‘Can you do me a favour?’

Well, that’s more or less what he said.

This is, after all, quite a difficult period for him.  Working 12 hours or more per day with, maybe, one day off a week.  It’s the same every year.  Well, that’s not quite right.  This year they have planned to have one day off per week.  Whether that will actually happen is another thing and depends on customers respecting the fact that Saturday is not a show day.  We (or, rather, they) shall see.

He’s lying in the bath.  I’m standing just inside the bathroom, trying hard not to be too obvious at looking at him.  I do point out that he doesn’t have so many grey hairs on his chest (I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t shave his chest come summer).  He replies that it’s because it’s wet there doesn’t seem so many.  Still, I have a few months to work on this :-D.  I still can’t help staring.  It’s embarrassing.  I just can’t tear my eyes away.  From his chest, his stomach………….well, all the parts that are, generally not available to view.  I want to crouch down besides the bath and stoke and caress and…… who knows?

But I don’t.

‘I’m going to Florence tomorrow’, he says.  It’s just for the day.  He should be home at 9.30 or 10.30 or so.  In any event, he will be late.  Well, later even than usual for this period.  He’s doing stuff for some show they have there.

Then he asked about the favour.

Would I mind coming up tomorrow night to stay at S’s flat.  Of course not, although I had thought about staying at mine, alone.  But it makes me feel a bit guilty and it’s the first time he’s asked so directly.  It’s because he will be home so late.  And, then, tomorrow, he will be back in the showroom and wearing different clothes and staying at mine just makes it all that more difficult.

So, even if my plan was to stay at mine I say that I would come to him.  Secretly, of course, I am delighted that he asked and that he wants me with him.

I leave the bathroom but not because I want to.  A few minutes later he calls to me to hand him the towel.  I want to rub him dry but I don’t.

Later, as we lie in bed, watching the telly, he touches me more in the way that I usually touch him.  Stroking and caressing.  It’s important for me as he doesn’t normally do this.  It thrills me in that it makes me feel really wanted.  I say nothing.  And, of course, it doesn’t last so long.  I am, apparently, too hot, even if I don’t feel so warm.

But still, it makes me feel that he does really want me there and that, given the time at work and the new flat and stuff, he does feel some support from me.

And terrible as it might sound, part of the reason for me planning to stay at mine was that he would be able to miss me.  But now I can’t.  Now he’s asked if I can do him this favour.  This small thing to make him happy.  Now, although I want to know that he misses me and I want him to know that he misses me, I just can’t do that to him.  He asked, after all.

I wonder if he has any idea that he only has to push the right buttons and I would be putty in his hands.