Nope. This isn’t a true confession about my sex life.
When I say sleeping together, I mean SLEEPING together.
I spent more than 12 years of not sleeping with anyone who wasn’t a child or grandchild of mine. So the thought of sleeping with someone who is not connected to me since their birth was a little daunting.
There is something more vulnerable about sleeping with someone than sexing with them. A lot more vulnerable. I’ve been a light sleeper, listening for the noise of a curfew violating teen or a less benign visitor. Living alone for the past few years, I found that I ran my own neighborhood watch program. It was disconcerting after the cat died when I could no longer blame alien noises on her. (Drowsily wake, hear unfamiliar noise…”Oh, it’s the cat. Crap! I don’t have a cat anymore!!!”)
But it’s nice to sleep with someone who is bigger than me. It’s comforting to be able to rest my head against his back, match my breathing with his, feel the weight of his arm over my shoulders. I think it could lower blood pressure better than petting a dog or a cat.
I googled sleeping with a partner to see if anyone had studied the positive aspects. After discounting the 1-900-dialaho websites, I found that most of the articles deal with sleeping with a snoring partner, a tosser or turner, blanket thieving partner, or bed etiquette. Don’t make the new b’friend sleep on dirty sheets which may have old b’friend odor, light and playful conversation only, warm your feet before you wrap them around your bed partner, lower your voice an octave. (Does that mean bass as opposed to soprano?)
Whatever. I am enjoying this evolution in my life. I like the fact that the woman I am today can sleep (REALLY sleep) with a partner. There have been times in my life when I would have moved into another room to take sufficient alcohol or other special effects to be able to relax enough to sleep (that’s spelled p-a-s-s-o-u-t).