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It was late and my wife and I had gone to bed. The dogs had settled down, and one, Leah, was already snoring as usual. The other, Danno, was curled up on the floor near my side of the bed and would soon be out cold. The weather had been unseasonably cool and rainy for the Bay Area in May. Temperatures were probably in the fifties that night, though I did not get up to check a thermometer. It had rained on Friday, and more rain was forecast for Sunday, so Saturday was cool, and a storm was coming in more ways than one.
I had hit the drowsy state that comes before sleep takes me. You know the one, where you're likely to twitch and bite your tongue for no reason. I lay on my side with Anne behind me. All was quiet, and it seemed a normal, comfortable night.
Then Anne moved ever so slightly, and all chance of sleep was gone. I knew that movement, and I suspect it causes terror in all men. It certainly makes me quake with fear. Her feet slowly began moving towards the backs of my legs, and I knew my fate.
There is something about Anne's circulatory system that I have never understood. I think she can reduce blood flow in her extremities at will. Even worse, she appears to get some sadistic pleasure from doing so because - of course - once they are cold, they need to be warmed back up. And the best way to warm them up is to put them on something warmer than they are. Me. When I am comfortable and almost asleep. She must get a sublime pleasure from this act.
So as I say, I knew my fate. The icy toes of doom were closing the gap between us, and I was shortly to have the therms sucked out of my legs. I knew how to behave in this situation. I would not jerk away, as that only causes a struggle in which she brings her frozen hands to bear as well. No, I would take it like a man. I'd whimper, yes. I might even cry out, but I would not give her the satisfaction of sudden movement. Not that she cares much. I suspect my whimpering is more than enough for her.
Time does this thing when something awful is about to happen; it slows down. It took hours for her feet to cross those few inches between us, and I envisioned my legs icing up solid and shattering any number of times before the actual contact. As she closed in for the kill, I tensed my whole body in preparation. My world contracted to just my calves, and I waited for the pain.
Of course, the pain is brief. When you're as accomplished a heat thief as my wife you don't just cause pain. After pain comes numbness, which is my only relief during these encounters. There might be worse effects after that if the contact continued, but generally Anne gets the heat she craves so desperately and retreats back to her side of the bed to fall asleep, content with her plunder.
I braced myself for that first touch. There were goose bumps forming already, and I wondered if tonight she would actually cause frostbite. "Yes, doctor, those are frozen toe prints on my calves. No, I don't want to report her. The police would only laugh at me."
And then, contact. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the initial report from the nearby nerves, knowing that those at the contact point were already frozen and thus unable to send a report on conditions to my brain. It always works that way; the feelings of cold come from the area around where her feet land, not exactly where they touch.
But something was different this time. Something was definitely odd. My mind, braced for the worst, had to adjust in a hurry, compensating for strange sensations that it didn't expect or recognize. Time passed and then - wonder of wonders - I knew what I felt. Toes! I felt her toes! They were of a normal temperature, and my skin was still attached to my body and not solidified like the pack ice on most of Greenland, waiting for global warming to release it.
I marveled at the sensation. My wife's toes were not cold! True, they weren't exactly hot either, but they were not cold. This wasn't possible. I must be dreaming, but if it was a dream it was a good one.
Finally I let out a sigh and relaxed. That night, for once, I would sleep in relative safety and comfort.
I know not what future nights will bring. Perhaps it was a ploy on her part, and the next time my guard will be down. I might wind up entirely frozen and unable to move. She might have done this deliberately to savor my unfamiliar emotions, and quash them horribly later. Only time will tell.
For now, though, I will remember the sweet sensation of her normal toes on my calves and hope that someday it will happen again.
Copyright (c) 2006 by Jeffry R. Powell
Also published on gather.com