"Holy Pistachio Butter"
Continued fairly directly from here.
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Sunday, September 25th 2016
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Early in the morning I wandered into Paladin's room. It was delightful to have him awake before me. It meant that I could seek out his company immediately upon waking and feel his energy enveloping me.
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"It feels like it did back when we lived in Snowland," I said, my heart pulsating.
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Paladin nodded and then began to cry. "We can at least capture a piece of it," he said through his sobs. I held him and shed a few tears myself.
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A few hours later we were in my room. I remarked: "I keep thinking it is early in September, but it's not. It's the twenty-fifth."
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"Holy pistachio butter," Paladin said, his voice full of genuine surprise as well as humor.
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"That does sound holy," I said. He chuckled. I smiled. Yes, we still had it in us.
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Later that day we played Splendor, a board game I quite enjoyed. It was the first time playing the game since I had my own copy. Hibiscus had bought it for me on September 9th, for our anniversary. It felt vaguely wrong that Paladin and I would play it before Hibiscus got a chance to. And yet, fitting. Just like Paladin had me before I met Hibiscus. Just like Paladin slept with me in my wedding corset before Hibiscus saw it, before Hibiscus's and my wedding.
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Chronologically first. So often, when it came to decisions, I put Hibiscus first. Easily more than half the time. Perhaps Paladin is metaphysically first, I speculated, unsure what my speculation even meant.
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Monday, September 26th 2016
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Paladin and I watched another snippet of the movie, again stopped by a glitch at just the right time. I asked about his feelings, he asked about mine. I asked for anal sex, and - after much processing, tears, discussion and self-care - got my wish (along with a spanking).
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Tuesday, September 27th 2016
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"Would you like to read what I wrote about Friday?" I asked Paladin.
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"Sure," he said, following me into my bedroom. Between the south-facing windows and my lack of curtains, my room was sunny and bright in comparison to his.
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He scooted across my bed and up to my computer. I put on my glasses and positioned myself behind him, absently unbraiding his hair (which I had braided again on Sunday) while I read my work over his shoulder.
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Here and there he adjusted the quotations of what he had said with little remarks like, "That isn't the way I'd say that." It felt nice. I liked his input. It made my work more authentic - more true to the experience.
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"Do you like that I'm immortalizing the experience this way?"
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He nodded. "I think so."
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I smiled. I knew I was glad.