Our alarm went off and we assumed the puzzle piece position of our love. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Stella, my queen, my whore, my lover. I’m so in love with you.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day my king. I love you so much too.”
I ordered my own red, pink and white roses, and planned to make tacos for dinner. I hope he doesn’t buy chocolate hearts and dorky cards. He should know at this point I’m picky and only eat a few types of dark chocolate.
I tore my clothes off last night and pranced across the room to my side of the bed. My husband lowered his phone and watched with anticipation his eyes aglow. I think even a whistle fell from his lips.
When I reached the bed, he was already folding the cover down inviting me to join him in the cozy comforts of our well-worn love nest. I jumped in and on him planting kisses like a happy girl. He smelled like a clean man and his arms felt solid as he wrapped them around me and squeezed. Like puzzle pieces, we fit together so well, so perfectly. But my feet, they were cold like ice and he pushed them away.
It was date night last night. We drank and talked in our bedroom before dressing and heading out for dinner. Half naked, I reclined on my vintage white velvet sofa with red wine in my hand, and he relaxed in the matching wing chair sipping coke and whiskey. It had been quite an eventful day.
I laughed and laughed as he told me stories about each of the characters he ran into at the DMV. One of our sons was getting his driver’s license, so they chose Friday afternoon to take the test. It took three hours for their number to be called which left them people watching to kill time.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” my husband says this morning in bed. We both are on our side and looking each other straight in the early morning eye. “I think I drank too much last night.”
“You think?” I teasingly snapped back. “Why didn’t you just come home when I did?”
“I didn’t think I stayed that much longer, but something about a burning a fire and sipping a few drinks made time fly by.”
“Some women have large breasts, a small butt, and a big pussy. Other women have small breasts, a big butt, and a small pussy. I’ve had women with small breasts, a small butt, and a big pussy. They’re all great, but you’re the best, my love,” my husband says as he runs his rough hands from soft swollen breasts, across my taunt stomach, over my round hips and down to the honey hole between my legs, “because you have large breasts, a small waist, a large butt, and a small pussy.”
