Night is tender
Our daughter thinks this is unfair. Every winter, since she learned to speak, she protests: “It is unfair that you and dad sleep together, and I am always alone.” I never hear from her such complaints in the summer, when no one wants to touch the wet skin of another, and even at night the fans are working, blowing our bodies apart expiring later. But when November comes — yes, November is there, we have frosty nights even in September — even an extra blanket will not warm if you sleep alone … Perhaps the daughter is right, complaining about the injustice of fate. But now, when she is ten years old and a meter and a half in her growth, she has already come out of the age when the children climb into bed with their parents. I feel a little guilty. But adults should have their own joys. At least this advantage I can not give up. Marital bed is one of the main joys of family life. And not only in an erotic sense. Of course, these are the stages on which scenes of passion are played out – at least from time to time. But, more importantly and much more urgently, a conjugal bed is a place where we touch each other, whisper, not bash, fencing off from the rest of the world, only you and me. Even a child in the cradle will not curl up and nest as comfortably as a pair of loving spouses. As the nights get longer and colder, the prospect of diving into the bed with Theme in the evening illuminates my days brighter and uplifts, suppressed by the lack of sun and light. In the region where winter is half a year, where people leave the house in the morning dark, with their heads in their shoulders and return from work in the dusk in the same position, in our region only a conjugal bed allows the body to warm up and relax muscles, only it gives real rest and sweet dream. Having settled down and hid for eight hours to Temka’s body, hot as a stove, I survive these long nights when the wind from the north-east, gusty, sometimes very strong, breaks frozen branches of trees outside the windows. How else to survive these long weeks without the sun? In the morning, when the alarm clock rattles, and there is impenetrable darkness outside the window, the last thing you want to do is leave this warm nest, open your arms and crawl out from under the covers. The only thing that gives me the strength to stand up is the prospect after so many hours, having fulfilled my duty to society, to return to the conjugal bed. We bought this bed fifteen years ago. It is oak, with a one-piece double mattress and simple low backs from chiseled balusters. This was our first major family acquisition. She was the most beautiful of those that we could afford. We were looking for just a double – no royal, sultan or other harem sizes. Firstly, such a thing will surely crawl through the door, secondly, it is much cheaper, and thirdly, I then had one naive theory. It consisted in the fact that if the bed is not too large, we will never fall asleep without reconciliation. How can we get mad at each other if our bodies touch? Sometimes it really worked, and accidental touches melted the ice of mutual alienation. Of course, on hot and humid July nights, when perspiration protrudes even between the toes, and an accidental touch on Temkina’s hand feels as if she had touched a red-hot stove, I swear my young stupidity. But as soon as the leaves begin to turn yellow and fall, I am again pleased with our choice and slowly roll up under the warm barrel. Read also: twins what difficulties during pregnancy grandmother’s grandchildren verses little verses by February 23rd for dad why the child needed a dream how to make a family tree in school But even if we shared the most endless of the Sultan beds, our joint existence on it would still not be cloudless . I mean the noise problem. And not so much snoring as groans. About once every two months, for no apparent reason, Artem begins to moan at night. Suddenly – and almost every night – he lets out a moan, so loud and lingering that our poodle jumps out of bed in horror and runs into another room. – Theme? What are you doing? – Awakened from a deep sleep, I push him, perhaps sharper than I should. – What are you, what are you, are you? He mutters. “You moaned.” – Sorry. – He pats me on the back and turns on the other side. Exactly three minutes later, when I doze off, he lets out another heartbreaking moan. This time he wakes himself up. “I’m sorry,” he mutters again. The next morning I feel overwhelmed by the desire to tell my daughter about the wrong side of this privilege – to sleep together in the same bed. But just when I am already beginning to doubt whether we will someday sleep again and get enough sleep, these moans mysteriously stop, giving way to quiet sighs of deep satisfaction. I bring tacit thanks to Morpheus — or whoever manages it there — hugging Theme tighter and listening to the north wind breaking through the window.