Benny's in bed, ok. He's awake but pretending to sleep, watching Andie dress at the foot of the bed. She'd got up, trying not to wake him, but as usual her careful movements touched his sleeping self. Sometimes on mornings after she'd slept with him she would shower and dress in the bathroom but this morning she is late or lazy. Her back is to him, her hand tucking a few strands of hair behind one ear. Last night they'd been to the movies and she is getting into the clothes she'd worn before coming back to Benny's place.
        Benny's watching, his eyes slightly open but mostly shut 'cos he doesn't want Andie to know he's looking. Her panties are on the floor and her jeans are on the bottom of the bed. She's bending to pick them up. The sun that comes in through the window brightens her skin, and highlights the blonde hairs on her back and thighs and he remembers that softness. The white cotton slides over her legs as she steps into her clothes, one foot planted on the carpet, the other lifted, then bent at the knee and sliding along her calf down into the simple white lace.
        He is in awe of her elegance, her grace, and he imagines the process of his own dressing and can't imagine anyone taking pleasure in it. Her jeans slip up her legs and over her hips and belly and then she surprises Benny. The blouse she'd worn the night before she stuffs into her shoulder bag and she reaches out and picks up Benny's shirt. She scrunches it in her hands, the way that only women do, smells it, and pauses with her eyes closed. Then she puts it on. He sees her breasts disappear into its oversized shape as she does each button up. She lets it hang outside her jeans. She whispers something Benny can't hear and walks quietly out of the bedroom, making no noise until he hears the front door shut behind her.
        Benny is almost in tears. He's never seen anything so tender directed towards himself as Andie has unknowingly just shown him. He remembers making love last night, he remembers the unexpected beauty of it. Andie had been astride him, he was passive, enjoying the sight of her lost to him in her pleasure. He watched her, he saw her. He cupped her breasts, he slid his hands along her fair skin, across her back, her arms, and through her hair. Not seeking his own pleasure but delighting in hers. And this was new to him, and a slowness, a bewilderment came over him and Andie stopped moving and opened her eyes. He wanted to speak but he couldn't. He wanted to tell her something but there weren't any words. And Andie's eyes had tears in them too, and she lowered her face to his, her eyes on his, and kissed him so gently that he felt he was dying.
        And now, this morning, watching her dress and quietly leave, he has been left alone with his heart, more company than he ever dared dream of.
       

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