants to.

Last updated July 25, 2018