We are both nervous about the upcoming changes in our relationship. One day I’ll be the one biting my nails, the next it’s him. I have always known what an extraordinary experience this has been; such easy access to something wonderful; such easy access to torture. And it’s about to end.
We fear the worst, but are hoping for the best. It’s the best decision for me and Peyton and has the potential to get me financially on my feet. As my exhusband rushes into cohabitation and marriage [like an idiot], I am thoughtfully picking my way forward. Single, but not alone.
My move out date is the end of March and I will spend the next few weeks packing up my things and unpacking my feelings. As each day goes by I have less to lose and more to gain by baring it all.
Each day — as always — is a precious gift not to be squandered, expected, or taken for granted. That we each continue to choose to press our lives and bodies against each other is exhilarating and beautiful.
Our sex seems to be rolling down the same path as the rest of our relationship; inertia picking us up and moving us further from Point A to somewhere new.
He kisses me with tenderness and love. He looks at me in love. He grips my hips and slips deep inside with a loving grin, my wrists pinned, my heart attacked.
We talk about what it might be like with many steps between us instead of just 5 and then we laugh, caress, fall into each other’s arms and twist and tantalize all our buttons. At once and then one by one.
The other night, dressed in a matching jammy set of polkadot shorts and top with knee high socks, I knelt opposite his naked kneeling body. His greater weight made him sink lower into the mattress and brought us eye to eye, a special treat.
I licked my finger tip and smeared its wetness on his tiny little nipples and he sucked in his breath and moved away. I told him to hold still and played some more until his breathing was swift.
We kissed and touched like the countless times before. Arms entwined, tongues soft, warm, wet and pressing. My mind roamed to love and lingered there.
And then another day we wrestled and I tickled him. His surprise egging me on until it wasn’t and we were entangled once again, looking into blue eyes on blue eyes on blue eyes.
Both times that moment of penetration took our breaths away. It means something different now, yet it’s still all the same. That exquisite touch, so primal and vulnerable. Unavoidable for us. Fucking special.
And one night after so many words of silliness and import he looks at me and says out of no where, “I love you.” A first. And a bloody miracle.
I had hoped, but never expected to hear those words from him. It feels like riding a rainbow.
I am nervous of the unknown, but not afraid. I can handle this. This is only the beginning.