Cuddling on Top of the Bed

This week was unusually rough. I’m not sure if it was my work stress that did it or my change in birth control hormones or our wedding-budget talks… but this week was rough.

It wasn’t a scream-in-your-face or slam-the-door kind of rough (that doesn’t really happen often for us). It was a silent roughness that kept us working late – me on the couch and him at his desk. It was the quiet of not talking to each other that made it hard to find any words at all, nevermind the right words.

It was the empty fridge of forgotten groceries and the dirty dishes pileup – both of us playing chicken with how much mess we could tolerate. It was the constant rain that fell throughout the week – stopping Andy from walking to the gym and stopping me from seeing any friends.

This week was unusually rough.

So tonight, we just laid naked, on top of our bed. On top of our sheets, curled in each other’s arms and just breathed each other in. We hadn’t felt close for the past week, and that’s what gets under my skin the most.

 

Sometimes it’s just being close that brings you back together. I could breath in his musky end-of-the-day odour that tends to build up in his chest hair. He could run his hands through my end-of-the-shift greasy hair while it playfully remained spiked when he was done. It was the way his arm fit perfectly under my neck, and my bum fit perfectly against his groin. It was the way we just lay there, breathing in near-unison in our quietness.

When we touch each other, when we hold each other – it’s like my body recharges. His smell soothes my nerves and his touches release the knots in my back. We lay there with our stinky feet intertwined, naked, on top of our bed.

Sex isn’t always important. It’s being together that makes all the difference.

 


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