Benediction

We lay together in the dark.  The light from the muted television casts a soft glow over the bed.

As he runs his hands down my body, I feel a rush of pleasure followed by a twinge of insecurity.

I have made love with this man countless times.  We've grown up together.  We've walked through fire together.  There are no longer any boundaries between us.

Still... When he runs his hands over my belly and I feel the soft, sagging skin under his hands, skin that never really recovered from pregnancy, I feel embarrassed and self-conscious.

"Tell me," I say.  "Truth, please... That really doesn't bother you?"

"What, this?" He caresses the area in question.  It makes me cringe faintly, and I nod.  Before, I never would've had the courage to ask.  Now, I know the importance of saying what I'm thinking, shedding light on the darkness and uncertainty.

"No.  Not at all.  Not even a little bit," he says.

"Really?"

"Really.  I heard my kids' heartbeats for the first time right here.  I could not want you more than I do, and the fact that you gave birth to our children with this body makes me love it even more.  Then only thing that bothers me is that it bothers you so much."

I am suddenly fighting tears.  God, but I do love this man.  

What follows is not so much a seduction as it is a benediction.

This is how we heal, not with one act but with a hundred - or a thousand - moments in time that lead us to a better understanding of each other.