Fiction
In the Tent at Dawn
The morning light woke her up. Even though it was far earlier than she’d normally wake, the gentle and gradual brightening of the tent was far more pleasant than the shrieking alarm that served as her personal reveille.
After so many mornings, waking up to alarms a couple days in the tent was just what she needed. Her circadian rhythm would also appreciate it.
She laid there for a moment with her eyes closed hoping that she’d drift back to sleep, but the tent was getting hotter and soon she’d have to get out and start moving around.
It was at this point she was starting to wish they’d left the rain cover off. She could sneak a few more minutes before it got too hot. She also knew if they’d done that they would have had ten inches of rain dumped on them.
She shifted in her sleeping bag trying to determine if she was lower to the ground than when she went to bed. For the last two days she was fairly convinced she had a slow leak in her air mattress.
She was about to pull the sleeping bag’s hood over head and try to grab a few more minutes of sleep when he started running his fingers through her hair and she just about melted.
It was her ultimate weakness and he knew it.
She laid there nearly transfixed staring at the tent’s blue wall while he gently played with her hair and massaged her scalp.
“Mmmmmm that feels great.”
Then he massaged her neck and she felt knots she didn’t know she had disappeared. His powerful thumbs dug into back muscles and she had to stop herself from moaning too loud.
Suddenly she heard someone walking up and unzipping the tent.
She sprang up to see her husband in the vestibule.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, I had to go get something from the car.”
“You were at the car?”
“Yes.”
He saw the horrified look on her face, “What’s wrong?”
“If you were at the car then who was just running their fingers through my hair?”
