Splendid Habits

We have a routine. This boy and I. A routine for just about everything. When we make love we start with slow kisses, lip kisses, neck kisses, thick sucking kisses. Then he performs light stomach kisses, and below stomach kisses. When we are both spent we lie there, naked, in dirty sheets; it’s the one time I don’t care about lying in dirty sheets.

When we want ice cream we want it at the same time. Chocolate ice cream, with lots of chocolate bits in it. I don’t believe him when he says he wants the same kind I do, but I like that he pretends to anyway. He usually lets me choose, but when it’s his turn he picks something he knows I’ll like, too. We sit in front of the TV eating right out of the carton, a paper towel wrapped around the outside so our fingers don’t go cold. We gorge ourselves on brownie chunks and gooey twirls of fudge; we lick our lips and devour our icy treat.

When we sleep I am always on his left and he is always to my right. He curls his body around mine when I want him to and keeps his distance when I want the space. I do the same for him. When I get up in the night to pee I have to scoot to the end of the bed because my side is against the wall. I stumble around blindly, searching for the moccasin style slippers I bought for him two Christmases ago. I feel like I’m being quiet. When I’m done I scoot back up the same way I came, and curve my body into the shape of a crescent moon. He hooks his top arm around my waste and pulls me into his nook; he breathes warm breaths into the place behind my ear.