It’s the rare story that can transport you from memories of
those shivering, vulnerable moments with your first lover, on to the most
mind-blowing sex of your life, and back again to passionate, more mature (and still mind-blowing) love. Stacia J.N. Decker
has done just that, however, in “Scarred,” in
which she recounts her tumultuous relationship with her husband, and his scar...
Sometimes, straddling
my husband in bed, I drag my fingertips down his chest, over the smooth pale
skin of his torso and then up again to his collarbone, down the center, over
the scar. The scar is seven inches long, shaped like an exclamation point with its
period floating an inch below, pink like his nipples, fat and flat like an
earthworm that has been slowly sinking, over the last year and a half, deeper
into his body. It is a little wider in the middle — I think, perhaps, from the
rib spreaders. Maybe that is where the surgeon's hands went in.
"Does it look okay?" he usually asks.
"It's sexy," I say.
Dig in, here.
— Alexandra Godfrey
