Beloved Scars

I made us each a mug and placed them at our usual seats, then sat and sipped on mine. She asked without looking back, "So, did you have anything else you wanted to do today? Anything outside the house?"

No, I didn't. I hadn't expected her to forget my birthday, nor had I expected the chance to have Bonnie naked for the whole weekend. I took another sip to buy time, then said, "Nothing specific. Maybe go swimming later? I thought we could curl up on the couch and watch something together. There's that new romcom streaming I know you wanted to see."

The offer made my wife glance back, a disbelieving expression on her face. "It's your birthday weekend. Don't you want to pick?"

"I just want to spend time with you. No phones, no computers, no distractions except shared ones."

"Okay. But you could still pick the movie."

"And I am." I put down the mug. "I know this is making you a little uncomfortable. Maybe more than a little." A guilty look flashed across her face. "I want to... I love you, Bonnie. More than anything in the world except maybe the kids. If we spend the whole day watching stuff you want, but I get to spend it cuddled up to you, skin to skin? That's a good day. And..." I sighed. "And maybe I haven't shown you that lately. I'm sorry if the reason we've gotten distant is on me, and I just didn't realize it."

"No, it's not... I don't know. Maybe." Bonnie sighed and looked back at the stove. "Can we... I need to think about it, okay? You're right. We're not as close as we were, and I don't like it either. Can we just have breakfast and cuddle, like you said? I promise I'm not trying to avoid it. I just need to think."

We sat and ate mostly in silence. She kept her apron on; I didn't object. When we were done, I helped clear the table and do the dishes. Bonnie was still lost in thought, but routine easily carried us through. As we finished and headed to the living room, I finally said something about her state of dress. "You still have your apron on."

"Oh!" My wife laughed with a brilliant, open smile. "I forgot." There was no hesitation as she pulled the string to open it and pulled it over her head. God, she was gorgeous. I loved her with every part of my being. Bonnie laughed again at how much one particular part seemed to love her. "You going to be okay there, babe?"

"I'll manage." I waggled my eyebrows. "Unless you'd like to help?"

That brilliant smile turned unsteady. Unsure. "I, ah, of course." Bonnie rallied. "Nothing's too good for the birthday boy." There was still something behind her eyes, though. The enthusiasm was, if not forced, then at least reluctant. That wasn't what I wanted, at all.

"Bon... if you don't want to, I don't want you to feel like..." I sighed.

"I do! I really do, Jeff. It's just... this isn't what we normally do. But I love you, and I want you to feel good." She sank to her knees in front of me. "I want to make you feel good." Her hand grasped my shaft, stroking it slowly. "Let me? Please?"

It was real, if not entirely wholehearted. I believed everything she was saying; I also believed she wasn't saying everything. But the most beautiful woman in the world was on her knees, staring up into my eyes as she licked the tip of my cock. How the hell was I supposed to say no to that?

I wasn't.

When my hand caressed her cheek, she grinned, then took my glans into her mouth and sucked on it like a lollipop. My wife gave the best blowjobs I'd ever had, even when we first started dating. She sometimes joked that was how she hooked me; she wasn't entirely wrong. But now, almost thirty years later?

"Oh! Oh god, Bonnie!" I have no doubt that, if she wanted, my wife could have gotten me off within seconds. Instead, I was treated to a marvelously drawn out edging session.

Her hands caressed my balls and stroked my shaft, maximizing pleasure while never quite getting all the way to release. Bonnie's mouth was indescribably good, kissing and sucking and licking up and down my cock. She knew what I liked, and while she didn't give it all to me—no deep throating, which she could do but didn't enjoy—I certainly had no complaints.

"Sweetheart, I'm close—" I warned her; she gave me what I liked, so I tried to do the same. Like deepthroating, she would swallow for me sometimes, but she didn't especially enjoy it. That was okay, though. There was something we both liked.

Bonnie drew back, looking up at me with bright eyes. One hand slid up and down the shaft, slick with saliva, while the other caressed and gently squeezed my balls. "Cum for me, baby. I want it. C'mon, handsome, cum all over me. Give it to me love, I want it."

She laughed happily as I tensed, as the first rope of jism arced from my cock and onto her chest. "Yessss, baby! I love your cum." Another spurt landed on her cheek as she moved closer. A third painted her throat, and a fourth, smaller one joined it.

Only then did she lean forward to take me back in her mouth as the fifth and final spray made its way out. It wasn't my taste she minded, only the volume. Bonnie sucked greedily as I moaned, too overcome with sensation to do more than lean against the wall. A loud pop was followed by my sexy wife's voice. "Mmmm. So good, baby." I looked down at her, and any hesitancy I might have seen before was gone, replaced by pure devotion. "I love you, Jeff."

Bonnie made a little happy noise as I cupped her cheek, pressing her face into my palm. Panting, I said, "Ah- hah- love you, Bonnie." I pulled her to her feet. I would have kissed her—if she'd swallow for me, why wouldn't I kiss her afterwards?—but she just smiled and said, "I'm going to go clean up. Put the movie on for us?"

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. Bonnie moved towards the hallway, making me smile. I loved to watch her as she walked. "God, sweetheart. You're so beautiful."

She flashed a little smile over her shoulder. "You're just saying that because I'm covered with your cum. Now shoo!" There was a little extra bounce in her step; I enjoyed every second of it until she was out of view.

We settled in to watch some romantic comedy; I don't remember the name. It was an inoffensive little confection and reasonably funny. But mostly, I just enjoyed laying with my head in Bonnie's lap, savoring the warmth of her skin and her laughter. She stroked my hair as we watched, occasionally dipping her head down to kiss me gently. Those moments, even more than the amazing blowjob, felt precious to me. To both of us, from what her smile said.

By the time the movie was over, I was well past recovered, but I didn't feel the need to indulge. There was time. We had all weekend, and I didn't want to make Bonnie think that the nakedness and closeness that I desired was purely about sex. I mean, it was about sex; I'd be lying if I said that wasn't the impetus. But the longer we cuddled, I found how much that simple pleasure filled a void I'd scarcely registered.

We were partway through another movie, one of my choosing, when I heard her stomach rumble and realized we were well past lunch time. Bonnie had cooked breakfast, so I took care of lunch. It wasn't anything too extravagant--just a couple of BLTs--but still tasty. She laughed at my naked ass hanging out of the apron, so I wiggled it at her, which made her laugh even harder. The loving expression on my wife's face as we cleaned up made me feel as content as I had since... hell, since the kids had moved out. Maybe before. "I love you, babe."

"I love you, too, Jeff." My wife stretched, unintentionally putting her full body on display for me, and I felt myself stir again. She saw it, too; that brought back the self-conscious Bonnie from before, and it broke my heart a little bit.

Still, this was a process; we had to make our way back to each other. This weekend would be a part of that, but I couldn't expect that whatever had broken between us would be fixed in a few hours of naked cuddling and a blowjob, no matter how fantastic both had been.

"God, hon, you're so beautiful."

Bonnie chuckled. "You have to say that. You're my husband."

I frowned. This might be a process, but part of the process was speaking up. "Why do you do that?"

She cocked her head to one side. "What?"

"That. Where you... I say you're beautiful, and you deflect. You don't thank me—which is fine, that's not why I'm saying it—but instead you imply that I'm..." I struggled to find the right phrasing. "Lying is maybe too strong. But that I'm being disingenuous, maybe? That it's false flattery?"

My wife bit her cheek, weighing what I'd said. "I didn't realize I was doing that. I'm— I believe that you mean it, at least to an extent. But..." She sighed. "But that doesn't make it true. And it doesn't mean it's not a reflex."

"A reflex?"

Her gaze focused on the table. "When we were younger, I was beautiful. I know that. And I don't think I'm ugly now, just... just not beautiful. And I think sometimes you've kept saying it because it's something you've always said."

It pained me to see the look in Bonnie's eyes when she raised her head again. "I know you love me. I know you want me to feel good about myself. But I've also seen you look at other women." I started to speak, but she raised her hand. "I'm not jealous. I look at other men, too. Our young next door neighbors, for example; I know we've both stared at them."

She laughed at my chagrined expression. "I'm not mad, hon. They're very attractive. She's stacked, and he's got that six pack; they're both incredibly hot. And they're both always out doing their yard work half-dressed. We wouldn't be human if we didn't stare.

"But they're... she's beautiful. She is. And I'm..." Bonnie looked back down. "I'm just me. A middle-aged mom with wrinkles and cellulite." Her sigh was part accepting and part disappointed. "I can't compare with that."

"Bonnie..." She didn't look up. "Please." Her head inclined the tiniest bit, but she mostly looked with her eyes. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me." That got her to look at me, then to open her mouth as if to object. "Don't. It's not reflexive. It's not me trying to make you feel good, although I hope it does that, too. It's the truth."

I looked up at the ceiling for a moment to arrange my thoughts, then back at her. "I'm not saying that you're objectively the most beautiful woman in the world; it's not like there's an objective mark of that, anyways. I'm not saying you're even... you're not a model. But you are the most beautiful woman in the world to me."

My elbows rested on the table as I leaned forward. "Let me ask you a question. Do you think I'm handsome?"

Bonnie hesitated, as if she was afraid I was trying to trap her. To be fair, I was. "... Yes. But--"

"I'm not asking if you think I'm the most handsome in the world, or to rate me against anyone else, okay? So you think I'm handsome, even though I'm starting to see gray hairs, and I've gotten a little soft around the middle. Yes?" She nodded. "And I think you're beautiful."

"It's not the same. Guys age better than--"

"That's bullshit! Who says that? Creeps that want to bang supermodels or teenagers. The fashion and makeup industries that are trying to sell shit. Guys that don't..." I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you and me, and how beautiful that I find you. Not what someone on the street might say. You think I'm handsome. Do you think our neighbor does? Or a random person on the street?"

"Yeah, probably. You're a good looking guy, even if..." She turned a little red, and I laughed.

"Even if I've let myself go a bit? It's okay, hon. It's the truth. I should get back to the gym. But I'm glad you think so. Let me ask it a different way: do you think I'm as handsome to a random woman on the street as I am to you?"

"... No."

"I think you're beautiful. I think that, of the two of us, a random stranger would find you more attractive than they'd find me. And I think that doesn't matter at all for what I'm saying. It's not about what some arbitrary person thinks, or a beauty magazine, or our neighbors, or anyone else. For me, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You were when we married, and it's more true every single day. You're more beautiful to me today than you were when we met."

"How? I'm..." Bonnie gestured to her body. God, no wonder she didn't want to be more intimate. Did she think that she was ugly? Or that I thought she was ugly?

I stood, smiling, and took her hand. "Come with me? Please?"

Bonnie started to object. Or possibly only to question; regardless, her body language made it clear she was reluctant to come along, but ultimately she did. I led her to our bedroom, then into the master bathroom. Bonnie stood uncomfortably in front of the mirror, not quite looking at her reflection, and I just behind her.

"Look at yourself, hon. You're beautiful. I think you're amazing. Gorgeous."

She did as I asked, but all that led to was a shake of her head. "I get what you're trying to do, Jeff. Can we just drop it? I'm sorry. I won't deflect anymore, okay? I'm beautiful." She said the words, but there was absolutely no force behind them.

My hand brushed her hair aside to touch a nearly-faded scar on her shoulder. "Do you remember how you got this?"

She laughed, "That mountain bike excursion you talked me into on our honeymoon."

I kissed it softly. "Do you remember how I took care of you afterwards? I felt so bad about that."

Another laugh, along with a more contemplative expression. "Yes, you fussed over me so much. It wasn't even a bad tumble or that big a scrape. But..." She leaned her head back against my chest. "Yes, I remember."

"You say that you're wrinkled. And... Okay, yes, you are. Maybe not as much as you seem to think. But I love those wrinkles. When you laughed just now, I saw where so many of them came from, all the laughs and smiles and shared fun we've had. And the worry lines, those were shared, too."

My arms encircled her, holding her close to me. That lovely warmth again, spreading between our bodies. "You say you have cellulite, but so what? Okay, yeah, maybe we should get in better shape; I'll be happy to do that with you. But it's another... We've been comfortable. We're able to just enjoy our lives together. Maybe we overindulged occasionally, but that was because we were happy, yeah?"

"... Yeah." She worried at her lip, thinking.

"And more than that..." One arm moved lower, stroking her side. "Some of it, some of how your body has changed is because you carried our children. My children. You gave them to me, sacrificed your body and your health to give me that wonderful gift. " A finger traced the thin, silvery stretch marks on her belly, a trail of scars gained in service to our family and our love.

Then they moved to another scar, the one that marked the cesarean she underwent for our daughter. "Even when it almost killed you. You would have sacrificed your life for Julie; I know that." Bonnie nodded, eyes misty at the memory or my words or both; I couldn't know. "You see wrinkles and cellulite and scars, but I see the woman I love and how much she loved me. How could I think of you as anything but beautiful, Bonnie?

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. It's not hyperbole or flattery. It's what I see every time I look at you." She nodded, unable to speak.

"And it's not just... I'm not saying that as a platitude. You are sexy to me, too, Bonnie. So damned sexy. You can feel it, I know." My wife shifted slightly, not quite grinding against me, but acknowledging the hardness pressing against her. I kissed her neck as one hand made its way up to her breast, cupping it gently. She stifled a moan. "Gorgeous. So gorgeous."

Another hand made its way down. "Even here. I know you'd keep your bush full, but you keep it trimmed. You do it for me, because you know I like how it looks."

Bonnie chuckled, "Even though you want me to shave it all off." But then she gasped, eyes half closed as my fingers made their way lower, teasing at her labia.

I kissed her neck again and whispered in her ear. "Good marriages are all about compromise, right?" She ground herself back against me, harder this time. "Look at yourself, love."

My wife's eyes opened again, looking directly at our reflections. "I love the way that flush spreads out down your neck and across your chest." Two fingers made their way between her lips and inside as my thumb stroked her clit. "I love the way it turns your pale skin pink. How you gasp when I touch you."

She whimpered slightly as I stroked faster with my fingers, juices drenching them. Her legs spread slightly to give me more access. "I love you. Everything about you. Do you see how beautiful you are to me? How desirable?"

Bonnie started to shake slightly. I knew those little tremors so well, the herald of her oncoming orgasm. Breath came faster, moans grew louder, eyes started to close. "No. Watch yourself." She struggled to keep them open, only barely managing. "Watch the most beautiful woman in the world cum for her husband." My words took Bonnie the rest of the way to her climax. Tears trailed down her face as she gasped and sobbed with joy and love, shaking like a leaf in my arms.

When she regained control, at least enough to stand on her own, I asked. "Do you believe me?" Another nod, then she turned her head away from our reflection, lips seeking mine. It was a soft, sweet kiss, one that stood in marked contrast to the almost violent spasms dying down in her body.

She broke away. "Bed. Need you."

We stumbled out of the bathroom, lips locked together, trying not to trip each other. The bed seemed so distant, but the journey was pretty damned great. Our kiss in the bathroom had been gentle, but this one decidedly was not; my lover tried to devour me as I manhandled her body, mauling that curvy ass and those magnificent tits.

Bonnie's legs bumped against the bed, and she fell backwards onto the mattress, laughing, arms open wide. "Please." Her voice was almost bashful as she lovingly smiled up at me, adoration and lust mingling in her gorgeous green eyes.

I didn't even bother getting onto the bed. Instead, I spread my wife's legs and placed them on my shoulders. That loving smile turned pure wicked as she realized what she'd done to me, what all her moans and sighs and kisses and groping had brought out in her man. With a single thrust, I filled her, to the sound of a triumphant "Yes!" from her lips.

We needed each other. That was the only way to describe it: need. Past desire or lust or even love, I needed to be inside her, and she needed to feel me there. We made love with an ardor that our bed hadn't seen in years. It was a renewal not just of intimacy, but of passion, and it was glorious.

Bonnie's nails dug into my biceps as my cock pistoned in and out of her, her emerald eyes alive with a wanton need. She was always vocal, delighting me with moans and whimpers and sighs. When we were younger, though, she had been verbal as well, groaning filthy urgings that inflamed me; now she was again.

The Bonnie I fell in love with decades before had returned, and she urged me to reclaim her. To reclaim us. "Mmm, fuck Jeff! I missed this, missed the way-- ah! Oh god, baby! Please! I need— fuck, Jeff! So good! I need your dick, your perfect dick! I— I- ah ah oh YES!" The most beautiful woman in the world came again, and I followed her. Each throb of my cock drove more seed into my wife's womb, and each drove her to further heights of ecstasy.

We were drenched in sweat as we came down, panting and gasping, but we still found the breath to tell each other over and over again, "I love you." There were tears, too; happy, mostly, but some shed for the years where we hadn't been what we should. We had been a shadow of ourselves, and the brilliance of us—the real us, the right us— was overwhelming in its splendor.