River is off taking an exam for school and I’m left doing dinner. She’s put out some recipes for me. Chili and cornbread. The cornbread recipe is on the back of the cornmeal box, which I find strangely appealing. River got a great recipe off the back of a cracker box once.
So I make the cornbread, and I’m working on the chili. The only hard part is finding the onion. The onion rack that used to hang from the ceiling is long gone, and I look all over the kitchen for one before I realize that River has very sweetly left one out on the counter for me with some of the other ingredients. Sigh.
River comes home. Her exam went well enough. “That cornbread looks good.” “You can have some.” She cuts a piece and tries it. “It’s better than mine. How’d you do that?” This reminds me of how she says her coffee tastes better when I make it. And I don’t even drink coffee. Last time she said that, I remembered that I’d forgotten to stir it before I put the plunger on the French press. How it could possibly turn out better is beyond me.
“Some things are better when you don’t have to do all the work yourself.” Then I suddenly remember how she likes it when I “do all the work” when we fuck — on top, beside her, behind her somehow. To be honest, which I try to be, I don’t do all the work. She wiggles and fucks back and puts her hands and legs in interesting places and makes appreciative sounds that I really seem to like.
But I have to ask. “Hey, is that why you like me to do all the work when we fuck?”
She just smiles.