Vacant(14)

We started brainstorming and came up with a plan; a pretty good one if I do say so myself. Now I just have to make sure I don't mess it up. So here I am, standing in the middle of our living room in a new black and pink lace lingerie set and enough lit candles that I may, in fact, set off a smoke alarm.

Of course, Ethan has seen me in much less that bra and panties, but these seem...dirty somehow. Because of the purpose for which they are intended, the pink and black lace seems obscene. I hadn't wanted to get the "tonga" cut, but Margie insisted it was the look needed for the occasion. I'm more of a cotton brief kind of girl. All the panties we looked through were so small... and in bright lacy colors, nor did they seem practical. I really hope Ethan doesn't expect fancy panties all the time because I cannot see the practicality of wearing this style on a daily basis. Particularly if one has to frequently bend or stoop

I glance at the clock on the wall, which was purchased at Hobby Lobby, thank you very much, and know that Ethan will walk through the front door at any moment. I shouldn't be this nervous, but we have grown so much together in the last year, both in heart and mind. I know without a doubt I will be with this man forever, and I want to experience every last thing imaginable with him.

When I hear the key in the door, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Within seconds of the door opening and closing, I hear a loud gasp followed by, "Holy shhiiittt." Ethan is in front of me, hands exploring my backside after only a few seconds. I wonder if he sprinted, even though the distance from the door is only a few steps. It makes me relax, realizing he appreciates my gift a great deal.

"Baby, you smell so good," he whispers. His lips-- then teeth skim my neck and shoulder. The contrast in sensation takes my breath away.

"Fuck. What did I do to deserve all this? And you?"

I'm frozen for a second because I think he's forgotten what today is. He thinks this is just a random tryst. And while we are extraordinarily honest with each other, I can't bring myself to tell him what this is really about. A pang shoots from my heart down into my stomach.

"Whoa, whoa..." Ethan pulls away and looks at me. I try to smile, but it's wholly unsuccessful. It makes my throat tighten more, and I need an escape to the bathroom to shed unwanted tears. This isn't how it's supposed to go! He's supposed to see me, sweep me off my feet, pledge undying devotion, and make love to me for hours.

Damn you, Hollywood! You're a liar.

"Emily, what's wrong? What did I say?" He turns away from me at the moment my lips quivers. He's fisting his hair, mumbling to himself. Even though I still have on a bra, panties, and stupid black heels Margie insisted made the look perfect, I've never felt more exposed. I want to sink into the carpet, wishing the last half hour hadn't ever happened.

Stupid, Emily...why do you always have to do something different or fancy? Why not just make fried chicken for dinner and get him a nice card, I argue with myself.

"Shit! Why did I have to say something stupid on our anniversary? I try, Emily. I want to be good for you, I do. I just can't get it right, ya know? God, please say something."

...stupid on our anniversary...

"You know it's our anniversary?" I could have heard incorrectly.

"Well, yeah. How could I forget our anniversary? I can't forget a thing about you, Emily." He starts to walk toward the couch and grabs my hand, pulling me behind him. He flops down then pulls me into his lap. His thumb graces the outer edges of my smile. He didn't forget.

"I remember that you hate high heels." His hand ghosts down my leg and then draws my leg up. He grasps my spiked heel and slips it off my foot. He tosses the shoe to the floor before he begins to rub my toes.

After a few moments, his hand slides up my arm to my neck, landing on my earlobe. "I remember that you only wear stud earrings because you're afraid of getting them caught on something." His tongue snakes out a lightly traces the tip of my ear.

"I also remember that you don't wear necklaces...." His hand floats to cup my neck and then draws a finger down my breastbone and into my enhanced cleavage.

Ethan shifts on the sofa and pulls something from his pocket. He hands me a small black box with a red bow.

"But I'm hoping to change that." Ethan finishes. I open the box and see the most delicate, yet beautiful necklace. A small silver disc holds the date we pledged our love for each other. One year ago, today.

I find that I can't resist this thoughtful man. Not only has he not forgotten our anniversary, but he has also purchased the perfect gift. I seductively maneuver myself so that I'm facing Ethan. I straddle his lap and then kiss him like my life depends on it. "It's perfect. You're perfect," I mumble in between kisses.

I always get this feeling when Ethan and I are about to do it. It's still a million tiny butterflies bouncing in my stomach trying to break free. Honestly, it's the best feeling. The greatest part, though, is that each time is better than the last. I'm not sure if Ethan has been swapping stories in the stock room - although I doubt it, it's not his style - or reading up on the internet, but things have really...exploded for us in the bedroom department. There was a Get-to-know-you period, which was followed by the Awkward-movements period. Then there was the This-works-so-let's-do-it-this-way-all-the-time period. Lately, we'd found the "Life is like a box of chocolates..." period. And let me tell you, I may not know what I'm "gonna get," but that shit is good. "Chocolate" is never a bad thing.