Author: Chris Mulder
Email: mulders@mindspring.com
Rated: PG
I’m reading a silly, but entertaining book while the man I love sleeps next to me. The night is quiet, thankfully, and I’m guarding his sleep. He’s been out too often lately, trying to do too much, and I don’t care that he’s Superman, or that the world needs him. He’s my husband, Clark, and tonight _I_ need him. Here–with me. I’m married to the most selfless person I’ve ever known, so sometimes I have to be selfish for him.
He’s entitled to a good night’s sleep once in a while and I’ve found that if I sit or lie close to him and rub his back or play with his hair he sleeps so deeply that his superhearing has a harder time waking him up. He doesn’t know that I do this, and I don’t do it very often, but I’m doing it tonight.
This really is a very silly book and I put it aside, turning my full attention to Clark. Moving over even closer to him I concentrate on keeping a steady rhythm as I stroke his hair.
I cannot put into words how much I love this man. The emotions rush up from somewhere deep inside me and flood my being before I can identify or catalog them, never failing to bring tears to my eyes and a tightness to my chest. I love him so much, more than I ever thought I’d be capable of loving anyone. Being with him, listening to his voice, feeling his touch, his kisses … all of these things are such a part of my life now that I would do _anything_, go to _any_ lengths to keep what we have. I have become very protective of him and of the time we spend together.
I know he has to fly off to be Superman. I understand that he’s needed not just for what he can do but also as a symbol of hope for people all over the world, and I support him wholeheartedly. Having said that, though, I must admit that at times I resent that same world and all those people–interfering with the life Clark and I are trying to build together. So, I was thrilled to discover that I can, on occasion, override his superhearing.
***
It was a dark and stormy night …
Nah, just kidding! It was actually a beautiful late-spring night and Clark had flown back all tired and dirty from helping out at a huge forest fire. He’d been pretty busy all that week actually, and as a newlywed (well, we’d been married about nine months), I was getting a little fed up. I had planned to give him a piece of my mind, but when I saw how exhausted he looked all the fight went out of me. I helped him get cleaned up and tucked him into bed then lay next to him, stroking him until he fell asleep.
I could still feel a tenseness in him, though, just below the surface, as if he considered himself always “on duty,” so I kept on rubbing his back and combing his hair with my fingers until gradually, oh so gradually, he slipped deeper and deeper into dreamland. I imagined that I could see him sinking farther into the bed with each breath, his body giving up the fight to be alert “just in case.” He slept for six hours that night, hardly stirring, and I’d won a small victory.
I’m smiling to myself now, remembering other times, other nights. When he’s sleeping like this he looks so innocent and sweet. It’s easy to forget that he can be the biggest tease I’ve ever known; that those eyes can positively gleam with mischief and that that mouth can shape the most infectious grins.
***
There was another night, another book, and I was trying to read. Clark was dozing next to me when he suddenly sat up.
“What is it?”
“A siren.”
I couldn’t hear anything, of course. It’s interesting to be around him when he does this. His eyes take on an intense look and I know, that to him, it’s as if the siren and attendant vehicle are right there with him. He concentrated on it for a few seconds and then settled back down on the bed.
“It’s okay. False alarm.”
“Oh.”
He lay on his side watching me. “Whatcha reading?”
“It’s a book Lucy gave me. She was raving about it, but I just can’t get into it.”
He twisted his neck a little so he could see the cover. “Well, I can see what there is about it that appeals to Lucy.”
I laughed at the rather disgusted look on his face. “You don’t have any romance in your soul?”
He glanced again at the overly endowed couple writhing in libidic ecstasy on the cover of my book. “_That’s_ not romance.” He reached out to lay a hand on my arm. “You should work on your book again.”
I was surprised, but pleased, that he remembered my “novel.” “Weeelll, I’ve tried to go back to it, but the plot just seems too ridiculous now. Besides, they say you should write about something you know and I don’t know about unrequited love anymore.” I leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose.
That gleam I’ve come to know so well was starting up in his eyes. He laid a hand on my stomach and said quite innocently, “So what would you write about now?”
Someone’s in a playful mood, I thought, as I tossed the book onto the floor and turned towards him. I affected a contemplative attitude as if I were seriously considering any number of options. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s always the hero saves the heroine storyline, but that’s been done … and done. I could do one where the heroine saves the hero for a change.”
“That sounds very PC.”
“Yeah. I’d have to decide what kind of couple I’d want to write about, the setting, what sorts of adventures they’d have, all that stuff. And …” I leaned towards him provocatively, “I’d probably have to do some research, gather background material, try to immerse myself in my subject matter … you know what I mean?”
The gleam in his eye became even more pronounced. “Oh, I hope so.”
I felt my nightgown strap slip off of one shoulder and watched him watching it. I stroked his chin with one finger tip and moved even closer to him. “Research can be so time-consuming and tedious though, don’t you agree? Having the right kind of assistant can mean the difference between success …” I lightly kissed his lips, “… and failure.” I sat back up and pulled up the strap on my nightgown. “I’m not sure if I can find the time or the help that I’ll need. Too bad.”
I pretended to reach for the book and felt him snake his arm around my middle, pulling me back towards him. “Let’s don’t be too hasty here. I’m sure we could come up with something.”
He had rolled me onto my back, and as I lay looking up into his laughing eyes I could feel the giggles rising up inside me, but I was determined to play the role that I’d set for myself, so I kept my voice as serious as I could. “You really think so, Clark? I’d have to spend a lot of time on it, you know.” He was nodding as he slipped that strap off of my shoulder again.
“Yes, I do, Lois. You know that I’d support you in anything you wanted to do.” He kissed my shoulder.
“I’d want to use primary sources, of course,” I said as I ran my hands up his arms and linked them behind his head.
“Of course,” he said, and I felt the other strap going the way of its predecessor. He kissed that shoulder, too, and then raised his head to look into my eyes. “Just how detailed does this … research … have to be?”
“Ohhh, pretty detailed.” My hands were moving over his shoulders now. “I might have to dig pretty deep … to be sure that I get all the material I’ll need.” He kissed the hollow above my collar bone. “I do want my first book to be good, Clark.”
His voice was getting husky now. “So do I, Lois. So do I.” He was kissing his way down my breastbone, and I started running my hands through his hair.
“I’m so glad that you agree with me, sweetheart. Thank you.” He was pretty involved in what he was doing and made some noise which I supposed I could interpret as signifying agreement. It was getting harder to focus on the conversation, so I figured I’d better throw in the punch line now. “I’ll advertise for a research assistant tomorrow then. Of course I’ll need someone big and strong …” He looked up in surprise. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. “… to help me carry all those books and other stuff, you know. And he and I may have to work late some nights. You won’t mind, will you Clark?”
It only took him a moment to realize he’d been had and by then the jig would have been up anyway because I was giggling all over the place.
“You … you heartless wench, you.” He was laughing, too, as he rolled onto his side, pulling me towards him. “I’ll show you how to conduct research.”
And he did.
You know, it’s funny. I’ve been researching that novel for months now, but haven’t written a single word. I’m such a stickler for getting the details just right.