Reconciliation 7 PG13

Chicago, Illinois

June 21, 1957

Earlier in this day,

both sure they would never again

be as this with the other,

now though,

each touch as though it were the first touch.

The excitement of now as it was then,

when each touch truly was the first touch.

No longer mindful of

where they were,

all of their love

—mental and physical—

overflowing as though in

the privacy of their bedroom…

As always,

the mere touch of her hand upon him,

even above his slacks,

sent an unbearably sweet shock of excitement

and pushing another button

and another,

the upper portion of the chemise,

now fully open,

the cups of the bra slipped up and off.

In the scattered-cloud,

semi-shadowed darkness,

breathing the words,

“My God, honey!”

as the re-found dream

of his wife’s bare breasts

were before his eyes

and in his hands…

and within his lips.

Feeling the tingling sensation

as his lips tightened

and his mouth drew,

and the sharp,

delicious prick of pain as his teeth lightly nipped.

Sensing also the flow of the fluid that readied her vagina.

“Wait, baby.”

Sitting straight,

moving her arms through the sleeves

the dress fell to her waist.

Slipping her arms through the straps,

removing the bra

it dropped between her feet.

Glancing into the alternating

darkness of this night,

the young woman put her arms

back into the sleeves and

brought the dress to over her shoulders.

It had been near four months

since he’d last made love to his wife,

or seen her nude,

and now certainly was the

first opportunity to see her

bare­-breasted since

her milk had dried up.

By the size and weight

he was able to judge her breasts

had returned to their moderate,

pre-­pregnancy size.

Seeing the young woman in the subdued light,

the white of her flesh was stark

against the tan of her chest,

and whereas before the areolae

would barely be discernible in the available light,

they were now darker

and the protruding nipples larger

and courser.

But to the young man

everything about his wife was beautiful.

©November 19, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman

To be continued as “The Reconciliation 8