Side Blog

You've had a really long day. You text me on the train home, apologizing for leaving work so late, and telling me you're on your way. I can tell just from your message how exhausted and stressed you are.

Well, I know just what to do. Having already arrived home, I quickly throw together your favorite meal (mac and cheese) and pop it in the oven. When you finally trudge in the door, soaked with rain and freezing cold from the brisk February wind, you are greeted with the smell of warm comfort food.

We take our dinner to the living room and curl up on the couch to watch a talk show or two. You've inhaled two bowls of macaroni before I can even make it through my first.

I flash you a smile. "Hungry, are we?"

"Didn't have time for lunch."

"Oh, honey!"

You don't even mind now - safe in the warmth of our cozy home, the skipped meal just means more room for my cooking.

I stand. "I'm getting seconds. Want thirds?"

You sheepishly hand over your bowl.

"Don't be shy, love! You know *I* don't mind." I wink. You blush scarlet, flashing a bashful (and grateful) smile.

Half an hour passes, and you set what's left of your macaroni aside. You are warm, you are full, you are home with your favorite person... you heave a deep, contented sigh and snuggle closer to me.

"Had enough?"

You nod. "Couldn't finish the last bowl though. I'm sorry-"

"'Sorry?' That just means leftovers for tomorrow!" I lean over and pats your round little tummy affectionately. "It'll all end up in here eventually, you know. No need to make yourself sick."

My warm hand on your full belly settles the buzz of the day's lingering stress instantaneously. You place your hand over mine, holding it there.

"I think someone could use some belly rubs," I murmur.

You can only give an emphatic nod and slide back against the cushion, until you're lying flat on the couch. I smile.

"There's my sweet little stuffie."

As I gently lift your shirt to expose your belly, you can't help but squirm in anticipation. My palm begins gliding back and forth in long, easy strokes over your taut abdomen - not too firm, not too light. The weight of my hand on your bare skin, pressing gently against your warm belly full of food, undoes the knot of tension in your chest so softly and swiftly that you feel for a moment as if you might burst into tears.

"Look at these lovely curves," I say. I begin tracing just my fingertips up and over your swollen tummy, then back again.

You find yourself curling a little smile... and then, all at once, dissolving into soft little giggles.

"Uh oh... have I said something funny?" My eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint. There's a fine line between belly rubs and belly tickles, particularly when it comes to your belly - and over the years, I've become an expert in walking that line.

"You didn't think you could show me this darling tummy without me tickling it, did you?"

You are giggling too hard to reply. But your stomach jiggles pleasantly with your laughter as I work my fingers deeper into your tummy pudge, and that's more than enough reply for me.

"I wonder if I could tell what you had for dinner just by feeling your belly..."

Now both of my hands are on your tummy. Stuffed full as it is, every touch is heightened. You wiggle and squirm, belly wobbling with laughter, feeling my fingers probing through the layers of pudge and playfully teasing every last nerve in your trembling torso.

When I finally draw back again, you can't bring yourself to move. You are too tired, too relaxed, and your belly feels so comfortably heavy you don't even bother trying.

I grin, leaning in. "How about I kiss this tummy silly until there's room for the rest of that macaroni?"

Your belly remains trapped in my tender and ticklish embrace long into the night. We both wake up the next morning, still on the couch - me, collapsed on top of you, with my head resting on your comfy tummy.