H.I.S.

I love my boyfriend; the dark chest hair that sprawls easy across his chest. His hands, enormous and bronzed on the back side. He is a man’s man. Unemotional and logic based. Good with his hands, short with his words, yet over time I have come to appreciate that he is also very sweet spirited and intelligent. Sometimes goofy, always hilarious, he has a frat boy sense of humor (and we have had numerous arguments about his sexist viewpoints), he can be obnoxious and insensitive, at times rude, uncultured – what my friends call “an asshole” – but when he looks at me, late at night when we are alone, the glow from our television illuminating his face, our legs tangled in each other, safe in the bed sheets … I know that he loves me beyond what he can put into words. It seeps from his eyes, pleading a language I can’t decipher, his eyes burn gold housing the embers of all his memories, his chest fills with….a softness he has never put into words. That look. Means more than any “I love you” ever could.
I put my hand on his chest. I never know what to say when he looks at me that way.
“Babbyyyy.” I swoon and whimper, quite overwhelmed.
He grabs my tiny wrist, perched on his collar bone.
“Turn over.” His voice husky.
My stomach flips with excitement and I lie down on my belly, spreading our comforter out of the way. I feel his fingertips trace my sides, slow and even along the sides of my delicate waist. His hands tug at my leggings, his hands pull on handfuls of my ass. I can hear him whispering to himself, then to me.
“Spread your legs.”
I do as I’m told right away and before I could even finish the movement, his hand is hard between my legs, pressing on my labia through my panties.