Darken French Road

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March 1976

We lay in bed as the night went on.  

After Tom and I made love, we would cuddle for a while and speak with each other about the day that was behind us. I lay with my head on his shoulder and my hand touching the hair on his chest. I smile and try to hold him closer if such a thing is possible. I can smell him, me, us.  

I am going to remind him about the inspection that the roof needs. Not that he doesn't know about it already, he generally is on top of such things. I take care of the inside of the house, with his assistance, and he takes care of the outside of the house, with my assistance. 

We can schedule it for sometime next week.  

It is late for us, almost 9 p.m.. The irrelevancy of the inspection slips away from my mind as I am lulled to near sleep by his voice, his breathing and the stillness of the night. Not that I don't want to be awake with him, or that he bores me, I find that being with him is so comforting, so natural. We slip in to our lives together so well.  

His fingers touch the fabric of my top, it is the only thing I wear that can be considered pajamas. His fingers slow and I know he is sleepy.  

I tilt my head back, kiss him once on the cheek, and turn to lay on the other side. He loves to spoon with me. He curls his one hand under his pillow and his other arm lay on my hip under the sheet, his hand touching the cloth of my shirt at my stomach.  

Before sleep finally overtakes us he moves back a bit to give us both more room. I am the selfish one. I know I lay in the center of the bed. He gives me all the room I want and I love him for it. The last thing I remember is his hand. It lay on my hip. A reassurance that he will always be there to protect and guide me in the night. It's something that he has done since as long as I can remember.  

In the morning, I hear him shift in his sleep. A dream I had lingers like a lover's touch. He nudges my shoulder gently, kissing me there. I moan letting him know I am awake. When he rises and goes into the bathroom I see his reflection in the mirror. His bare back and buttocks are brightened in the morning sun just starting to come through the slats of the bathroom blinds. Still alluring, still captivating. I feel a hunger stirring, but the sexual appetite of some mornings has made us both late.  

The shower starts and I hear him pee, flush, and lower the seat. When the shower curtain is pushed aside and brought back, I run my fingers through my hair and yawn. The day has started. There is no use in trying to get back to sleep.  

Tabby jumps on the bed and begins to purr as I rub her. She sniffs my fingers and brushes her cheek against them. She is another thing that can not wait. Meowing at me twice before I can slip my robe on, she meets me at the back door prancing in circles. She will spend the day in the neighborhood.  

The robe is shrugged to the bathroom floor, my pj top follows, and I meet him in the shower. He is finishing up. I smack his butt as the last of his shampoo is carried down his back.  

"Hey," he says warmly over his shoulder. The smell of spicy soap covers him.  

"Save some water." I grab his waist and give him a quick squeeze.  

"Is it late?"  

"Six-thirtyish," I reply. "We've got time. Soap."  

As he hands me the soap we trade positions trying not to touch the shower wall or curtain. I brush against him on purpose and smile.  

He looks at me and pauses, his mind is elsewhere. Thinking some deep thoughts.  

"When's the vacation?" he asks when he sees me looking at him.  

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