I know sexy.
I know the right pair of heels speeds up my man’s heart rate. I know a little cleavage makes his thoughts go a long way. I know black lace sends clear signals. And I like to use what I know.
But sometimes I just need cozy; I need comfort; I need calm. So I go into our closet and I put on the sexiest thing I can find.
I put on his gray hoodie sweatshirt.
My husband’s sweatshirt is at least two sizes too big for me– it couldn’t cling to my curves if it tried. And I love not filling up that space because it reminds me of the person who does. A person bigger than me, and stronger, who uses every fiber of muscle and will to shield me.
I wear that sweatshirt, and I am safe.
His gray sweatshirt is soft just a layer beneath its stone color. And I wrap it around myself and think of the gentle care, the tender words he wraps me in; comfort as only he can.
I wear that sweatshirt, and I am secure.
I am not dolled up, I am not for show; I am just very simply me in that gray hoodie sweatshirt. So far from heels and cleavage and lace, so far from enticement and seduction, I am hidden in plain view– I catch no one else’s eye. No other guy would look at me twice in that great, soft, manly sweatshirt.
But I know. I know he sees how he makes me feel when he sees me in his sweatshirt. I know what it means to him to mean what he does to me. And I know he sees what no one else can.
I know sexy.
I wear that sweatshirt, and I am gray-sweatshirt sexy.
