Good mornings are whispered.
She scrunches up in the crook of his arm and mmms.
He gathers the blankets around her. “Sweet dreams?”
“A crazy one.”
“Oh?”
A door opens down the hall.
“Completely nuts. About a couple having a Saturday morning romp before their kids know they’re awake.”
He is intrigued. “Does the wife lock the door?”
“Right after she gets naked.”
Noise in the hall has her tripping out of yoga pants towards the latch on the door. She makes it!
“Mommy? Mommy?” A little voice presses its lips to the crack between door and frame.
Heart pounding, she whirls around, a stiff finger to her smiling lips. “Shh!” she mouths silently, shoulders shaking.
Across the hall, the toilet lid clinks like the opening bell of a race.
The little voice says, “Dare’s no toiwet paper.”
He laughs out of his T-shirt. They dive under the covers, tickling, stifling giggles.
He caresses, she kisses to the tune of “Now I know my ABCs.” He strokes. She smiles.
“Tinkle, tinkle, yittle star,” floats down the hall.
Laughter and love, shaking and stirring, ebbing and flowing.
The little voice calls out, “MOM-my!”
“Nooooooooo…” He puts his hands over his ears and pretends to scream.
She bursts out laughing. “Maybe the couple just had a romantic cup of coffee together.”
He shushes her, but he is laughing, too.
Efforts to be quiet escalate the shaking, pulsing inside of them. They ride the rhythm, happy and familiar and just about to—
“I FIIIIN-iiiish!” the little voice yells big.
She bursts again. Shakes harder. Faster. He groans. Moans. Oh-nos. Shoot!
“I fiiiin-iiiish,” his big voice whispers little.
She smiles and mmms and nestles her chin into his collarbone.
“What do you want to bet he’s only peed?”
They laugh again, softly this time.
“I’ll make the coffee.”
Mame Zirro is a blue ball point pen. She lives inside the perforated edge of an old spiral bound notebook and occasionally leaks ink at writemybrainsout.wordpress.com.
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