The Pantry

Two long weeks.

12 days, 16 hours, and 41 minutes.

Without him. Without my grounding force. Without my helper and my best friend. Without the man who wants to be my lover.

In 12 years of marriage, it’s the longest we have ever been apart. I was so anxious about how I would manage everyday life while he was overseas. Yet, it gave me space to miss him and to grow.

-Sunday Morning-
I looked down as drops of water rolled down my body and watched the soap suds gather on my mound. *Sigh* I meant to shave myself bare before today, but I didn’t manage to get it done. He doesn’t usually mind, but I know he likes it when I’m so slick that my juices drip between my slit and coat me in the fragrance he always wants but never seems to get. He loves it when he can slide his thick shaft wherever he wants with ease. The sheets always end up a mess, but he delights in it. I took a deep breath and reminded myself I want that, too. I want that for us. I shut off the water and reached for a towel as I stepped out of the shower.

With my toes propped on the side of the tub, I smoothed the lavender lotion on my skin and let my mind wander to how it would feel to welcome him home. Will I feel excited? Relieved? Will the anxiety slip in and smother the anticipation of being together again? As my mind churned, I slowly pulled up the dainty, pale pink lace cheeky panties over my hips and turned to look in the mirror. I’m softer than I used to be, but he still loves to press his bulge against me in anticipation of what will come. I hooked the matching bra and leaned down to let my heavy breasts fall so I could settle them just right in the lace cups. Remembering how they fill his hands to overflowing pulled at my core and made my nipples strain against the thin fabric.

A glance at the clock told me I spent too much time with my mind wandering during my shower. We would be late for church, for sure. I didn’t want to go, honestly. But I knew it was what I needed to do for our family. Our marriage needs a community of believers. It’s just so hard to find a place to belong. It’s hard to make the space in my heart and emotions to make myself vulnerable again.

At 11:10 am, I walked through the sanctuary doors and was instantly slammed by the realization of how alone I was. It was packed. And no open seats were in sight. I found someone with a lanyard and had to raise my voice to be heard over the music to ask for help finding a seat.

“That’s what I get for being late,” I thought to myself as I followed the kind person with a lanyard. But, it was worth the stress and worry.

This week, my son saw a friend when I dropped him off for children’s worship. This week, neither of us cried with the overwhelming anxiety of finding a new community; of facing something new, all alone. This week, the sanctuary felt like it had a pulse.

“Thank you, Father. Thank you for small, yet huge, graces this week.”

I moved down the row past a family of three, awkwardly saying, “Sorry, excuse me,” to find my lone seat. In my mind, I wondered if having my ass scoot in front of the husband’s crotch turned him on. I thought, “I probably shouldn’t think things like that,” but shrugged it off. He probably didn’t notice anyway.

As I settled in, the teaching pastor stood up, and the beauty of anonymity slowly dropped into a deep pit in my stomach. How could it be that the second week I chose to visit this place alone, the pastor was to talk about sex? About sex in marriage…

Sex. Our biggest struggle. For 12 years.

Nope. No, thank you. Let’s pick another topic.

I considered skipping out, but the idea of sliding past the husband no longer had any appeal.

When I opened my journal, I held my breath and pen with equal amounts of tension. As my notes grew, I wrote:

-God is the author of sex. It’s a gift from the Father who loves you and wants love for you.

-The closer you get to Jesus, the more your hurts start to fester because He is the only one who can truly heal the broken parts.

-You are never too broken, nor your relationship too far gone, for God to fix it.

I felt like weeping as thoughts rolled around in my head. “Oh, Father, please fix it. I’ve tried so hard for so many years, and we’ve never seen it fully healed.”

As the lights came up, I walked to pick up my son. I prayed for healing and His blessings over the rest of the day and my husband’s homecoming. I prayed for joy and excitement in reunion rather than anxiety and disappointment in unmet expectations.

Glancing at my phone, I saw his text. “I’ll be home in about 30 minutes.” Racing home, we finished up our Welcome Home signs and ran to wait by the mailbox for our favorite man. He was coming!

“Finally!” I thought when he climbed out of the car. As my body pressed against his for an embrace, I could feel our souls sigh. I inhaled deeply as I pressed my lips against his neck and whispered, “Welcome home, baby. I’m so glad you are here.” He grazed his hands down my sides, and I felt the gentle brush of fingertips over the lace as he made his way down for a squeeze.

We moved inside out of the Texas heat, and our son chattered endlessly, asking questions non-stop. He missed his daddy, too.

As they continued their conversation, I moved to the pantry to see what we could throw together for a late lunch. Staring at the shelves, I sensed my husband’s presence as he walked up behind me and slid his hands over my hips. His breath was warm on my skin as he trailed whisper-soft kisses up my shoulder and neck.

“Where’s the kid?” I murmured.

“He’s in his room, looking at the slingshot I brought him from Athens.”

Slowly, I turned to face him in the open doorway. Our lips met and warmed. They parted as my tongue dipped between his lips to sample the taste I’d missed for so long. Deepening the kiss, our tongues teased and tangled, and our breath quickened. Slowly, I pulled away and began to sink lower down his body, tugging his waistband down as I went. As I went lower, something bumped under my ass. The stool! Aside from helping me reach the cookies on the top shelf, the pantry stool had never seen such a worthy purpose as this.

He stood, framed by the doorway, while I slowly ran my hands up and down his thick cock, then licked him from base to tip. Swirling his thick shaft with my tongue, I felt him run his fingers through my hair. As he twisted my silky hair around his fist, my nipples hardened, and my pussy grew slick. Gently, he began to push deeper down my throat, and I let him slide in further with a moan. He tugged firmly on my hair and pulled me up his rod, and then his fist pushed me back down. Up and down. Up and down.

I flicked my eyes up to him, and he smirked back at me with that knowing look. My lace panties would be drenched with his fist in my hair and him pumping in and out of my mouth. He knew it, and he loved it. So did I. My hands slid up to cup his balls, and… SLAM! went our son’s bedroom door. I jerked away, and my husband yanked up his pants as I rose from the stool.

“Mom?! I’m going to Ben’s house to see if he wants to come over and see my slingshot! Okay?”

“Okay, buddy!” I called out as I swiped my mouth and smoothed my hair. I looked up from the massive tent in my husband’s pants, and we grinned at each other like teenagers. Kissing his cheek, I said, “I guess you’ll have to wait until tonight for the rest.”

He slipped his hand up my skirt to cup my lace-covered cheek. With a nip on my ear and a soft brush of his lips, he let me know it would be a night filled with answered prayers—a gift from the Father who loves me and wants love for me.