It's the little things

I trudge in from the snow. Drop the purse in the floor, hang the coat, stomp over to the refridgerator to drop the milk off. Realize it's hard to carry milk when your gloves are still on. Take off the gloves, kick off the boots and plop down on the couch. Whew. I'm home.

That's when I hear heavy foot steps bounding down the stairs and my husband comes racing into the room.

God he's gorgeous. His blond hair is shiny and spikes up today. His white t-shirt is stretched thin and tight over his chest. Mmmm, I love that chest. I know underneath it there is a patch of fur that is just enough to nuzzle into and kiss. I love that patch of fur. I love nuzzling against him. I love the way his skin smells and I love the way it makes his clothes smell. He's eight feet away, but already I can imagine his scent. Yummy. He's yummy.

I rush up from the couch to nuzzle against him immediately. Yep, he smells as good as I think. He hasn't shaved in days and he's growing this beard and mustache. It's soft now, soft and a little bristly. He keeps itching at it. I know he wanted to shave it off already. I whined because I like it so much, but in the next twenty minutes it will be gone.

What is it about beards? Not full-grown Santa Beards but the George-Michael-that-is-way-more-than-a-five-o'clock-shadow beards? Is it possible to look at a guy with that kind of fuzz on his face and not think "rugged" "manly" "delicious"? I can't. Especially my husband. His beard is rare (being in the Military it doesn't often get a chance to grow) and it's beautiful. He's very blond, but his beard has specks of bright Irish-like red. And a little brown, and then his normal blond that looks like gold. When he stands in the light his beard shines. It matches his blue eyes. He looks like he has a halo.

I adore kissing it. The beard, not the halo. Sliding my lips down his jaw, under his chin, down his neck. Smooth with the grain, rough and sharp when I kiss. If I could I'd nuzzle my own face against it-the coarseness could make me purr. It's so much different from his normal fur. His normal fur is long enough to drag your fingers through, you can get tangled and lost in it. His beard is like a barrier between my kisses and his beautiful face.

It's like his beard is making him play hard to get.

It makes me want to get him more.

One year, on my birthday, I had just woken up and was staring at him. He had a little bit of stubble and I had pushed the curtains of the windows open just enough that the sun illuminated his face. I was luxuriating in the glow. Picking out all the colors and sparkle. His soft lashes made it seem all the better as they fluttered against his cheek. Sometimes I wish I were a lash, or a freckle. I can't think of a better employment than being that close to him. I woke him up with kisses, he returned with kisses...long...passionate kisses. I buried my face in his chest and I rubbed my forehead along his chin. We were both hot sticky and sweaty and everything was so perfect.

When he got up to shower and let me lie in bed and regain my strength I stopped him.

Don't shave today.

He didn't.

Best birthday present I ever got.