The Usual, Revisited (takes place after The Joy Luck Club)

Amy raised her eyebrows. "In the middle of the afternoon? You don't like that. You like everything structured and scheduled with names in capital letters."

Usual [yoo-zhoo-uh]: adjective; 1) habitual or customary; 2) commonly met with or observed in experience, ordinary; 3) commonplace, everyday.

Dimension: noun; extension in a given direction.
41% bridal Amy
12% pregnant Amy
47% maternal Amy

His bride. Everything was firm and taut and smooth. He loved running his cheek over the planes of her body, memorizing their creamy, warm features, learning her reactions. It surprised him, then, just how much he desired her physically. He had loved her mind for so long, he thought it wasn't possible to love anything else about her as much.

Oh, God!, pregnant Amy! She was majestic. She ripened and rounded before his very eyes. Loving her was an exercise in geometry and worship. He loved to run his hands along her changing features, measuring the growing diameters with his palm, every radius different, steeper, more beautiful than the last time he touched her. He had loved her body for so long, he thought it wasn't possible to love it any more. He was wrong.

The mother of his child. Another change. Things were softer and slacker. Gravity had tugged on her body. She was self-conscious, he knew. Twice, at the last second, he remembered stories from Howard and Leonard about commenting on their wife's weight. He managed to hold his tongue; instead he used it to trace those extra pounds, those stretch marks. Her medals of honor, her badges of courage, the scars of what she had done for him. It was better that way, and not just to avoid the sleeping on the couch as he had been warned about. He loved her so much, for so long, he had ran out of verbal ways to tell her how much more he desired her now than ever.

Approach vector: noun; a course suggested or instigated by an object to allow the object to rendezvous with a designated target.
57% getting into bed nude (either party)
18% deepening the kiss (either party); subsets: 06% including touching the buttons on her cardigan or blouse, 02% including her hands running under my shirts
15% Amy running her finger along the helix of my ear
10% verbal indication of desire (either party)

It was idea he had struck on years ago (years! has it been years now?), when he had been too shy and embarrassed to actually ask for it. And, if he were being honest, there had a been a couple of weeks there, at first, when the last thing he thought about in association with bed was sleep. The fewer barriers, the faster he could be naked, the better. Now, it was established and simple and gave no room for confusion.

But, he had to admit, as much as he loved her cardigans, nothing was better than slowly peeling one off of her. There had a been a phase, early in their marriage, when she sometimes wore sweater vests instead. He hated them; it was not sexy to remove a sweater vest. After the fire, he noticed she never bought another.

The ear thing caused some sort of Pavlovian response in him, and even now the very thought of it sent prickles through his body. Prickles that had the power to tear him away from his favorite television show when they were sitting on the couch, power to make him forget the comic book he was trying to read before going to sleep, power to wake him up in the middle of the night.

Decline: verb; to refuse with courtesy.
Note: Limited samples, probable skewed data, more study of phenomena required.
60% Amy smacking my hand away from her hip
35% lack of eye contact, terse goodnight, and rolling away from me
05% I get up and move to another room

Who was he kidding? He didn't want to study this phenomena in the least. Disturbed by the break in his eidetic memory, he couldn't remember why he'd ever say no.

Trajectory: noun; the path described by an object moving under the influences of outside forces.
96% rolling or turning, in either direction (i.e. rotation)
03% rushing to the closest suitable surface together
01% Amy stalks me from the foot of the bed

Just thinking about the stalking made his heart race. Rarely (as 1% of the time indicates), and most commonly if she was tipsy, Amy would stand at the end of the bed and pull the blankets down, down, down, clawing at them. Then she would give him a look he never saw anywhere else, her emerald eyes flashing like he was prey. Wow, it was good. Next, she would lean over and arch her back at the same time, prowling toward him, watching him, like a cat, her breasts swinging, hypnotizing him. No, it wasn't good, it was hot. Sometimes she said his name as she slinked forward, and it came out like a cross between a purr and snake's hiss. Fiery hot. Only since the babymoon would she sometimes pause halfway to his lips, dipping her head down to . . . Dear Lord. She wouldn't, of course, finish the job, he still didn't like the mess, but just a little bit until his mind was blown. Pun fully intended. She would rise up, give him the devilish smirk of a predator, and proceed on her painfully slow, stealthy course until she was close enough she could devour him hungrily -

Sheldon snapped upright and marched to the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked from her computer.

"I just need a drink of water." Very, very cold water.

Position: noun; the arrangement or disposition of the body or a part of the body.
61% missionary
29% Amy on top; subset: 08% includes sitting upright
10% spooning

He liked looking down at her, his face very close to her completely relaxed one, watching her just taking and enjoying. If he wasn't watching her, he liked resting his cheek against hers and occasionally whispering in her ear. He liked the feel of her hands on his back, her fingernails running down his spine, the way her hands gripped his buttocks. Most of all, he liked that she was his alone in those moments, that he was keeping her all to himself. At first it was so natural he hadn't thought about it; but then after she assumed control one night he wondered if those thoughts were too possessive, if she would be offended by them. And, of course, he could so rarely bring her to climax this way. But she continued to pull him over her when it could have easily gone the other way. Finally, after months, he had asked her. She said something about being his pearl, which was just the sort of sentimental nonsense that he loved/hated to hear her say. Especially when she was right. Freed from his worries, it remained his favorite without doubts; she was his pearl and he was polishing her, and he didn't care how very trite that sounded.

Velocity: noun; rapidity of motion or operation; swiftness; speed.
70% one to three on a scale of ten
25% six to eight on a scale of ten
05% maximum speed

Slow and gentle. Once he was there he was no desire to end it too quickly.

Amy, though, like to speed things up when she was in control. She pressed harder, deeper, she moved quicker, with greater variations. Not rough (usually), just not as sedate. This was, he knew, necessary for her, and the look on her face when it happened, when she brought herself to where she wanted to be and he could let go and join her there . . . that moment was perfect.

As for the remaining five percent, it was the spice known as variety. Or, more often since Ada was born, lack of time.

Vocalizations: noun, plural; to make vocal; utter; articulate; sing.
100% of instances

Once, he had imagined coitus with Amy would be silent and clinical. She would conduct herself in a controlled fashion, as she did with everything. But, no, coitus with Amy was full of noises. All of those sounds she made near him, because of him, so close to his ear - the breathing, the panting, the gasps, the mewling, the whispers - he loved them all.

Or, perhaps, he had once imagined, that she would moan instead, progressively louder, and then scream and slap things. Granted, this idea came from watching a rerun of When Harry Met Sally. But she didn't, not usually. She sucked in all the air she could gather and let it out in a series of high notes. It was pure and clean.

Sometimes, though, it was different. Rarely there was tremble. Sometimes it was deep, almost a groan, that seemed to rise out of her. Best of all, sometimes it was his name.

Frequency: noun; the number of items occurring in a given category.
Category BA (before Ada): approximate 3.7 times a week.
Category AA (after Ada): approximate 1.5 times a week.

What was there to say about that? Nothing. Both categories felt natural in their respective times.

Duration: noun; the length of time something continues or exists.
Untested; dissent on meaning.

He had never timed it. Before it, there was only desire. During it, he felt like he began and ended there, in a continuous cycle of bliss. After it, it always felt too short.

Additionally, what counted as it? Actual coitus, yes, but what about all those soul stirring things that came before? Touching her, loving her, being buried in her skin? And those serene moments afterwards, holding her, falling asleep around her?

Sheldon glanced at Amy across the large partner's desk she had picked out for them, which, like so many things Amy thought of, was the best idea he had ever known. Her face was lit by the screen, the text of her work reflecting off of her glasses. Looking back at his own screen, he pressed and held down the backspace key before typing again.

Duration: forever.

"Sheldon, what are you working on?" Amy asked. "You keep looking at me, and now you're smiling."

"Uh, well, you know," he shrugged, wiping away the smile he didn't know was there, "the usual."

Amy looked at him quizzically, and he could almost see the gears in her mind turning. "Hmmmmm."

"Are you ready for bed?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I'm at a good stopping point."

"Good." He pressed the red dot in the corner of his screen.

Do you want to keep this new document "Untitled"?

He glanced quickly at Amy again, as she stood from her chair. He already had everything he needed.

Delete.

"Shall we?" she put out her hand, an invitation. He took it.

Thank you in advance for your reviews!