Two and a half stories for this blog. Both seem unrelated to my current sex life and, yet, both are integral to what is presently happening.
It was our first Christmas together, and I was opening the first Christmas present from my husband. Unwrapping the clothing box, my heart sank. The tags on the garments read, “x-small”. I didn’t know how to tell him that I wasn’t an “x-small”, rather a “medium”.
Tentatively I said to him, “I’m not sure this top is going to fit.”
Enthusiastically he replied, “I saw a sales lady about your size in the shop and I asked her what size she wore.”
I was extremely flattered yet certain we would have to make the pilgrimage to the store to do a size exchange. I went to the bedroom to try on the clothes.
The clothes fit. Not only did they fit, they fit me really well. It had taken me 33 years before discovering, thanks to my husband, that I am an “x-small” and not a “medium”.
I remember wishing I could see my body through his eyes.
ast forward seven years later to Christmas 2009. I was opening a clothing box from my husband; my heart sank as I saw the garment tag say, “x-small”.
I’m still ten’ish pounds over my normal weight. I appreciate that in a few months I will be back to my usual weight but right now, it’s easier to hide my body behind ugly old sweats and stretchy shirts.
I didn’t know how to tell him that the lovely sweater wouldn’t fit.
As I attempted to stick it back in the box he enthusiastically said, “Try it on. Try it on.”
Completely depressed, I slumped to the bedroom while envisioning me ripping a few seams as I tried to wriggle the sweater on.
The sweater fit—yes it was tight, but tight in all the right places. Appraising myself in the mirror, I had to admit I looked pretty good. When I showed my husband, he looked like a hungry wolf ready to eat me up.
In that moment, I was taken aback that he saw me as a sexy and sexual woman. Right now, I look in the mirror and all I can see is frump girl—to be fair, it’s because I’m not making any efforts and I am a frump girl.
If only I could always see myself through my husband’s eyes, perhaps I would make more of an effort on my day-to-day appearance and I would feel more sexy and sexual.
Boxing day and we’re at a skating rink trying my two-year-old’s new skates. There was only one other young couple on the ice. It’s obvious they are a newbie couple as they skate for a bit and then find an excuse to kiss and wrap around each other like pretzels.
As I watch them take a break on the bench, I fondly think back to seven years past when my husband and I sat on that very bench. Like the young lady, I had my legs draped over my husband’s lap, laughing and snuggling. We too were so very in love and we did not care who saw the PDA (public display of affection).
Seven years later, the love I feel for my husband as I watch him show our son how to skate is profound. I realize it’s a solid love that is intertwined with him being such a great father and him being utterly besotted with our sons.
Yet—because we always want what we can’t have—I wanted to taste again what those young lovers felt. To be kid’less skating on the pond, stopping every few feet to kiss and caress. To sit on the bench and be in our own little make-out world. To know as soon as we get home we’re going to rip each other’s clothes off and have some amazing, mind blowing sex.
Back to reality. We pack up our kids to go home, knowing we’re going home to make snacks and start lunch. Being able to have sex that afternoon was highly unlikely—a spontaneous romp resulting in mind blowing sex a complete joke.
I glanced back at the young lovers and then ahead to my family—momentarily caught in between.
I move forward to my family. Realizing that I could always find a new lover who would give me those feelings of abandoned passion; but I could rarely (if ever) find a solid enough love that could carry me through the rest of my life.
Sincerely wishing you a happy holiday season.
Based on what others are reading