Reaching Out

It was somewhere after 4 a.m. when I opened my eyes. I lay there, contemplating the silence, when I reached my arm across the bed.

My hand came to rest on a naked shoulder.

She WAS there!

My wife didn’t move, but the important thing was having her there. We hadn’t slept together for 10 days. An out-of-state work trip followed by days of performing the way-more-important “Grandma Duties” had led to the absence, and it had been a noticeable one. The dog and I missed her. We didn’t burn down the house, and we got along fine (granted, the dog always benefits from receiving more snacks from me when she’s gone), but there was a missing presence.

Throughout the years, I have discovered that “Home Alone” is not all that it is cracked up to be. Oh sure, I have control of the TV remote, and I get the shower first, but it is not the same. Her absence leaves a void in the house and in my life. The house is too silent. There is none of her laughter or visions of her stretched out on the couch. Dinners are usually the frozen kind. The bed is empty. While it is good that she can travel and do these things, by the end of her time away, I am glad she is back. Home needs her too.

When my wife had arrived back the previous afternoon, we reacquainted ourselves with each other—in all ways. The evening had ended in passion. We couldn’t wait to head to bed, and when we got there, 10 days of desire flowed out. We used our hands and tongues on each other. We whispered to and nuzzled each other, enflamed one another in every way imaginable. I fingered. She stroked. We reached high intimacy, my wife clutching the pillows as I entered her doggie style. Our moans joined together in one sound.

And now… blissful silence.

I thought of those moments as I rubbed her shoulder.

She had returned. I was grateful.