*****
The tiredness really sets in as I brush my teeth, do minimal skincare and tuck my hair inside my silk wrap. I’m vaguely aware of Loncey getting themself ready for bed too – washing their face, brushing their teeth and flossing – but I leave the bathroom before they’re finished and crawl into bed with heavy-lidded eyes. By the time the bed moves as Loncey gets in beside me, I’m half asleep. But then I feel their body heat and I get this overwhelming sense of their presence next to me. It doesn’t jolt me awake exactly, but it shakes me enough that it instantly makes it harder for me to drift off into the sleep that was just within arm’s reach.
“I hope you sleep well, Maeve.” Their voice fills the darkness after they switch off the light.
“You too, Loncey,” I reply, already knowing it’s going to take a while for sleep to come back and claim me.
After many long minutes I feel a restlessness in my legs, a sensation I often have when I’m on my period, and I know it’s exacerbated by the long-haul flight I did the day before yesterday. Typically, the only thing that relieves it slightly is tossing and turning, that or a quick orgasm. Reluctant to do the latter for many different reasons, I wait until Loncey’s breathing is steady and slow and then I roll over and stretch out my legs. It gives me approximately five seconds of relief and then I have to do it again. A beat later I’m swapping which leg is higher, rustling the covers as I do.
“Are you okay?” Loncey asks, sounding very awake.
“Yeah,” I say immediately and then think about it. “Actually, no. I’ve got restless legs.”
“Oh that’s horrible. My mom gets that.”
“She does? Does she have a magic way to get rid of them?”
“Baths with magnesium salt. And eating enough iron.”
“Hmm, how much iron is in a club sandwich?”
Loncey scoffs out a quick laugh. “Probably not as much as a chicken kale salad.”
I groan and roll over again in bed so I’m facing them. My eyes have adjusted to the dark in the room and I can make out their silhouette lying on the pillow looking straight up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry if it’s stopping you from falling asleep,” I say.
“Don’t worry about it. I was still awake.”
“So should we talk now?” I say with a yawn I can’t stifle.
“No, I want you to sleep.” Loncey rolls onto their side to face me. “Would… would what you did last time help?”
“A cheeky orgasm?” I say, trying to keep my voice as playful as possible to try and mask over the conflicting feelings that surge inside me.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I admit.
“I could do that again,” they say. “Talk you through it, I mean. If that’s what you wanted.”
“It has helped in the past,” I say. “Orgasms always make me feel sleepy.”
“They’re supposed to. Once that oxytocin and prolactin are released and you suppress any naughty cortisol flying around, the body just wants to sleep. It’s like a reward for doing some reproducing.”
“Even if you’re not actually, you know, reproducing.”
“Our bodies are only so clever,” Loncey says and I see their shoulders move in a soft shrug.
“Speaking of reproducing.” I prop my head up on my hand, my arm bent at the elbow. “Do you… do you want kids, one day?”
I hear Loncey suck in a deep breath. “I don’t think I do, Maeve. I don’t see myself being a parent, at least not in the traditional way. I like children and I like having mentoring-typeroles in my work, but I don’t want it to be any bigger a part of my life than it already is.”
“Wow, that’s a much more polite response to my usual answer to that question.”
“Which is?”
“Fuck, no. I hate kids.”
