camel inspiration

He’s very drunk. I don’t know what to do.“Oh . . . you look mighty fine.”“Where have you been?”He puts his fingers to his lips and smiles crookedly at me. “Shh!”“I think you’d better come to bed.”“With you . . .” He snickers.Snickering! Frowning, I gently put my arm around his waist because he can hardly stand, let alone walk. Where has he been?How did  he get home?

“Let me help you to bed. Lean on me.”“You are very beautiful.” He leans onto me and sniffs my hair, almost knocking both of us over.“Walk. I am going to put you to bed.”“Okay,” he says as if he’s trying to concentrate.We stumble down the corridor and finally make it into the bedroom.“Bed,” he says, grinning.“Yes, bed.” I maneuver him to the edge, but he holds me.“Join me,” he says.“I think you need some sleep.”“And so it begins. I’ve heard about this.”I frown. “Heard about what?”“Babies mean no sex.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Otherwise we’d all come from one-child families.”He gazes down at me. “You’re funny.”“You’re drunk.”“Yes.” He smiles, but his smile changes as he thinks about it, and a haunted expression crosses his face, a look that chills me to the bone.“Come on” I say gently. I hate his expression. It speaks of horrid, ugly memories that no child should see. “Let’s get you into bed.” I push him gently, and he flops down onto the mattress, sprawling in all directions and grinning  up at me, his haunted expression gone.

“Join me,” he slurs.“Let’s get you undressed first.”He grins widely, drunkenly. “Now you’re talking.”Holy cow. Drunk is cute and playful. I’ll take him over mad-as-hell he anytime.“Sit up. Let me take your jacket off.”“The room is spinning.”Shit . . . is he going to throw up? “Sit up!”He smirks up at me. “You are a bossy little thing . . .”

“Yes. Do as you’re told and sit up.” I put my hands on my hips. He grins again, struggles up onto his elbows then sits up in a most gawky fashion. Before he can flop down again, I grab his tie and wrestle him out of his gray jacket, one arm at a time.“You smell good.”“You smell of hard liquor .”“Yes . . . bour-bon.” He pronounces the syllables with such exaggeration that I have to stifle a giggle. Discarding his jacket on the floor beside me, I make a start on his tie. He rests his hands on my hips.“I like the feel of this  fabric on you” he says, slurring his words. “You should always be in satin or silk.” He runs his hands up and down my hips then jerks me forward, pressing his mouth against my belly.

“And we have an invader in here.”I stop breathing. Holy cow. He’s talking to Little Blip.“You’re going to keep me awake, aren’t you?” he says to my belly.Oh my.He looks up at me through his long dark lashes, gray eyes blurred and cloudy. My heart constricts.“You’ll choose him over me,” he says sadly.“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t be ridiculous—I am not choosing anyone over anyone. And he might be a she.”He frowns. “A she . . . Oh, God.” He flops back down on to the bed and covers his eyes with his arm. I have managed to loosen his tie. 

I undo one shoelace and yank off his shoe and sock, then the other. When I stand, I see why I’ve met no resistance—he has passed out completely. He’s sound asleep and snoring softly.I stare at him. He’s so goddamned beautiful, even drunk and snoring. His sculptured lips parted, one arm above his head, ruffling his messy hair, his face relaxed. He looks young—but then he is young; my young, stressed out, drunk, unhappy husband. The thought rests heavy in my heart.