When Guido turns out the lights in our loft each night he strolls into the bedroom, takes all of his clothes off, and then leaps head first into bed. I’m not saying I’m not thankful he’s jumping in it. But, that’s it. Job done. It’s the sum total of his preparation. I continually have to remind him to bolt the backdoor and floss.
Our bed is a really strange place. It’s up there with The Twighlight Zone. If you got in the sack with us you’d realise what I meant. There are unusual and unexplained forces at work. I’m surprised Mulder and Scully haven’t popped up unexpectedly from under the sheets with a flashlight. Although nowadays we do an awful lot of sleeping in our bed, we also do a whole bunch of stuff people might find odd. Occasionally we have a fight in it. Normal. We regularly do the crossword in it. Normal. We completed a 1000 piece jigsaw of Niagara Falls in it. Verging on unusual. And earlier this week we consumed an entire traybake of cannelloni in it. Weird I know, but it felt right at the time. So contrary to what you might think from any earlier posts we don’t actually have that much sex in it anymore. That’s not to say we’re not doing it together elsewhere. These days we just seem to reserve sex for the sofa or the rug or, if we’re feeling particularly adventurous, the top of the washer-drier during it’s final spin.
A long time before I met Guido I had a relationship with a guy who was the complete opposite. The only thing he’d do in bed was have sex. Let’s just say he was very anal. Come to think of it I never actually saw him sleep in that bed. For all I know he’d probably hang from the clothes rail in his closet at night like some sort of fruit bat. I wasn’t in love with him. I was in lust with him. He had a terrific body. God knows what he saw in me. Perhaps he was just relieved to meet a nymphomaniac who was willing to take the London Underground to Kensal Rise to have sex, though only do it in bed. Sometimes when I visited him I’d start ripping my clothes off on the way up the stairs so I could get straight into his bed without any silly hold ups. Like my knickers getting twisted, or awkward discussions about which way up he fancied having me on the mattress. Then we would have sex and immediately after he’d call Pappa John’s Pizza home delivery service. If my luck was in he’d pay for extra pepperoni. As you can see this was exactly the sort of behaviour which encouraged my fledgling interest in Italian sausage.
Now when I get ready for bed I put on woolly socks and a sweatshirt and a towelling dressing robe. I’m guessing this is what happens the longer you’re in a loving relationship. It turns out that you start to put on more clothes to go to bed than you originally had on before you got started. So, if on the off chance Guido does happen to get a bit amorous, unfortunately it’s a good ten minutes before I’m stripped and ready for action. He’s been know to peak without me. Which could be the story of my life but at least I get a good night’s sleep in my own bed.