One evening, Delighted Husband had an important meeting the next day and he hadn't had time to make it to the hair salon. He asked me if I could give him a haircut, and I said I'd give it a try. I'd seen my mom give my dad haircuts in the kitchen for years growing up. I snipped a little, and used the beard trimmer from his electric razor to trim up his neck. He loved the results, and I had fun doing it.
The next month, he didn't even bother trying for a hair appointment. He asked me to do it. I said sure, and went to the beauty supply store to buy him a cape and a good pair of haircutting shears. So he perched on a bar stool, put the cape on and I began to cut his hair. The problem was that all these little hairs got on my clothes because I didn't have a cape. Well, I fixed that problem! (wink)
I took my clothes off.
Not to be outdone, and perhaps hoping to be done, Delighted Husband took his clothes off too.
I did manage to finish his haircut.
That was 7 years ago.
I've been giving him naked haircuts ever since.
It's SO much FUN!
Sometimes, just flirting with eye contact, sometimes a little lap dance. Flirting, groping, fondling, and eventually... (blush) (grin)
I have gotten pretty good at haircutting too!
I only know how to do 1 style, though. He doesn't mind. -SW
Showing posts with label naked. Show all posts
Showing posts with label naked. Show all posts
Friday, July 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Beauty That Nourishes
Fatigue is a powerful force and it takes something equally powerful to counteract it.
Beauty.
Delighted Husband and I have been working some long hours at our respective jobs. Both of us feeling a fatigue of unusual intensity. Fatigue is more than sleepyness or the sense of needing to sit down and catch your breath after an intense game of basketball. Fatigue is a bonewearyness of body and soul. This is what we're dealing with.
We arrive home and after sending one last important email I step away from the computer and walk with him toward the bedroom. We cuddle and he tells me about his day. About the stresses and strains of daily work life. I listen and blurt out sympathy and indignation. Our companionship is sweet. Two best friends sharing the victories and griefs of the day. Suddenly, he rolls on top of me. I blink in surprise. Then smile at what he says next. Then smile at what he does next.
Companionship, love, marital play all satisfied, hunger is the next need in line. He heads for the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal. That is one of the most adorable things about him I think—how Delighted Husband is pushing forty and still enjoys a bowl of colorful cereal with the unabashed gusto of a little boy. I prefer more substantial fare, and find the thought of sugary cereal on an empty stomach deplorable.
I doze and luxuriate until my stomach starts to growl. I close my eyes and remember waffles. I remember when my Daddy used to cook on the nights my Mama had to work late at her floral shop. That's right. I get the business owner bug honest. And her store was there to offer beauty and joy to women as well. What a heritage. So on nights Mama was working late into the night like Santa's elves to bouquet-ify an entire wedding party, Daddy would make waffles. Waffles. I hadn't had waffles in years.
I ambled into the kitchen, nearly stood on my head in front of the island cabinet, and dug out the waffle iron. While it was heating, I opened a box of whole wheat bisquicky stuff and whipped up a batch of waffle batter. I'm pushin' forty myself and my waffles are more carb-healthy than Daddy's but the thought still counts. I anoint my waffle with real butter and maple syrup—not even sugarfree stuff, the real McCoy—and take a bite. I swallow and sigh and think "God bless us all every one." I listen to my audiobook and savor the waffley bliss. By this time, Delighted Husband is in the gameroom playing Wii. The chirpy happy music and roaring car engine noise tells me he is off to the races with Mario Kart.
Having savored my waffle, I want something lush from the protein category. I know just the ticket. I whip up a batch of eggs the way Friend Dennis makes them. Spicy and seasoned just right with mushrooms and cheese. I remember the first time he cooked these eggs for us on the first morning of one of the vacations Friend Dennis and his Dearly Beloved took with me and Delighted Husband. I remember how special it was to have someone cook for me. Me the one who loves to cook being cooked for and how cared-for that made me feel.
And I feel cared-for all over again. Remembering the meals my Daddy and my friend cooked for me, I feel it and taste it all over again, and I feel nourished body and soul.
Such simple pleasures. Such beauty. And I experience the wonder of feeling nourished and satisfied instead of hungry and fatigued. Simple things will get you through, my friends. Simple rest. Simple play. Simple food. Simple love. Wow, do I feel better.
Beauty.
Delighted Husband and I have been working some long hours at our respective jobs. Both of us feeling a fatigue of unusual intensity. Fatigue is more than sleepyness or the sense of needing to sit down and catch your breath after an intense game of basketball. Fatigue is a bonewearyness of body and soul. This is what we're dealing with.
We arrive home and after sending one last important email I step away from the computer and walk with him toward the bedroom. We cuddle and he tells me about his day. About the stresses and strains of daily work life. I listen and blurt out sympathy and indignation. Our companionship is sweet. Two best friends sharing the victories and griefs of the day. Suddenly, he rolls on top of me. I blink in surprise. Then smile at what he says next. Then smile at what he does next.
Companionship, love, marital play all satisfied, hunger is the next need in line. He heads for the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal. That is one of the most adorable things about him I think—how Delighted Husband is pushing forty and still enjoys a bowl of colorful cereal with the unabashed gusto of a little boy. I prefer more substantial fare, and find the thought of sugary cereal on an empty stomach deplorable.
I doze and luxuriate until my stomach starts to growl. I close my eyes and remember waffles. I remember when my Daddy used to cook on the nights my Mama had to work late at her floral shop. That's right. I get the business owner bug honest. And her store was there to offer beauty and joy to women as well. What a heritage. So on nights Mama was working late into the night like Santa's elves to bouquet-ify an entire wedding party, Daddy would make waffles. Waffles. I hadn't had waffles in years.
I ambled into the kitchen, nearly stood on my head in front of the island cabinet, and dug out the waffle iron. While it was heating, I opened a box of whole wheat bisquicky stuff and whipped up a batch of waffle batter. I'm pushin' forty myself and my waffles are more carb-healthy than Daddy's but the thought still counts. I anoint my waffle with real butter and maple syrup—not even sugarfree stuff, the real McCoy—and take a bite. I swallow and sigh and think "God bless us all every one." I listen to my audiobook and savor the waffley bliss. By this time, Delighted Husband is in the gameroom playing Wii. The chirpy happy music and roaring car engine noise tells me he is off to the races with Mario Kart.
Having savored my waffle, I want something lush from the protein category. I know just the ticket. I whip up a batch of eggs the way Friend Dennis makes them. Spicy and seasoned just right with mushrooms and cheese. I remember the first time he cooked these eggs for us on the first morning of one of the vacations Friend Dennis and his Dearly Beloved took with me and Delighted Husband. I remember how special it was to have someone cook for me. Me the one who loves to cook being cooked for and how cared-for that made me feel.
And I feel cared-for all over again. Remembering the meals my Daddy and my friend cooked for me, I feel it and taste it all over again, and I feel nourished body and soul.
Such simple pleasures. Such beauty. And I experience the wonder of feeling nourished and satisfied instead of hungry and fatigued. Simple things will get you through, my friends. Simple rest. Simple play. Simple food. Simple love. Wow, do I feel better.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Allies Til Death, Part Two
for I have said before that you are in our hearts to die together and to live together.
2 Corinthians 7:1-4 "1 Therefore, having these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God. 2 Make room for us in your hearts; we wronged no one, we corrupted no one, we took advantage of no one. 3 I do not speak to condemn you, for I have said before that you are in our hearts to die together and to live together. 4 Great is my confidence in you; great is my boasting on your behalf. I am filled with comfort; I am overflowing with joy in all our affliction."
What does this have to do with marriage?
Plenty.
Who else? Above all other humans, who else? In all relationships in my life, none other should characterize this kind of supercharged dedication more than my relationship with Delighted Husband.
So lemme just say it right here and now: "Baby, you are in my heart to live together and to die together. I choose you above all other humans. We are Allies Till Death."
This is where the sweet abandon in the bedroom comes from. We don't just like each other. We're not just attracted to each other. We don't just tolerate each other. We don't just love each other. We are allies till death. This kind of supercharged dedication is the mattress we rest and play on. This is where nudity becomes the sacred naked. When each touch, every whispered scream, each sensation is an affirmation and celebration of our alliance, that's when God's glory falls all around us, turning our bedroom into a cathedral built for two. -SW
2 Corinthians 7:1-4 "1 Therefore, having these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God. 2 Make room for us in your hearts; we wronged no one, we corrupted no one, we took advantage of no one. 3 I do not speak to condemn you, for I have said before that you are in our hearts to die together and to live together. 4 Great is my confidence in you; great is my boasting on your behalf. I am filled with comfort; I am overflowing with joy in all our affliction."
What does this have to do with marriage?
Plenty.
Who else? Above all other humans, who else? In all relationships in my life, none other should characterize this kind of supercharged dedication more than my relationship with Delighted Husband.
So lemme just say it right here and now: "Baby, you are in my heart to live together and to die together. I choose you above all other humans. We are Allies Till Death."
This is where the sweet abandon in the bedroom comes from. We don't just like each other. We're not just attracted to each other. We don't just tolerate each other. We don't just love each other. We are allies till death. This kind of supercharged dedication is the mattress we rest and play on. This is where nudity becomes the sacred naked. When each touch, every whispered scream, each sensation is an affirmation and celebration of our alliance, that's when God's glory falls all around us, turning our bedroom into a cathedral built for two. -SW
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Touch
I've discovered a lot of joy in making everything I touch a pleasure whenever possible. Even everyday stuff. Case in point: towels.
I stood in the towel aisle in Walmart tonight, choosing towels by texture first and color second. I didn't plan on buying anything. I was actually there just to exchange a set of sheets. But when I felt these extrodinarily sofffft towels, I knew a few of them had to come live in my house. I was lost in linen nirvana when I noticed a Wal-mart employee in the department re-arranging a shower curtain display. "Well hey Mary", I said with a grin to cover my sheepishness, "I'm just standing here petting these towels. I have NEVER felt towels this soft." Mary wasn't fazed by my towel-fondling. "Mmmm-hmm" she said in that matter-of-fact tone that only Southern Black women have, "I know that's right. I just bought me some last night and one lady came in here this morning and bought 18! Girl, if you want 'em, you better get 'em now." It was like saying "sick 'em" to a dog. I immediately obeyed, dropping 2 pair into my basket. I looked at my basket and mentally ran a tab in my head and decided I really didn't need that designer matching Kleenex box cover. After all, how many times am I gonna touch the Kleenex box cover?
It's a simple thing, a towel. But I've adopted the belief that anything that touches my skin should be as soft as possible. Especially my dripping wet, naked-as-the-day-I-was-born skin. My husband is a manly man and would never pick towels like this. He'd pick the rough-and-tough-whatever's-$1.99 towel. But after he climbs out of the shower and mops his dripping wet face with this towel he mutters, "God, these towels are soft!" When I create an environment of tactile pleasure in our master suite, he really enjoys it. And I enjoy seeing him enjoy it. That's not double talk, my friend. That's wifely joy. -SW-
Details...I wanted to include a link in case any of you now have a hankering for these towels. But they're not on walmart.com. So here's the label, girls. HomeTrends Reversible Ultra Soft Bath Towel 100% Low Twist Cotton. If I see a link on Wally in the next few days I'll post it.
I stood in the towel aisle in Walmart tonight, choosing towels by texture first and color second. I didn't plan on buying anything. I was actually there just to exchange a set of sheets. But when I felt these extrodinarily sofffft towels, I knew a few of them had to come live in my house. I was lost in linen nirvana when I noticed a Wal-mart employee in the department re-arranging a shower curtain display. "Well hey Mary", I said with a grin to cover my sheepishness, "I'm just standing here petting these towels. I have NEVER felt towels this soft." Mary wasn't fazed by my towel-fondling. "Mmmm-hmm" she said in that matter-of-fact tone that only Southern Black women have, "I know that's right. I just bought me some last night and one lady came in here this morning and bought 18! Girl, if you want 'em, you better get 'em now." It was like saying "sick 'em" to a dog. I immediately obeyed, dropping 2 pair into my basket. I looked at my basket and mentally ran a tab in my head and decided I really didn't need that designer matching Kleenex box cover. After all, how many times am I gonna touch the Kleenex box cover?
It's a simple thing, a towel. But I've adopted the belief that anything that touches my skin should be as soft as possible. Especially my dripping wet, naked-as-the-day-I-was-born skin. My husband is a manly man and would never pick towels like this. He'd pick the rough-and-tough-whatever's-$1.99 towel. But after he climbs out of the shower and mops his dripping wet face with this towel he mutters, "God, these towels are soft!" When I create an environment of tactile pleasure in our master suite, he really enjoys it. And I enjoy seeing him enjoy it. That's not double talk, my friend. That's wifely joy. -SW-
Details...I wanted to include a link in case any of you now have a hankering for these towels. But they're not on walmart.com. So here's the label, girls. HomeTrends Reversible Ultra Soft Bath Towel 100% Low Twist Cotton. If I see a link on Wally in the next few days I'll post it.
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