I hadn't been feeling well all Friday afternoon, so an urgent phone call to Mr. Y resulted in me being met at the train station by him in the car, ready to drive me home. We got there just in time-I burst into the house and threw up in the toilet, huddled over the porcelain like a dribbly and unstable creature.

I crawled into the bedroom and slid onto the bed still in my work clothes as Mr. Y changed the duvet cover-nothing in the world more healing than fresh sheets-and then he went off and got me some 7-Up and a cold rag for my forehead. He hugged me, went downstairs and worked from the living room, and I would occasionally wake up and hear the sound of his pc or of his voice on the mobile phone, the sunlight pooling over my legs in the bedroom and the wind rocking the honeysuckle.

Towards the evening, I slunk downstairs and curled up on the couch next to him. He patted me kindly, then went and made us a nice dinner, did the dishes, the laundry, and got me anything I needed. We sat on the couch, him rubbing my shoulders, my feet, my face. Around ten it was bedtime, and we went upstairs to bed.

We got into the bed and followed our usual routine-me laying on my side and him behind me, easing his knees us under mine so that I was practically sitting down on him. One arm fit under his head and the other snaked around, across the hollow between my breasts, and onto my other arm. This is our pattern for falling asleep. It took me a while to get used to it, it's always something new with a new person in the bed, a new body to lean towards a new body to love, but now I find I can't sleep without this position. Even when we are fighting, I know the night will be ok if he just cuddles me before sleep. If we can just do that, I don't have to dread the morning, I don't wake up knowing that the conclusion is still lacking.

We doze a bit, and then I turn over and instead of him turning over too, he wraps himself around me and takes me into himself. I fit the mold of him perfectly, us wrapped up together like a kama sutra pose, and I feel the reassuring warmth and fur of him on my body, welcoming me into himself, holding me close. Our legs are intertwined and my face is pressed deep into his chest, and I love that moment at a thousand miles per hour.

I am sick and not feeling well, so I am not really in the mood for some loving, but he takes my hand and guides it down, to just hold onto him, to not move but just to feel the heat of my hand on him. I take my little finger and run it up and down the perfect structure of him, marvelling at the line of goosebumps that I raise on him.

We fall asleep that way, me wrapped into him and holding onto him. When we wake, I nudge him on his side and then I spoon him, my arm laying snugly across his hip, below his fur on his stomach and across his pelvis. And again, I am amazed at the way that we fit together, the fact that every curve is where it is supposed to be and every part of me wants to be near him.

And then I sleep, tired, ill, and madly in love and lust, and I know that if I have this man in my bed for the rest of my life, then maybe I will be doing something right.

-H.

PS-This week I should break 5,000 comments.

PPS-Tuesday-tomorrow-is also my one year blogging anniversary. Wow.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:14 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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