You May Be Excused

Like most husbands I sit at the head of the table. Like most husbands, if my wife does the cooking I do the dishes afterwards. Like most husbands, I want to finish up dinner as soon as possible, so I can do what I want - maybe read or watch a ballgame or surf the net.

But unlike most husbands I just sit there...and listen...and wait.

Sure Santana or Pedro might be pitching, but I know better than to glance over at the clock. This is her time, and it is important for her to talk to about her day. And because it is important to her it is important to me too - in fact it is the most important thing in the world. So I listen - with genuine attention - to whatever she wants to talk about Worries about the kids, some politics at work, or some gossip about some trouble her friends are having.

She loves this time between the two of us, and she appreciates me listening. After a while, she'll start asking me about my day, and when I talk about it I'm careful to mention my assignments, because I've found that this is the best time to mention any failure to complete the errands or chores that she has tasked me with. I watch her closely when I talk, because I know that any flicker of unhappiness or disappointment with me will have consequences. If I don't bring it up now she is sure to mention it later. She doesn't forget anything, and I know I don't want to hear about it then.

It takes a while, but I am careful to show no sign of impatience while I am sitting there.

She might be in the middle of a story, when she stops and says: "Hmmm I wonder how Pedro is pitching - the Mets really need some innings tonight..." And she slides her empty wine glass over to me. No, we're not done talking. I see a little flash in her eyes, and just the slightest hint of a smirk.

BOOOIIIIIING!!!!! That smirk sends a jolt through my heart, and when I get up, and take her wine glass over to the fridge, I have a pronounced lump in my pants. She knows I want to watch Pedro. She knows that she - and only she - will decide if and when I get to watch Pedro.

"Put some fresh ice in it." She says to my back.

I walk back and set it before her, but before I sit down she smiles and says: "Someone has to pay the toll."

I get up, lean over and plant a kiss on her lips.

I start back towards my seat.

"Just one?"

Back I come, planting kiss after kiss on her lips, Pedro but a distant memory as I lose myself in my devotions. Kiss after kiss, each one sending a shiver of delight through my body.

She draws back, taking a sip of wine while I remain there, poised, in case she wants more kisses. She takes first one sip, then another, watching me as I watch her. I hear her lift her foot and use it push my chair out, my sign to sit and talk with her some more.

I sit and she pushes her seat back slightly, so she can lean back, lift her legs and place them across my lap. I keep my eyes on her while I begin caressing her feet, stroking the soles just enough to delight her, but not nearly enough to trigger a tickle that will make her pull them away from me.

"I saw this absolutely lovely pair of shoes today...." She trails off into another story, this time about shopping, and as she does so I start to lean over slowly because I want to plant kisses on her toes while she talks to me. But I lean down slowly, so I can continue looking at her, in order to make sure that attention of this sort is appropriate at the time. Many times it isn't, but tonight I watch, and see from her eyes, that she has no objection. I plant kiss after kiss on her pink toes, while she tells me about the shoes - the height and style of the heels, the color and shade. She tells me enough about them so I can imagine the look of them on her feet, the sound of them as she struts on our wooden floors. I listen and lick her toes while she talks about the shoes, and I look up at her, knowing that tomorrow she'll come home and find them in a box on her bed, with a card and a single red rose.

I want to lean back and unzip myself, so that I might show her gorgeous feet a more intimate, and more intense devotion. She seems relaxed enough - now she is talking about pocket books she's seen, and whether or not she should try the hairdresser that one of her friends has been recommending. But I dare not unzip myself until I get some clear and unambiguous invitation to do so. A few months ago I did just that, and all I won for such selfishness was a few days of sulking remoteness from her. And I won't go through that again.

So I continue kissing and caressing her feet while we talk, hoping that my attention, and the relaxation, these moments offer (I'm thinking we've been sitting there for about an hour so far), might release her from her cares. I sit and listen in the hope that she might ease back further, and be so encouraged the release of worry that she might encourage some more intense, and stimulating, adoration from me. I sit and listen carefully to every word...and hope.

We talk a while longer, and then she settles into silence. I wait patiently while she sips her wine, and ponders at things I can only wonder at. Is she thinking of me? Is she happy with me?

"You may be excused now."

I get up from my chair, turn and leave, but thankfully I catch myself in time and I walk back and give her a kiss.

As I walk out of the room, she says: "There's underwear in the laundry room that needs to be folded."

Pedro is out of the game by the time I flip on the tube downstairs and start folding the laundry. The bullpen is in the process of blowing another game, but it doesn't seem so important anymore. I'm thinking of her, replaying what she said in my mind, studying her tone for any subtle feelings that I may not have picked up on earlier. All that matters is ... Her. The beauty of Her, the promise of Her Love. As I fold her silky lace panties I ache for Her, knowing that in about an hour I'll climb the stairs, climb into bed in the prayerful hope that this might be the night...