Spread Sheets

I pile the freshly-laundered ball of sheets, covers, and pillowcases onto our bed– those wedding gifts; thank goodness for wedding regists and wish lists that can even include king-sized mattresses; hope they hold up for at least as long as we stay in this apartment. I sort out the pieces, putting everything except the fitted sheet to the side. I can’t wait to get this over with– making the bed always makes me hot and not in the good way; I wish I didn’t have to wash the sheets so often– enough of that, let me think of something better than the long list of tasks I need, and even want, to do; Intuition, not intimidating checklists.

—

I watch her, alternatively standing and bending over: framed by the half-open doorway leading into our bedroom. The angle from the kitchen counter is close enough that I don’t have to strain to see her; Not so obvious as if I were right at the door, explicitly staring at her through a slit-view.

I can look over at her between bigbites of waffles and long sips of coffee–the breakfast she made for herself and left some for me. My eyes move down her exposed legs, the unseasonable heatwave allowing me to view more than usual as she gets so easily overheated. I turn away, since moving closer and looking longer would mean going to her and wrapping my arms around her: tossing her onto the firm surface; keeping her from making the bed. I don’t think she would like us to make a mess on the mattress and crumple the bedding before it has had a chance to be spread properly onto the bed.

—

One done. Two down. I scramble to finish hooking on the third rounded elastic end onto the corner of the mattress’ edge. I can feel his eyes on me; I always do. I imagine him coming in as I began to hook on the last corner, his hand tugging my arm away, as his other hand Takes over the fabric. What would it feel like if he pushed me down and found a way to stuff the corner into my mouth like a gag?… Okay, now that is tooDistracting, and I need to get the bed ready before I can lie down and do anything about taking care of that, or maybe I could do something under the light blanket on the couch. Last corner done: I smooth out with my palm the cotton seaten fabric that I looked through countless online products descriptions to find.

Next up, the soft fullness of pillow slides in the pillowcase. I feel a tingle on the back of my thigh, Remembering the feel of his playfulness: the taut twisted swing of fabric from the last time that we made the bed together; I continue to jerk the pillow into place. I move on to the next pillow that needs to be encased– this time I stop what I am doing to visualize the pillowcase wrapped around parts of my body: holding my wrists and taking his time to bind them together at my lower back: over and under, over and under, wrapped around the middle to a cinch.

—

She comes over to me, ready for bed, and take my hand, leading me into the bedroom — a quickglance at the over clock indicates 10:01 (usually this happens between ten and midnight) –my favorite part of the day.

We take turns intently undressing each other: so many items to get through to reveal all of her, certainly better than the layers I have to get past during the winter. Somehow, we never rush this even though I know we are eager enough to just rip each other’s clothes off. While taking off her bra, she says she doesn’t need any foreplay tonight– and I already see partial evidence to support that.

I hold open the top bedding for her before I make my way in, then we take our time adjusting ourselves under the covers. She lies on her back, I get on top of her. Instead of putting her arms on my back and shoulders, she cares the bottom sheet with the tips of her fingers; followed by the shift in her gaze, Not looking at anything even close to where my eyes are. I grap her jaw and direct her face towards me, as I feel her mouth widening into a smile againstmy palm. I give her a quizzical look, the one that seems to work in general as an alternative to just asking her to tell me what is on her mind. No response.

—

I notice her in the hallway when she brings in her bags– from being out all day– and then she goes back out, to the balcony, to water the plants before it gets dark. I didn’t get a chance to corner her for a conversation about what happened last night; Not sure I could get my answer.

When we are finally in bed, I slide my fingertips over the curve of her hips, grabbing onto her side, placing weighed kisses along her neck. She is rubbing her cheek against the pillowcase. I wet my fingers and start massaging between her legs, alternating pointer and middle finger. She shifts her top hip forward and reaching back to grab at my ass, not stretching far enough and really only to my hip but I get the message.

I wait until we pick up the pace, and she is asking me to speed up– then stop right in the middle of the thrust, whispering an accusation in her ear of how she is keeping something from me that relates to our current situation. Underhanded? Maybe, but I don’t see any other way to coat it out of her. I push down on her hip to hold her in place, and I keep to my resolve as she flails about in a fit of arousal.

—

I can’t believe he resorted to thrust denial, how rude. I can’t figure out if I am mad but what I really feel is the need to suppress the giggles so that I can give him the answer he so desperately wants.

– I was thinking of all the things you could do to me with our bedding…you know, like kinky… sex stuff.

– I always knew you… we were… compatible; lift your head and turn around onto your stomach.

He pulls away the top pillow, I see a bare pillow next to me after I get into position; I feel him adjust my hands to meet behind my back: soft fabric knotted around my wrist. I thought that from my excited reaction he would continue but he starts undoing it to take it off. I ask him to leave it on, though I stop protesting when he points out that he worries about crushing my hands. I just have other issues with it.

– No, I never liked prone-bone…

– Well, okay some other position then…

– No, I mean… I never liked the term “prone-bone”.

– I once saw “the flatiron” mentioned somewhere…

– Oh, really, where was that? Just kidding. Much better.

– Next time I’ll have you on your hands and knees and pull the length of the fabric around your mouth…

– No, not now.

– I know, next time…

– No, I mean don’t tell me now. I am already turned on, now it’s just turning me on even more. Why was it?

—

I sprayl her legs enough for me to slide inside of her, not so much that it takes away from the tightness we both enjoy; I relish pressing my weight on her, as she begs me to not try so hard to stay in push-up position.

On my chest, her lips andan expansion of hair. Now that I started the conversation, how do I keep it going? I suggest that we tell each other our fansies over breakfast, but she refuses since we would be distracted by that for the rest of the day. She’s right– I don’t want to think about that unless it is my complete focus. I take in her suggestion of when our sexy agenda meeting could be:

– How about during that undressing ritual we seem to have?

– Deal. It’s probably better than that after time, when we are tired and getting cleaned up…Now, how do you feel about butt stuff?

– Oh, you will just have to wait to hear about that…you know, until the next time you take my panties off.