Author : Dave Johnson

I have become a zipper.

The fad started out harmless enough. A person scheduled a visit to the zipper specialists. A few hours later the same person (for the true insides cannot be zipped) walked out a different gender. Some time later it got easier: a simple injection of the right gene triggers sent overnight signals to the appropriate glands. You woke a mister from sleeping as a mistress. Zip zip zip. The ultimate answer came in pill form.

My life partner and I signed an agreement. Each year we change, each year we take a few days off to zipper the glands. Sure, we have to wait a day or two as the skin settles into new patterns and the muscles assume new roles. For a year it’s another honeymoon. We get to explore, discover and enjoy the flesh again.

Ten years we’ve done this. Most partnerships don’t last this long. We’ve kept it going with the zip aid.

And here it comes. We dine at year’s end. As before, we’ll have a fine meal, chat a little about our day. The small talk will carry us to a toast. And the zipping sleep. In the morning we’ll wake and begin anew.

I pause in the conversation to think. Ten years have given her a few wrinkles about her eyes. The lips are thinner, the chin more taut. I admire her. They cannot zip age, try as they might. Time has it’s own pace, one that cannot be broken. Her age has a beauty, something I didn’t realize in younger days.

Did I miss something these years not seeing the beauty develop down below as well?

I tap the pill. A sigh escapes intentionally. “I’m not sure I want to swallow this tonight,” I tell her. My teeth clench.

The meaning of my statement is clear to her. She slows chewing, lets the fork descend. She casts a quick glance at her own, then back to me.

We took vows, we have an agreement. It has worked and nicely, too. The evenings are spectacular. We sink into each other wrapped in bliss. The zipping allows us sensory delights which can only remain indescribable. We long for each other, are melded into one. These things cannot just be cast aside at a whim. They are beyond value.

And having been the other, we can enhance it. We know the hidden spots, the areas to focus on. We know to linger with a kiss or hold a touch. When to tantalize, when to grip. The zipping has taught us much. The lovemaking dance unfolds in directions only meant to escalate the pleasure we feel.

So why am I messing up a perfect thing? Why do I take this chance?

“Let me explain,” I say quickly. “I think…. I think that change is good. Sometimes it happens fast and sometimes slow. But I’ve gotten to the point where I want to enjoy the gradual.

“I don’t want to zip into the next phase blindly tossing off what once was. I want to look at the photographs in year ahead knowing my love, you, is the same as the one next to me. I’m asking you to take a final change and stay with me.”

A final, slow, time-evoked zip. Let the exciting parts age. Let them match the rest. Maybe, even, let it bore us. Would she agree? Would we have a whole life together? My breath hung waiting her answer.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”


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