All Wrapped Up

An Accessories Drabble

By Cindy Carrier 

For Chris W., whose inspiration has never failed :-)


They think they know him, but they donít.
I know him Ė completely.
In unswerving faith he comes to me each night, seeking my security, my softness, my love, and I give him all that I have. Ours is a consummate nightly gathering, a clinging, groping tangle of comfort of which he and I never tire. When we are together, we are one, whole and perfect. And that makes his daily parting from me all the more heartbreaking.
In every early morning gloom he leaves my embrace, rises and steps away to prepare himself for the day. I protest even as I admire the full length of his body, long and strong and lean. He returns briefly to comfort me, his big strong hands drawing me smooth and taut. They are efficient, these hands, pulling and tugging and adjusting my corners and edges until they are proud and straight. I revel once more in his caress as he works over me, knowing that all too soon heíll be gone. When he covers me with the quilt I know that the time has come. I sigh as I always do, waiting in sweet agony for his return, dreaming of the sound of his footfalls coming down the hallway, the step of a boot onto the plank flooring between threshold and rug, the thrill of the soft thud of the closing door and finally, his presence falling back over me. Yes, oh, yesÖ
Some nights he arrives early and draws out my eager anticipation with the muted glow of a lamp, the clatter of pockets being emptied. With a hint of disappointment Iíll hear him remove his boots and his belt, move restlessly about the room. I want to scream, <<I am here, my love! Come to me! Please, my darling, pleaseÖ>> But, of course, he cannot hear me, not just yet. After a fashion heíll ease himself down upon my quilted cousin, plump my pillow neighbors and sigh contentedly. And as the quiet sounds of his gentle breaths and the turning pages eases into the air, I hold myself barely still and wait for him, my outer side warmed by his body through the quilt, my inner side fresh and eager to receive him. For he will come to me, of that I have no doubt. He cannot resist my allure.
When itís dark and quiet heíll take me. First heíll undress himself, then heíll undress me, expose my soft folds to his skin. How easily heíll slide the length of me, reaching and squirming for the just-right position, holding me, adjusting me to suit him. Then heíll quiet and Iíll do my job, smiling as I drape his wonderful body, shoulders to toes and all that is located in between, for he never wears bedclothes, never. So it is I that clothe him, filling all the delicious curves and hollows of elbow, chest, rib, hip and thigh Ė and that deeper secret space. I lay oh-so-soft against skin and muscle that is still hard, even in rest. I mold myself to him, close, so close, his heat warming me so that I can return the warmth to him. We lay together, he and I, in that quiet darkness, while I whisper to him of my adoration. And he listens, slowly easing into sleep as I fill myself with his manly scent of soap, heavy work and fresh air, providing a balm to the rigors of his day. Throughout these long hours of darkness I cling to him and he clutches me. We hold each other, close and comfortable, loving and giving. I watch over him always, over his dreams and yes, his nightmares, too, and those rare times when he is injured and ill. I do it all for him, and he never turns me away. For he knows Iíll hold these secrets dear, never telling a soul, a duty-bound lover trapped in nightly ecstasy.
They think they know him but they donít.
I know him Ė and I love him.



Submission Guidelines