User:SVNTY6

Spoon.

The best thing, the most comfortable you can be, it's when you finally climb into bed, pull the sheets up and snuggle close into that special person. They're always there, waiting and quiet, backside pushed out and knees up; back curled forwards and head nestled into the pillow. Every night without fail, I slowly and silently open the bedroom door and gently, barely breathing so as not to disturb, take off my clothes and slip under the covers. To feel the soft, hot skin and to slide my arm around her torso is as magic as the sigh she exhales. Brushing her hair from my face as it tickles my nose, I see the outline of her ear and jawline illuminated from the streetlights outside. Her ribcage moves up, then down, rhythmic with each breath and in tandem with mine - The perfect picture as our bodies become a living jigsaw. As I begin to drift, from downstairs I hear the familiar click of the front door lock, released from it's catch as her husband returns home. My cue. Unwrapping my arm from her, I slip back out from the covers and pull my clothes on quietly next to the bed. The thing I miss the most, the most precious thing since my wife died, is the gift of closeness built over many years, decades of being together. Laying naked without expectation. Her husband closes the bathroom door behind him, no doubt to wash, clean his teeth then climb into bed and ignore his wife. I sneak from the bedroom, let myself out of the back door and make my way into the night. To the next address. I was a husband who appreciated their partner; loved them and showed affection. And when I see a man, a man who treats his lady - The lady who has given half of herself to him - with indifference and his own entitlement, I need to help her. Because I can't help my wife anymore. Not since the accident. And it's my fault she isn't around to be cared for and looked after. It's OK though, as I now realise my calling is to ensure that women are appreciated and get what they deserve when their husband doesn't deliver. As I make my way into the back door of the next house on my list, I know this lady will feel love for at least a small amount of time tonight... Before we're interrupted.