Day Nineteen of Advent

Part Three

It’s ridiculously early to go to bed, but I’m no sooner burrowed under blankets and furs , fully clothed and tense, than my eyes slide closed. I force them open and they do it again. I’m losing time here, jerking awake and not sure of how many minutes have passed. John’s moving around, getting himself some food, taking a piss in the pot, adding wood to the fire; acting as if I’m not there for the most part.

I try not to breathe deeply. This place stinks. I suppose I’d get used to it in time, but each inhalation brings it home to me that, well, that I’m not home. I live fifteen minutes’ drive from this place and it might as well be a fifteen-hour flight.

John intrigues me. Clearly committed to his role, but why? What’s he doing out here? My reality show theory is falling apart now I think about it. I read the local paper, the online version, anyway, and there was nothing in there about it. Is he squatting? Is this cabin legal? It’s definitely city land, but he could be a researcher or something. Why wouldn’t he tell me, though? Speculation’s exhausting.

John undresses and I’m wide awake in an instant. If he feels the cold, he doesn’t show it. He strips naked and I’m drooling. The guy’s huge, muscular in all the right places, skin dusted with freckles here and there, and an uncut cock that’s frankly intimidating. He pulls on a nightshirt and I stifle a chuckle. It’s full, billowing, and it does nothing for him, in my opinion.

Then he gets in beside me and any urge to laugh leaves me. I’m not used to sharing a bed with a stranger. It’s awkward. I can’t pretend to be asleep. He knows I’m not.

“Good night.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, thanks. Uh, do you have enough room?”

“It will suffice, unless you’re a restless sleeper.”

“I don’t think I am.” I hesitate. He seems more approachable lying beside me. His body heat radiates through me, making me want to snuggle in close. “So, you’ve been here since the summer? No visitors? Family? Wife?”

“My family is in England and I have little to offer a woman.”

I blame the wine for what I said next. “I’ve seen you naked. That’s not true.”

He turns his head. “You’re bold.”

“Yeah, well, take it as a compliment, but don’t take offence. I’m gay, but it’s not catching.”

“I wish it were. I’m lonely from time to time, I’ll admit it. Even the company of a man whose mind and tongue wander strangely is better than my own.”

Huh? Oh right. If he’s playing the game of being in the eighteenth century, of course he’ll use the original definition of gay. I need to tailor what I say to fit in with his rules since he’s clearly not going to drop the act. Safe enough to clarify what I mean; he didn’t flinch or edge away so he’s obviously not a raging homophobe.

“I meant that I prefer to, um, share my bed with a man.”

He flinches then. “I do not take your meaning.”

This is all a bit much. I lose patience. It’s not as if he’ll throw me out. If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll sleep by the fire. “Yeah, you do, but I’ll spell it out if you insist.”

“No.” The finality in his voice shuts me down. “Say nothing more. Sleep and tomorrow I will take you to town, but for now… Sleep.”

I roll my eyes, disappointed in him, and turn over, giving him my back to stare at. “Yeah, whatever. Sleep tight.”

If the bed bugs bit, I don’t notice. Sleep sucks me under like quicksand.