He gently traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb, picking up the silky fold at the front of her ear before skimming down to the soft hollow above her collarbone.
His fingers took over, firmer, returning along her shoulder and tracing up the back of her neck. Tension relaxed in their wake and a tingle rippled down her back as they disappeared into her hairline and glided over the base of her skull.
His hand paused for a moment and pulled her closer. Her face lifted and their lips met in the darkness. He felt the soft warmth as they parted slightly to meet his kiss.
They were lying face to face beneath the covers, their breath shallow and faltering with anticipation.
This had been building all day. They’d been having a laugh. They’d been flirty, affectionate and tactile. Their connection was strong and their desire synchronised.
The responsibilities of the day were behind them now. They were relaxed and finally had the space to go with the flow and see where the moment would take them.
Her knee raised and the velvety flesh of her inner thigh glided across his. Their bodies shifted, finding ways to get closer and then closer again.
Then, “Shh! What was that?”
They froze in panic. Their bodies went rigid. They held their breath. Every morsel of attention focused on the sound.
They pulled the cover away from their faces and turned slowly towards the side of the bed.
There was something there. A presence. Something awake and alert in the darkness. It was silent and motionless, staring back at them.
Too solid for an apparition. Too small for an intruder (probably, not technically), and too human for a close encounter of the 3rd kind.
Just right though, for a two-year-old insomniac child.
“I can’t sleep,” it said.
“Hey Monkey,” they said in unison.
Mum slipped out of bed and scooped them up. Dad would need a couple more minutes under the covers before he could follow suit.
This literally happened to us, and it was far from an isolated incident…
We did what we could to manage the situation but it took its toll.
We closed the door, the lights stayed off and frolicking above the covers was banished to the no-fly list. Noise and excessive movement were kept to a minimum at all times.
We didn’t want to imprint an unwelcome image for her therapist to unearth triumphantly 40 years later and hold aloft as the root cause of all her unintegrated psychological trauma.
She was like a freakin’ ninja though, and the fear of interruption was getting in our heads.
The slightest creak…
We’d freeze.
‘Shh! What was that?”
We tried wedging a dressing gown at the base of the door to add some resistance, then upgraded to the washing basket.
We hung a jingly toy on the door handle as part of an early warning security perimeter.
We were making steady progress. And then one night, I had a brainwave…
To be continued…
