Time and Place

We all know some times and places are special. In Solomon’s Song of Songs, the beloved speaks of taking her lover to her in either the bed of his or her mother and even of their making love under the tree where he was conceived. All of these ideas sound pretty exciting for each of us (probably for a variety of different reasons). In our case, none of them really were practical or even particularly possible. For instance: the place of my conception had long ago gone from an apartment complex to a parking apron between some small stores and a canal—possible, but not particularly practical or advisable or perhaps even legal. Still, the Song got me thinking, and the spirit of the thing finally hit me. There was something we could do with just a bit of preparation and the tiniest bit of daring.

We live out in the country. A few hundred feet away from the house, about 50 feet each way from the intersection of two county roads, lay a special place. Over time, the huge maples that had shaded it had spread even more, and we had let the bushes grow to form their own dense privacy fence down there at the corner. For a long time, we have liked to go outside where she enjoys playing hind to my hart as she bends over a stump and presents herself to me. Once upon a time many years ago, we had in fact so regularly enjoyed doing so down at that corner that it was a virtual certainty she had conceived one of our children there. We had moved our lovemaking to other locations quite some time ago, but a bit of work with the mower, clippers, and a new stump had it ready to go again.

It had come to me, from reading the Song, that good old-fashioned baby-making sex is a truly wonderful thing and should perhaps be remembered and when possible even memorialized. And what better way than to return to the site of the deed on its anniversary and haul off and have some more of that good old-fashioned baby-making sex? No, we weren’t going to make another one. Though had it been possible, who knows? After all, I’d been snipped—but that’s not the point. The point was that we could go at it with exactly the same spirit in exactly the same place at pretty much the same time as we had when it had produced a God-given child for us before. Wasn’t that a nice thing to think about while loving one another out under the spreading maple trees? It was true that, in the dark, you could hear cars go by and just barely see their lights through the leaves, but they sure couldn’t see you. The stage was set.

Thank the Lord for adventurous wives like mine. When I explained what I had in mind and she had checked my math, she agreed it was the right month and certainly sounded like a nice idea to her. Fortunately, the month was August and not December or January; those months might not have been so romantic. I still haven’t convinced her that a photograph of a 4-legged snow angel would be a nice keepsake, but I digress. When we built our house, we made sure our bedroom had its own door to the outside so we could sneak out for sex under the moon and stars without waking children. Once the time was right that evening, we walked naked out our back door and traipsed off down to where we had been that night we had made a baby.

The actual act of lovemaking itself, though pleasurable, was of course not all that different at first than other times, but the Song had something more to give us at this time and place. The sight of her lovely hips practically glowing in the moonlight was as exciting as always as she bent low over the stump and placed her hands on top of it. She knew exactly how to tease with those hips, too, wiggling them before me as if I needed the encouragement.

We still started a bit as cars sometimes drove by. Looking at her spread legs from behind, I stepped forward and sought her opening. I slid right into the warmth of a very wet and welcoming wife. Following that, the traffic meant nothing to either of us anymore. After a few strokes to get us settled, I stood quietly as I ran my hands along her sides. Bending over her and lying along her back, I was soon fondling each soft, full, rounded breast where it hung beneath.

Then we both experienced what the Song could add to what was an already nice spell of lovemaking out under the night sky. We had often before given thanks to Him who had given us one another as well as the children who had sometimes come from this same act. Still bent over along her back, I leaned my head to one side and in this right place and time, asked—and felt exactly the same thrill I had felt only a few times before as I asked it—“Hey? Honey? Wanna make a baby?” All over again, I experienced that same overwhelmingly bigger thrill as the woman who had let me mount her squeezed down hard and, with a wiggle, said so simply and quietly from beneath me, “Yes.” It was wonderful all over again.

You know what? You can relive some special moments fairly well. We came back down to earth some unknown time later. I can’t say that I saw any stars other than the ones above us, but it did take a while to catch my breath. I can’t speak for her, but she was a lot slipperier as I ran my hands over her luscious curves and breasts. It was a warm night, being August and all, but we had definitely worked up… I suppose the euphemism is “a bit of a glow.” While we weren’t quite dripping with sweat, it was close. I let her have the water, still warm from the sun, in the long garden hose as I rinsed her off before heading back to a quick shower and bed. I got the cold water, and that was just fine. We stood a better chance of getting some sleep that way.

The Song was right of course. There are things we should remember, perhaps even memorialize. For us, apparently, baby-making sex is most assuredly one of those things. There is great joy to be found in the doing of it all over again. There is a blessing to be found in recalling blessings already, and even long ago, bestowed.