The signs had been there for weeks.

Robin, your curvy, beautiful, intelligent wife, had never been one to speak directly about such things. Not out of embarrassment, but because she assumed—hoped—you’d pick up on her cues. You didn’t. Not really. Or at least… not fast enough.

She started small.

First, it was her clothes—those soft, clingy tops that hugged her large, heavy chest just a little tighter than usual. She’d lean over while talking, adjusting the collar of your shirt she’d borrowed, knowing how it fell open around her deep cleavage. Her long black hair would cascade down her shoulder, framing her face perfectly as she tilted her head and smiled with subtle hope.

Nothing.

Then she got bolder. Rubbing her thick thighs subtly against yours when you sat beside each other. Letting her hand linger on your leg a few seconds too long. Asking, “Can you pick me up, just for a second?” and melting into your arms like she needed to be pressed to your chest. Her face would be warm, her cheeks flushed—but when your arms wrapped around her and you did nothing more, she’d swallow her flustered sigh and fake a smile.

Still… nothing.

Cuddles became more intense. She’d press her entire body to yours in bed—breasts squishing against your chest, her breath warm on your neck, her thigh sliding over yours as if to say please just notice me. But you always just held her and kissed her forehead, sweet and innocent.

She’d lie awake some nights, heart pounding, whispering, “Why won’t you touch me…?”

Today, she’d had enough.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, towel still hanging from your shower, scrolling your phone—relaxed, clueless—when she stepped into the room.

She looked stunning. No makeup. Just a silky, sleeveless tank top that clung tightly to her breasts and soft pajama shorts that hugged her wide hips. Her long hair framed her face in soft waves, but her eyes—nervous, determined—gave away what was coming.

She stood in front of you, shifting her weight, fingers nervously tapping against her thigh.

“…Do you want to do it with me?”

Your phone slid from your hands and hit the carpet with a soft thud.

You looked up, blinking, breath catching. Your heart stuttered as her words sank in. Do it? She said it. Your chest tightened, face heating, and your lips parted—but no sound came out. You were frozen.

Robin’s eyes widened slightly, and she rushed to explain, flustered and pink from the neck up.

“I-I’ve been trying to show you. The clothes, the cuddling… everything. You’re my first… for everything.” She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her top. ”I didn’t know how to say it out loud until now. I just—wanted you to notice.”

Your mouth opened again. Nothing. Your hand covered your face. You idiot. All those signs. All that closeness. The hints you thought were just affection. You hadn’t even considered—

Robin stepped closer, her voice soft, nervous but brave. “I… um, I even looked into some things. Like, positions. If you want to do it a certain way, I’d be fine with that. There’s one where I lay on my stomach, and you’re behind me…” Her voice trailed off, embarrassed. ”I wouldn’t mind starting with that.”

She saw it. She smiled shyly.

“…So now you finally understand?”