First Love

It was Tuesday night. For years we had agreed that Tuesday night would be our evening at home together. You know, for us. Just us.   Something was different though recently. For years, Tuesday night had been the ticket for us. While all my buddies were complaining their wives didn’t put out for them like they used to, mine always had – until recently. She still was, sort of. We still had our Tuesday nights.   But the passion just wasn’t there like it used to be. It had been a few months now. Something was different. I couldn’t figure it out, but I was going to. Whatever it was, I was going to change it. I loved her more than anything. I was going to show her!

Gifts were her favorite love language. She looked heavenly in a simple thong. Victoria’s Secret had sales all the time. I looked online. Great! Cotton thongs were three for ten dollars. On the way home from work, I picked up six. She’d love them. I couldn’t wait to give them to her. She’d love ME! It was easy to worship her in a thong. To me, she looked like a Goddess. Plus, through the years I had learned exactly how to pleasure her in bed, wiggling my tongue underneath the edges of her thong. Many times she had panted how my tongue was more talented than my penis or any vibrator! I didn’t know exactly how to take that. Her loud moaning, and solid grip with both hands on my head gave me some reassurance. I knew she loved my oral technique – or used to. But something had changed. It wasn’t me. I idolized her. She was eight years younger, and would always be my goddess. I loved her more than life itself.

Tonight, while she was showering, I started a fire in our fireplace using real logs. We hadn’t had a real fire in years. The analogy eluded me at the moment. By the time she finished conditioning her hair, the fire was already popping. Sunset was fast approaching. No one can see through our windows, so I left the draperies open. My wife kept an old favorite quilt in the closet. It was nothing fancy, but she liked it. I spread it out on the floor for us in front of the fireplace for extra intimacy. We’d be more comfortable while nude. After the sun set, only the flickering of the fire would light us. It was as romantic as any scene in the movies.   Remembering one of her favorite radio stations was preprogrammed in the stereo, I dialed it in. It was some old Christian station we used to listen to together. It had been a while. Surely all this would get her out of her funk.

Meeting her at the shower door with a towel, I kneeled in front of her to dry her legs. She let me, but she just wasn’t into it like she used to be. I kissed her feet. First the left, then the right. It was easy for me. I adored her. Surely all this adulation would soften her up. She was taking it all in, but we just weren’t connecting like we used to.   I was confused. She could see my erection. She knew it was Tuesday night.

“Follow me” I said with a plan. Both nude, both vulnerable, I led her down the hallway. Our shadows skipped off the walls as we made our way into the great room with the fire flames dancing. Patting the floor with my palm of my left hand, directly in front of the fire I said, “Here, lay down with me.” She sat down Indian style, staring into the flickering fire. Only a Goddess could have breasts so beautiful. I knew how to get her to relax. She loves it when I massage her feet with her favorite lotion. Lying on my side I could spoon to her back. She let me lotion her back as I continued to set the mood for the evening. I idolized her. She knew I held her dearer than anything, or anyone. I began to kiss her back. This night was ours.  It was starting out slow, but it was going to end great. She’d come around.  I was confident of that. Finally she spoke.

“You’re cheating on me” she said matter-of-factly.

“What!?” It was a mixture of confusion and hidden anger since I knew she was the only one I worshiped. “Baby, I’m not cheating on you.” I tried to reassure her. Perhaps this was the reason she had become less passionate.

“And you have been for months.” Her eyes just kept staring into the flickering fire.

“Darling, I’ve put you on a pedestal for months.” I stopped rubbing her back. Sitting up Indian style, I faced her. Looking her into her eyes I continued, “Sweetheart, you know I adore you.”

“Exactly.” The tone of her voice conveyed to me she was convinced in what she was stating.

Reaching out to hold her hands I declared, “I practically worship the ground you walk on.”

“So you admit it?” Her eyes met mine.  It was like she longed for a confession.

“I don’t admit anything. The only thing I admit is putting you first in practically everything and all the time.”

There was a long period of silence. Only the fire could be heard. Then it started, clearly and succinctly.

“Where’s the man who used to read his Bible every day?” I listened, not really hearing.

I protested. “I’ve been going to church.”

Nodding her head she said, “I’ve seen you there.”

Oblivious, I continued, “What do you mean you’ve seen me there? We ride in the same car. You sit in the same pew with me.”

“You used to hold my hand during the prayers.” I could tell she was hurting.

“I can do that again. I can hold your hands anytime you want. Just tell me. I’ll do it.”

“You just don’t get it do you?” It was me staring off into the flickering fire now.

“Where’s the man who used to get up early on Wednesday mornings to meet with his accountability partners?” Granted, I had slacked off meeting with my buddies. I think one of them was going through a divorce. I really hadn’t kept up with any of them.

“Where’s the man who used to pray with me before falling asleep?”  With false courage I spoke.

“I bought you that bracelet you’d been talking about for a year…”

She shook her head slowly from side to side and said, “You just don’t get it, do you?  When’s the last time you got down on your knees with me?”

Feeling guilty and wanting to escape, foolishly I spoke. “Look, I can do that again.  Is that some sexual position we haven’t tried?  I can do it.  I’ve been going to the gym.  I’m more limber than I’ve ever been…”

About that time an old hymn started playing on the radio:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in His wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of His glory and grace.

That did it for me.   Her words had been penetrating.  My eyelids just kept blinking trying to hold back the tears.  It was Tuesday night.  The kids were gone.  My wife and I were nude in front of a flickering fire.  Everything was perfect, except… a Christian man can only have one first love.

She came up behind me, leaning into my back and wrapped her arms around my neck. No one said a word. The only noise was the crackle of the now dwindling fire. This woman loved me despite all my misguided efforts… and denials… and blaming.

Looking down, my erection had long sense softened.  The tears began to roll down my cheeks.  There wasn’t going to be any great sex tonight.   But there was oneness.  The oneness we had been missing on Tuesday nights – and every night, for a long time.

Shifting to my knees, with palms raised upward, I begin to sob.  Yes, change was needed, but it wasn’t with her.  I had found the problem.