Sleeping with The Enemy
I’m not really one to make rules for myself. I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of gal. I’ll try almost anything once, and I rarely freak if a risk I take doesn’t end in my favor. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t certain standards by which I live. Let me explain.
I don’t let just anyone or anything into my bedroom. My bed is a cone of trust. You don’t get to enter it, especially with me, unless I know that you won’t betray me. It’s a Becca law that I have always honored.
This being said, something has happened to this law. I have broken it.
You see, it has turned cold here. It’s wet, lonely, and miserably freezing. I find myself perpetually squatted by a cheap space heater, while the oven is on broil and gaping open. Jack has begun to look at me like I’m some sort of weak, pathetic, cold-blooded varmint. I’ve also come to despise my bed. While the blankets surround me with warmth, that warmth stops conveniently above my waist. I need to regain feeling. I need to feel something in my toes again, if you know what I mean.
I just can’t take it anymore.
I did something. I invited strange company under my covers. I needed to wake up engulfed, even if I was only pretending. I wanted to forget the cold sting in my heels, even if it was just for one night.
I slept with socks.
I let them encompass my feet all night long. They rode up and down my ankles shamelessly all night, waking me in agony and bliss all at the same time. I felt violated and wrong but so utterly warm. At one point, I think I even broke a sweat.
It all started a week ago when I accidentally fell asleep with them on. I wasn’t something I meant to do. It was not planned. When I woke up, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was also extremely itchy, which intensified the churn in my tummy. Guilt set in quickly as I violently kicked the socks from my feet.
As the fuzzy intruders fell to the floor, I felt relief… until the next night.
Again, I began drifting off to sleep when I briefly awoke to glance down towards the foot of my bed. There they were again, yet I did nothing to say no. I needed them. I wanted them. And as morning approached, I found myself in the same tornado of sheets and blankets, angrily wrestling the smothering socks off of my feet.
At first, it was just an affair that I allowed to happen. It was purely physical. But somewhere in the whirlwind affair, I began to feel attached. Like they were a part of me. I know this, because I just realized that they are still on my feet as I sit here typing this.
Do they feel the same way? Probably not. If anyone needs me, I’ll be doing the walk of shame…
In my socks.
I’ve also started a weird relationship with a onesie. Check it out on Beccatube here or in the sidebar. I’m beyond help.
- If you wear socks to bed, you are probably a lunatic (bigasschuck.wordpress.com)
- Time to Bundle Up – Part 2 (socks) (solefulmamas.com)
- Finding a pair (arosekelly.wordpress.com)
Posted on December 11, 2013, in Humor and tagged 25tofly, Becca Cord, Bedroom, cat in bed, Footwear, Funny, life, Relationships, sex, sleeping, sleeping in socks, sleeping with the enemy, socks. Bookmark the permalink. 51 Comments.