She’s in the kitchen starting to cook. I walk in and wrap my arms around her in a hug, nonchalantly grabbing her boobs while smiling playfully. She smiles unseen; she’s come to expect this kind of playfulness, and knows how to deal it back in kind. She tells me I’m just in time to help her cook, smirking now at the mild disappointment on my face. We both knew it would go this way though, by now we’ve been together long enough to know how to expect each other to react.
Smiling, I say “Maybe I had something else in mind.”
“I know exactly what you had in mind” she replies, smirking again.
“I was just thinking maybe we order a pizza.”
“Yeah, that’s what you were thinking about.”
“Even if it weren’t, you have no proof I was thinking about anything else.”
“You think so, huh? What about where your hands are?”
“What? I can’t even hug you without you thinking that’s on my mind?”
But we both know I want her. I always want her. So many years together and that’s never changed. But she knows I respect her; maybe that’s what turns her on these days. She knows even when I push I’d never do anything without her consent, I love her too much to do anything like that.
“Now help me make dinner” she says, as though she’d let me refuse. Which of course means I have to play fight her.
“I’m so terribly tired from work, I don’t know how much longer I can stay on my feet.”
She smirks, and I know she’s going to use whatever I say next against me. “Oh really? So you must be too tired to do anything else before we get some sleep tonight too?”
“I didn’t say that, just that I don’t know about being on my feet.”
“Great!” she says, “You can sit right over there and peel potatoes.”
I give her a sideways grin. She always looks so smug when she wins. Call me smitten, but it looks cute on her. But she’s always been beautiful to me. But it was her inner beauty that made me fall in love with her.
She’s kind to strangers, she listens to people, she loves with everything she has and everything she is. She has a way of bringing out the best in people.
We’re older now, and while her inner beauty grows daily, she can’t help but watch her physical beauty fade. It breaks my heart she can’t see what I see. She says I’m biased, and maybe I am, but I think she’s more beautiful every day. She sees the wrinkles creep up slowly, or a little bit of dinner stay with her around her belly and she thinks her beauty is fading. But not to me. I couldn’t love her more. But then, I’ve said that before.
I sit and start peeling potatoes, but it’s not long before she catches me stealing looks at her. “Can’t stop thinking about getting me huh?”, she asks. I smile. There’s some truth to those words, but it’s more than that. She’s beautiful in a way I’m not sure she’s ever known she is, and it radiates from every pore. Not even her freckles, scars, or even her wrinkles could hide it. I’d tell her as much, but she’d laugh it off like she always has. Besides, what words could do justice to what I see in her? Better to let my eyes do the talking. I think she knows how to read my eyes anyway, something in them must tell her the truth in what I say I see in her.