Sometimes it is just warm hands, a quiet room and the right person.
Last Friday did not go so well. I woke up with some mood that my husband noticed.
When I retired home, the plan was just to eat and sleep, but apparently my baby had other plans. I walked into the bedroom with dimmed lights and a towel waiting with my husband sitting there ever ready like he was some masseuse and he said no phone for the next thirty minutes, that set the tone kind of.
He brought out an old bottle of massage oil for couples that we had gotten months ago. At first I started laughing because he acted like he knew what he was doing. The beginning was awkward, but I started feeling comfortable. The room was more quiet, our breathing slowly paced and the tension I had been carrying started dropping but so did the distance stress creates without asking.
Afterward, we just laid there. Later that night, out of pure inquisitiveness, I searched why certain oils scent the way they do and that led to me reading ingredient sourcing threads that kept mentioning Alibaba in passing. Not exactly where I expected the evening to lead.
Love gets talked about like it needs fireworks. Sometimes it is just warm hands, a quiet room and the right person.