Wendy awoke thinking, "Great. It's Sunday" and promptly went back to sleep.
On Sundays Phil brought her a mug of steaming hot coffee and warm blueberry muffin in bed.
The sound of Phil pulling on the drawstring to open the concertinaed blackout blind brought Wendy to consciousness again. After anchoring the drawstring, Phil carefully closed the gap in the full net privacy curtains. The room was barely lit by the blue tinged early morning light.
Wendy sat up against the headboard as she savored the delicious smell of the dark roast coffee. Phil went to his side of the bed, turned on his bedside light and started their usual playlist of smooth jazz. He too returned to bed. They both drank their coffees and ate the warm buttered muffins in silence, consumed by their own private thoughts.
"As usual, that was lovely. Thank you, Phil." Wendy stretched and then wriggled down under the warm covers. She rolled on her side facing the pale light of dawn through the window.
Phil turned the sound of the music down to a point where it was hardly audible. He turned off the light before following Wendy's lead to snuggle under the blankets. Phil spooned his wife of twenty-five years. Their mutual warmth drew them both down into a pleasant comfort cuddle.
Wendy anticipated Phil's actions from the many Sundays they had followed the same routine. Phil's hand reached down to the hem of Wendy's flannel nightdress and started to pull it up. She helped by lifting her hips, so the loose garment was bunched under breasts.
Phil's hand travelled up to her breasts under the nightgown and started to massage them. Wendy positioned one of her hands on the pillow just in front of her face. As Phil worked her breasts, she squeezed the foam pillow and thought that the sensation must be similar to Phil's.
He then turned his attention to her nipples. Wendy thought, "Right on cue." In her mind she turned the pages of Phil's playbook. Reflexively, her nipples sharpened from the attention they were getting. As had been the case for many months, the nipples were sending out no discernable signals to the rest of her body.
Phil pinched and rolled the nubs between his forefinger and thumb. Wendy felt some pain. It was of the kind hurt the brain receives when stubbing one's toe. Simple uncomfortable pain, no pleasure. She did not complain or even react. She would let Phil have his fun. He deserved it for bringing the coffee.
