I was sitting on the porch in my pajamas still, drinking coffee and reading the paper (well, one of the newspapers I subscribe to on my Kindle) and my hand absentmindedly brushed my leg. I was surprised to feel a rough patch along the soft flannel. I looked and didn’t see a stain. I racked my brain for a moment. I’d just taken these pajama bottoms out of the dryer last night before bedtime. I hadn’t had a chance to spill anything on them.
Then I remembered.
An early morning blow job.
Mr. Scott came home yesterday after being gone for several weeks. He woke up early this morning from jet lag. I woke up just enough to realize he was awake.
After, as I snuggled up against him, I felt the cool moisture, the patch of flannel sticking to my leg. But I didn’t move away or clean up. We stayed snuggled in, alternating between dozing and kissing, until we heard our daughter wake up.
They’ve gone out now and I’m still sitting on the porch, drinking my coffee and fingering that little rough patch on the flannel and thinking about what’s to come later tonight.