My Man

At fifteen, he was terribly handsome with his longish, sandy-blonde hair and striking blue eyes. He was over six feet with a barrel chest and killer arms. He had an infectious laugh and a cocky grin.

By divine providence we ended up in the same sophomore biology class, where my gaggle of girlfriends and I managed to get on the teacher’s last nerve. In what he thought was a brilliant maneuver, he created a seating chart that placed me right beside the guy I would eventually fall head over heels in love with.

His looks certainly drew me in, but it was his character that had me stand up and take notice. He despised bullies and when he saw someone picking on others, he would intercede. He helped others without caring if they could ever repay his kindness. He was, at fifteen, a better man than most of our peers are today at age fifty.

We would spend all night talking on the phone. We shared our dreams and planned our future.

I was with him when he got his first car. I helped scour the junkyards for parts and I watched as he loaned out tools to even the shadiest looking of characters, but he always got them back. It was like people knew he was a good soul and they treated him in kind.

He landed a good job and moved up quickly. With high school diplomas in our pockets we decided we were now adults and it was time to marry.

Our childhood home lives weren’t the best. Neither of us had what you could call a role model for a happy marriage. Some of our ‘friends’ refused to attend our marriage because they didn’t think that at eighteen years old, we had a snowballs chance in hell of making a successful go at it. But the biology teacher was there. He knew.

I still remember his excitement when we got our first house together and his shock when the faulty furnace singed his eyebrows and mustache.

In our second home, I remember how he held me when the pepper tree crashed into our bedroom during a monsoon storm and what an amazing father he became with the arrival of our baby girl.

As time marched on, we thought our family was expanding and we moved into a bigger home. Sadly, we lost the baby before we had the chance to even hold him. It was a tough time, but it pulled us closer together. That summer, we lived through temperatures reaching 122 degrees, but it wasn’t all bad. My Love bought the car of his dreams and he has it still.

Next, we moved across the country. We went from extreme heat to negative twenty-two. It was an adventure. My Love had the opportunity to interact with his family from the point of view of an adult and he learned the meaning of ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. On the plus side, our household grew once more and we were thrilled to bring our baby boy back to the only land we’ve ever really called home.

Back in the valley of the sun, our life fell into a daily grind. I was caring for a terminally ill parent, going back to school and doing my share of raising our two kiddos. I can honestly say my Love was a significantly better husband than I was wife during that time, but he never complained. While living in that house, we lost my mom and his dad. Our kids began school and I graduated. My Love bought and restored the car of my dreams.

As the kids grew bigger, the neighborhood grew shady and it was time to move again. Throughout all the moves and all the upheaval, my Love was the glue holding us together. He worked hard, everyday and moved up the ladder. With my new diploma in hand, we were able to buy our dream home out in the country.

My new job made it impossible to be there on the first day of school or to attend parent teacher conferences, but my Love never missed a one. He was always there and we all knew he was never more than a phone call away.

As soon as life fell into a normal routine, I started looking around and wondering is this all life had to offer. I was feeling like a frumpy soccer mom and I wanted something different. Something more.

I started reading romance novels. I’d always been an avid reader but never that subject. Eventually, I found a book that spoke to me. The hero was dominant and deeply in love with his soulmate. I approached my Love and begged him to read it. He didn’t read fiction and certainly not romances. It was a hard sell, but he realized it meant a lot to me. After he read it, we talked. Then talked some more. Turns out both of us were searching for more, but not sure what more looked like.

In our journey to find the elusive ‘more’, we discovered D/s. We tried it on for size and it fit perfectly. We tailored it here and there to better suit our ever changing needs.

Next week, we celebrate 33 years of marriage and I can honestly say, I’ve never been happier. Those plans we sketched out in the wee hours of the morning thirty-five or thirty-six years ago, have very little in common with today’s reality, but I wouldn’t change a thing. My fair-haired boy has grown into a stand-up man that I love with all my heart and soul.

People who meet us today think we have the perfect marriage, the stars aligned just so and granted us the fairy tale. In some ways, they’re right. We have been very fortunate, but I attribute it to something more than luck or fate. I give the credit to my husband. Each time we came to a crossroad, he listened to my needs, my wants and my desires. When my mom was ill and my attention was pulled in every direction but his, he didn’t ask – what about me. He asked – how can I help.

Was I blessed that he chose me? Absolutely! Without a doubt and I try to be worthy of his love each and every day.

Happy Anniversary, my Love. May God grant us another thirty-three plus years of walking this earth together.


*Image found on Pinterest

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