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I reached into the laundry basket, pulling out the rumpled tee shirt he had slept in the night before. I held it to my nose, breathing in his scent, deeply immersing my sensibilities with the impressions and images of him. In the soft weave of the cotton were his broad shoulders, his strong arms, and the feel of his gentle fingers stroking up my back. His smell hinted at the tenderness of his voice as he whispered my name. It echoed the warmth of his skin on mine, as we snuggled in bed each night. Holding it to my cheek, I rubbed my face in his tee shirt, thinking of how much I loved him, and how much we meant to each other.

Looking over at our bed, I imagined us laying there under the covers, spooning, allowing the tensions of the day's activities to escape our outstretched muscles. I felt his arm reaching forward, wrapping itself around my waist, his large hand pulling me closer to him. My mind drifted, as I remembered him whispering his love for me behind my ear last night. Feeling his breath caress my cheek sent tingles through my body. It was during those times, where I wished I never had to get up out of bed, staying in place, so the moment could last forever.

I glanced at the window, the late morning light illuminating the blanket -- our only witness to the passions of the night. The pane was silent now, never once letting on through its reflections, what time he'd be back here again with me. I stared out into the distant yard, longingly, not wanting to wait until that special time when my body could embrace his once again.

The sound of the doorbell snapped me back to reality. Taking the basket in my arm, I plodded down the stairs to see who could be calling so early. Behind the wooden door was Carolyn, my good friend from down the road.

“I’m heading to my ceramics class, Toby, but Pat can’t come with me today. She’s not feeling up to it. Would you like to join me for today’s class?”

“I’d love to. Will they let me take her place?”

“Sure, the instructor shouldn’t mind. Besides, we are sculpting today, and there will be a male model.”

A secret smile passed between us. I had never sculpted from a live model before.

“Give me a second to put down my laundry and I’ll be with you in a moment,” I told Carolyn.

Hurrying to the mirror I checked to see if I seemed presentable enough to go out, and the two of us got into her car.

The class was at the art center, in the heart of town, not too far from where I used to work. It was great to get out for a change, and I looked forward to relaxing with something creative. When we got to the classroom, we all helped ourselves to a formless lump of cool, moist clay. We were told to make the basic shape of a reclining person, just a loose connection of rounds and ovals that would ‘suggest to us’ our final creation.

In a few minutes, a fit, middle-aged man came out wearing a robe, and got up on the table in front of the room. His hair was dark, with just a splash of grey, and he moved as if modeling wasn’t something he did every day. Slowly removing the robe, he uneasily stretched out upon the table and held the pose for us. Wisely, he made no eye contact with the students.

We all got to work, kneading the clay with our fingers and scraping with our small paddles. I smoothed my fingers down over the arms of my piece, finding definition for the muscles and transferring all that I saw from the man in front. I worked out the curve of his chest and the round of his belly, checking every now and then if I got the angle just right. I added a small piece of clay to his chin, and shaped his nose just a bit higher. There, I thought, that looks better. It wasn’t until I was cutting the notch between his thighs, that I realized I had been avoiding defining his penis. On some level, it felt wrong, but that was silly. We were all looking at him so we could get our impressions down into the clay.

I half wondered if the man would feel uncomfortable with all those eyes staring at him like that. Well, that was the job. So here I was studying the lines of a strange man’s softened penis, working the curves and creases into my piece. Oh, I was enjoying this way too much. A bend there. A wrinkle here. The clay became lifelike beneath my busy fingers. As I formed and smoothed my way downward, my imagination drifted slightly. For a moment, I almost thought my clay had grown some, and I laughed to myself, as the familiar fragrance of my husband seeped through my distracted brain.

Back to work, and I molded the curve of his hip and the bend of his knee. Pretty soon we had finished up and had put the finishing touches on our pieces. Carolyn told me she would be happy to bring me my sculpture after it was dried and fired. We all signed the bottom of our ‘men’, literally, and placed them on a back surface to dry. We wiped down our tables and went to the sink to wash the clay from our hands. Afterwards, we thanked the instructor and the model, and Carolyn drove me back home.

I invited her to stay for some coffee, but she told me she had to run, and we’d do it some other time. I closed the door as she left and went back to where I had left my laundry basket.

There it was again, that smell I couldn’t shake from my mind. As I loaded the clothing into the washer, I thought of how full I felt as I held my man inside me. My body pulled him deeper within, his thrusts gaining momentum as he danced above me. I sensed my body tightening as my thoughts wandered even further. Smelling my own wetness, I felt myself swollen and ready, aching to be held in his embrace.

Quickly placing the clothes into the washer, I went back upstairs, undressed, and stretched out upon this morning’s rumpled sheets. I couldn’t wait. My hands found my eager breasts, soft and pliant, waiting to be stroked into submission. I smoothed over each one in turn, finding them softer still, than this morning’s clay, and hot to my touch. My nipples applauded my attentions, beckoning me downward, daring me to unearth the secrets of my valley. Inching onward, my fingers grasped my moist lips, pulling and shaping in the wetness, finding form where only lovers ever learn their true meaning. Syncing my rhythm, I worked the shapes I felt as skillfully as I had my on my statue. Circling around, over and over, I shaped myself to perfection, exploding my body into a new life. Reaching around to share my orgasm with my pillow, I hugged it against my skin, imagining my husband was there to cuddle beside me. I softly floated in and out of my dreams, wishing for more, knowing he’d soon be there to join in my happiness.

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