I sit at the counter after a hard day at the office and flip the pages of my latest Christian Woman magazine. But I'm not really reading. In fact, at the moment, I am thinking thoughts that might not even be considered, “Christian.” At least, not to the single woman. But I’m married so the fantasies floating around in my brain have been pre-approved by God.
I try skimming an article but totally can’t concentrate. My husband is such a distraction. Even after eighteen years, he can still make my heart go, “pitter-patter.” The weird thing is that this sudden urge to jump his bones pops up at the strangest times.
I give up on the article and plop my chin into my hand. I dreamily observe my husband as he works. His brow is furrowed in concentration. A small band of sweat mustaches his upper lip and the pits of his t-shirt are beginning to dampen. Not that I acted on them, but before we were married, stirring up feelings of desire required flowers, candlelight or maybe some chocolate. At the very least, a good neck rub.
Now all it takes is a little manual labor and some sweat-glistened skin to make me feel woozy with love.
“Mom, can I go to Mike’s house?” My son, Nate, interrupts my fantasies. I am slightly annoyed but quickly give my okay. Stay as long as you’d like, sweetheart...
The door slams and I call for my daughter. When I do, my husband glances over at me and flashes a smile. That irresistible, sexy smile I adore. I bat my eyes in return.
“Yeah, Mom?” Sixteen-year-old Jenna appears in the kitchen, iPod in hand.
“Honey, can you run to the store for me? I need...some milk. Yeah, that’s right. We’re almost out of milk.” I cross my fingers that she doesn’t open the fridge to check.
“You don’t have to ask me twice!” She only got her driver’s license a month ago. Any excuse to drive is enough for her, even if it is to the grocery store to get milk for her mom.
“Make sure you go to Fred’s. It’s cheaper.” And farther away.
Jenna abandons her iPod and yanks the car keys from the hook by the door. She sprints out the door before I can change my mind.
Not that I would.
I check the clock. I figure we have a good half hour before Jenna returns.
“So are you almost finished?” I ask sweetly. My eyes linger on his muscles bulging with every move.
“Yep.” Another smile. This time, it comes with a wink. He knows my thoughts. Oh, boy...
“You know how much watching you work turns me on, don’t you?”
My husband puffs out his chest. “Why do you think I put on my tightest t-shirt?” I take a second to ooh and ah. “Just let me put this stuff away and I’m all yours," he adds with another wink.
I hold up a hand. “Wait. Can you do one more thing first?”
He sighs, pretending to be irritated. But I know he’s not. He knew it was coming. “What is it this time?”
“Hmmm.” I put a finger to my chin. “Last week it was vacuuming. The week before that it was scrubbing the tub. How about sweeping the floor? I want to see those arms in action.” I do the Groucho Marx eyebrow thing – only I hope it looks sexier.
His eyes sparkle. “You know, it really isn’t fair. You're getting a clean house and having fun at the same time.” He pretend pouts.
“Oh, puh-lease. You love it. Plus, it’s your day. Tomorrow, you can watch me do the dishes. Maybe I’ll even put on that apron you love so much. The one that says, “Goose the cook and I’ll cook yours!”
Hubby laughs and lifts up his hands in resignation. “You win. Where’s the broom?”
I retrieve the broom and dust pan and hold it out. “Be thankful you don’t need to spend money to tickle my fancy. Some women need flowers, diamonds... a pair of shoes. Me? Just hand the man a broom and my pulse starts racing.”
I try not to drool as he sweeps up my toast crumbs from this morning.
“Satisfied?” he asks, returning the broom to the closet.
“Not yet,” I breathe.
With that, I find myself being whisked away by the man who, after eighteen years, can still sweep me off my feet.
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