A Scene

The husband had medium-long hair on top, blond, slicked back and resembling a porcupine.

The wife had her long blond hair up in a bun before, but now it slinked over her shoulders.

His arm was wrapped around her, his hand resting on her far shoulder.

Every few seconds he would lean in and kiss her cheek, her neck. Little pecks. If you were close enough, you could hear them.

Her hand moved in small circles on his thigh. Drifting circles. Sliding northward into notoriously dangerous territory.

Obvious signals, mutual fondness, even love. She was already carrying their child in her womb, but that is not why they didn’t take their affection further. Why the restraint when they wanted to do so much more?

He raised his hand.  In response to an earlier comment he asked, “Do you think a man has ever killed his wife while she did the dishes?”

The class backed far, far away from that one.

Yet, he kept nuzzling her neck. She kept massaging his thigh.

Sunday School was extra special this week.

4 thoughts on “A Scene

    • He responded to an earlier comment that came from another person who joked that it’s a fact that a woman never killed her husband while he was doing the dishes.

A little discussion.

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