Grant & Sandy Pt. 02

We rose together, and wordlessly began to tidy ourselves and our space. The wine glasses and bottle went to the kitchen to be rinsed now and cleaned later, where I also fetched a couple of paper towels to wipe up the mess we'd made at both ends of the couch: matching his and hers puddles on the leather. Sandy folded my clothes and brought them upstairs, and I padded up quietly, buck naked, after her. She ran hot water in the sink, dunked a couple of facecloths, wrung one out and handed it to me before repeating the process for herself. She started with her hair and face, and finished with the rivulets of wine and excitement that had run down the inside of her legs, in some places to mid-calf. I was done well before she was, but stayed to watch her ablutions. She was in no hurry to finish, and I was in no hurry to cover up. We finished with a quick brush of the teeth, and she pulled up the hem of my shirt and sat down on the toilet for a quick pee. Apparently that warded away urinary tract infections. Who knew?

We were completely comfortable with each other, and with ourselves - in this moment, at least. When we were finished, she reached for my hand and led me to our bed, where we turned back the covers and climbed between the sheets. I reached out and switched off the bedside lamp, and then scooted close to her. We still wore only one piece of clothing between the two of us, which never happened with kids in the house. It felt exotic, decadent. My foot reached out to caress hers, and my hand sought her naked hip. I listened to her breathing slow, and I could sense when, a few minutes later, she slipped into another distinct level of restfulness.

"Like the lark," I whispered to her in the darkness and silence to mark the end of my vigil, before following her into the depths of sleep.