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Green Ceramic Mug


"You're right-handed?" the question posed as an almost declaration, as if he was fairly sure of the answer but made it a question just to confirm.

"No, I'm left-handed," she replied, thinking he was just curious and the handle on the green, ceramic mug had triggered the thought.  She quickly realized that was not why he asked.

He twisted the mug until its handle was in his left hand.  Then he slid the lid clockwise until the opening of the lid faced the correct way, the way she would need it to face when she held the mug in her left hand.

At that moment, she merely noticed this gesture as another she had noticed all evening--opening her car door and pulling open the door to the restaurant, paying for dinner and reaching for her hand as they rose from the intimate booth with white tablecloths and red leather.

It was only later, in the quiet of a twin bed, the eight year old boy snoring loudly in a matching bed next to her, that it was different.  It was more than manners or polite consideration.

She did not know what it would feel like to be with a man who not only cared about her needs but tried to anticipate them and fill them for her, and now she could not sleep.  She longed to rest her hand upon his hand, upon that green ceramic mug, to look into his eyes and say "Thank you for the coffee, as she kissed him slowly, carefully and long, until he could feel her gratitude flowing from her weary spirit, through her lips to his skin and down, down deeply into his body.



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