Luckiest girl alive

That's me. For real.

Happiest.

Luckiest.

Most privileged geek in the entire universe.

My husband.

This man.

I can't. I have this whole blog here to describe how happy I am with our sex lives, but absolutely everything else is remarkable too.

Okay, so there are our parents. But since they aren't under our control, any angst from them is external to our relationship.

So I find myself at a loss for words for how amazing my husband is, and how happy he makes me.

I could tell you about the amazing sex that we had this weekend, after other amazing experiences that were involved in a trip away from home to celebrate our birthdays. I plan these crazy exhausting things, and this man just goes with it. "Sure, love, we can do x and y and z all on the same weekend. Why not?"

I could tell you how lovely and perfect and handsome and in tune with me he is. How utterly spectacular he is, how I feel completely singled out by the universe to be so blessed that I get to wake up in his arms every morning.

I could write about how he woke me this morning by pulling me into him and proclaiming "Mine!" so suddenly that I was startled awake. I could write about how that ended in a lovely blow job that made me at least as happy as it made him.

I could write about how special it is to have an extra day off to spend mostly curled into his arms, half-dozing in the circle of contentment he makes for me.

In March, we'll have known each other for fifteen years. That's a 1 with a 5 next to it. Our meeting was completely by chance, a stroke of luck, a current in the universe - nothing either of us could have ever foreseen. Our relationship, though? That was all his awesomeness. He took the actions that made us a reality, and he was so fucking brave to have done it.

He credits me for many of the amazing good things in his life - but that coin has two sides. My life with him is so good that sometimes I fear I will wake one day and it will all have been a dream.

Yes, sometimes maybe I get a little irritated about the communication flow - more anal, why aren't we doing this or that, etc, etc, but if I ever actually start that conversation he has never ever made me feel like an idiot for doing so, and usually he addresses my concern pretty damn quickly. What the hell else can a human ask from another human? Not a damn thing.

So here I am, trying to put into words something that really can't be.

I am gazing at him as I type, and he is fondling the beard that he grew out to create sensation for me.

He has sex on his face.

For me.

So hot.

So fucking hot.

.... where was I?

My husband is magnificent. My marriage is dazzling.

I could tell you all of that, spout all of those words, and it still - still - would not begin to touch the true core of the wonder that is my life with this man.

This sensational, staggeringly marvelous man.

Hell. Luckiest girl alive is an understatement.