The Experiences of Steven

Footsie

At the risk of sounding perverse, I will relate this tale. When sleeping next to my lovely bride, I am emphatically expected to stay on my side of the bed. My darling does not care to be touched or disturbed in any manner whilst trying to sleep. Her work hours are rather ugly; therefore, her disposition regarding this is a reasonable one.

That said, like any husband, I spend every waking moment trying to press beyond the boundaries set by my spouse. What happened last night though, happened quite by accident. It was well after midnight when it occurred to me that my foot was touching hers— a major infraction. Now this may seem a small thing, but after midnight such a violation is fervently prohibited.

Now a husband pressing beyond these boundaries is very much akin to a technician diffusing a bomb. Baby steps must be taken. I need only touch one wrong spot one wrong way and— Boom! I am undone.

As I traversed this metaphorical minefield, two questions echoed in my head. One: “Why have I not been reprimanded yet?” and two: “Why is her foot so cold?”

So on I ventured, wiggling my toes and such. I will not disturb my readers with sordid details. Still I mused, that to newlyweds this might be foreplay, but to a couple such as us, married twenty years, this activity equated to a wild orgy.

As I persisted in my husbandly nonsense and marveled that I was permitted to do so, I suddenly noted how easily I could move her foot about. My interest leapt from desire to curiosity as I nudged her this way and that. I was feeling a bit confused by then and wondered if it wasn’t all just a dream, which would have been far more feasible than what I had been enjoying thus far.

After pushing her foot in several impossible directions I sat up and threw off the covers. I reached down with my hand determined to set straight my perception of what was happening only to discover not just to my relief but also to my disappointment— I had been playing footsie with the television remote the whole time.