A Matter of Habit

I rolled over in bed and squinted my eyes to fend off the morning light. The sounds of life flowed in through the almost closed blinds. She was out there, somewhere.

I pulled the pillow to my face, and could still catch the scent of her hair. I knew the sheets had not been changed in too long, much too long. Like every morning though, I left them where they were as a reminder of her. I wandered into the kitchen to begin the morning ritual of water, basket, filter, grounds and power that resulted in the coffee that was my life's blood.

The coffee maker did not want to work until I hit it on the side a half dozen times, and once again I wondered what made me struggle with it each day. Habit I suppose, but that is my life. Habit after habit after habit. The chugging sound of the coffee maker drew me into silent retrospection. Why? Was it the habit of me that drove her away? The coffee maker chugged to a stop like an old car kept alive too long and I poured a cupful into my well-stained mug. Milk, two spoons of sugar, stir. Habit.

I never had liked coffee, but she had taught me to enjoy the bitter sweetness that now just seemed to stick in my throat. Her empty cup across the table caught my eye as I sat down.

* * * * *

Her hand is there as I sit down at the table. With lazy casualness I trace the line of her fingers. Her attention caught up in her reading; does she realize how beautiful she is? With the mess of sleep-rumpled hair, her glasses perched on the bridge of her sweet nose, I watch her read as I pull her hand to me and caress the palm with my lips. With a soft sigh of comfort she shifts and the movement pulls the front of her robe open, exposing the swell of one breast. I let my eyes slide over her to where the pink of a nipple just barely shows through the shadow of silk. The curves of her body are to me, a work of art.

"Do you have to go?" I whisper against her hand.

She sighs, "You know that I have meetings all morning and into the afternoon, but I will be home early."

She looks up from her paper with eyes that are soft and almost sad. Standing from my chair, I walk around behind her looking over her shoulder at the editorial she is reading. My hands slide beneath the silk covering her shoulders and I begin to massage the soft skin beneath.

"What are you reading?" I ask.

Her soft hair brushes through my fingers as I gently massage just above the top of her neck.

She replies, "An editorial by a politician discussing something that he doesn't understand."

She lets her head fall back into my hands and I lean down to meet her lips. I feel the flow of comfort that comes from that gentle kiss. It is brief, too brief. I pull her into a longer kiss, deep and passionate. Only her and I exist in the entire world, the soft form of her lips pressed to mine. She pulls away, looking at me questioningly.

"What was that for?"

I reply, "You are beautiful, and I could," knowing she can hear the want in my words.

Her smile melts me. Not being able to resist, I pull her up to me and kiss her again, deeply with the same ever-present passion. Wanting to hold her. Wanting to keep her here with me this morning, knowing that I cannot. As the kiss lingers, I run my hands down her sides to where her torso meets her hips. I pull her toward me and I can feel the warmth of her body emanating through her robe. I am intensely aware of her breasts against my chest, of every inch of her touching me, as her familiar sweet scent mixed with the faint remains of yesterdays perfume surrounds me even after she pulls away.

She looks at me, and replies "No you don't," shaking her head, "and no I don't..." talking as much to herself as to me.

"Can't you mysteriously get the flu," I reply, "or even show up a little late?"

"These meetings are very important."

She peels herself from me, as she does my hands grasp the material around her waist. The robe slips open and I take a loving look at her body revealed.

"No," I say to her as she moves to gather up the flaps of her robe, "Please, I want to look at you, to see you."

Her blush doesn't keep her from letting the robe fall open again. My eyes follow the curve of her body, down her neck along the sides of her breasts to the gentle curves of her waist. Finally, and with a slight shiver, she gathers up the robe, and turns.

"You are beautiful..." my voice follows her as she leaves the room.

* * * * *

My mind returned to the real cup of coffee in my hand. The memory seemed so real that I could almost believe I was there again. I ate another flavorless breakfast, eating out of habit. The newspaper I read told a variation of the usual news, good, bad and indifferent. It was the same as always, the world still turning, even if it had stopped for some. I finished and put the dishes in the dishwasher, unplugging that old coffeemaker on the way. Back into the bedroom, I pulled out clothing for the day. Shirt and slacks, the same colors that she had once said looked best on me. No reason to ever change, it was habit.

I started the shower running before getting in, careful to not make a mess.

Habit.

Lather, rinse, repeat. My hair done, I ran the bar of soap over my body and rinsed the sleep off of myself. Once all the soap was washed away I turned off the water and listened without hearing as the water went down the drain.

Towel, mirror and comb. Water and toothbrush, rinse and spit.

Habit.

I opened the medicine cabinet and drew out my razor and shaving cream for my daily shave. Using just the right amount in the palm of my hand. Lather, rub and let the blade trace the contours of my face.

Just another habit.

* * * * *

I look into the mirror as I shave and I can catch a glimpse of her in the bedroom. It is her day off so she is still dressed in the dolly I had bought her the Valentines' Day before. The soft green satin of it wraps her form so well. She catches my eye in the mirror and comes into the bathroom. I continue the ritual that shaving oneself becomes as she slowly makes her way up behind me. Her hips moving in that way that speaks of the subtle self confidence I love. I feel her head as she rests it upon my back. Her hair, soft on my skin, and the satin of her dolly almost tickle. She casually drapes her arms around my torso, and runs her hands up over my stomach to my chest to play in the hair there. I continue shaving, cheeks, jaw and chin. The movements of her hands on me suddenly become intimate and the razor in my hand slips, nicking my upper lip. I wince back from the sudden sharp pain, causing her to jump.

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" rushes out from her amidst a stream of giggles "I didn't mean to, come here and let me see."

Holding both sides of my face in her hands she pulls me close to inspect the nick and then pulls me closer into a kiss.

"There, all better?" comes the age-old comfort.

She looks up at me with love in her eyes and I respond by pulling her in for another kiss.

I can be late for work today.

She returns my kiss and quickly deepens it into fullness. Her hands return to the touches that were the original cause of my slight wound. Ready this time, I make certain to carefully place the razor onto the sink before I reach for her. I slide my fingers softly over the curve of her bottom and thrill in the combination of satin over cotton, as I cup her in my hands.

As our kiss continues urgency begins to rise in us both, tempered by the comfort of familiarity. It is as if although the act of making love is no longer a new one, the feeling of it brings us both back to life.

I bring my hands up to stroke up and down the sides of her body. Her arms rise and I quickly remove her obstructive clothing. Her body is warm against me, soft and delicate. As we press close together, I can feel her nipples growing hard against me. I bring a hand between us to caress her... I can never touch her enough. The touch results in a moan, one that is shared as we kiss and I massage her sensitive skin, it is difficult to tell if it originates from her or I.

I can feel her hand reaching beneath the waistband of my briefs, her touch finding me eager and swollen. Her fingers are cold and her caresses make me take in my breath as even more blood rushes down to make me grow harder as her fingers wrap around me. In return I slide one hand under the cotton of her panties and roam her tender skin. I drop my other hand and with them both, slide her panties down over her thighs. They drop to the floor with a shift of her hips. Somewhere along the way my briefs find the floor as well. Together, kissing, fondling and caressing, we make our way to our bed.

We are both urgent, needy. Now that I am free to, I kiss my way around her body. I kiss my way down over her neck to her breasts, taking a nipple between my lips, drawing a gasp from her. I kiss my way down to her stomach, drawing lazy circles with the tip of my tongue. I can hear her giggle as I tickle her lightly. Moving lower, I slide my tongue down to lightly brush over her, circling around her clit over and over again. The smell of her fills my mind and makes me lightheaded with lust as she pulls me up along her body and we move together. She pulls me into her, and her deep warmth surrounding me pulls a moan from deep in my chest. She replies in kind, and for a short moment we are one. The pleasure washes over us in waves, as our motions increase. I begin to drown in her arms, as she finds and matches the rhythm of my soul.

It begins deep in the pit of me, a burning, a building. The pressure of my pleasure mounts and my body movements quicken to match my racing pulse. The sensation builds in me to a point that it feels as if it could kill me, a point somewhere beyond the boundary between pleasure and pain. Then comes a crashing finality as I let loose the tension in my stomach. My groans, my fire and my passion all escape me into her.

The world slowly comes back into focus as I spiral back down to lay at her side. Our eyes meet and I can see the passion still within her aching. I begin to kiss her now with more force, taking nipping bites at her soft skin. I begin at the side of her neck and work steadily downward. I linger on and between her breasts, taking my time, building within her what I had just felt. I move slowly lower over her tummy, down over the heat of her pussy. I breathe deeply, letting her scent fill me. Carefully, teasingly, I begin to run my tongue over her. Searching for those spots I know are so tender, giving them extra attention. Her body arches up to my mouth in need.

I continue the slow torture, stretching and building her sensations until I can hear those little whimpers that she always makes when the time is right. It is then that I find the bud of her clit and caress it tenderly, treasuring the moans that it pulls from her. Her hips begin to move back to back and up and down in time to the movement of my tongue over and inside of her. As her excitement reaches a peak, I make a final motion, pushing into her with strokes of my fingers as my tongue circles round and round. I revel in her cries of orgasm, loving the sound of my name on her lips as her body first thrashes and then goes rigid beneath me.

* * * * *

I took up my razor again and shook off the power of the memory. I continued to shave while trying to think forward to the day ahead, but memories of her continued to lurk around each corner of my mind. The habit of it got old day after day. She was gone. I forced those thoughts from my head. Perhaps it was time for a new habit.

* * * * *

Work is the same, habit. I walk over to the coffee machine and pour myself a cup to drink while I sit back and read the day's editorials. Caught up in my reading, I do not see the new woman in the office come in. I look up to see her leaning against a counter, her eyes looking out over the city, deep in her own thoughts.

"Why haven't I seen her before?" runs its way through my mind.

Time for a new habit indeed.