On most weekends, I try to catch up on as much sleep as possible. During the work week, I get into this routine where I’m lucky to get 6-7 hours of sleep per night – 5-6 is probably my average. It’s not bad, but I love to sleep more, like 9-10 hours. A few years ago, I could sleep 12 hours easily on weekends.

Usually after catching up on all this rest, I lay in bed for hours after waking on any given Saturday or Sunday morning. During this time, I often imagine a pair or large, strong hands exploring my curves in a warm, gentle fashion. Then, I feel kisses on my neck, hips and thighs. He rubs out the kinks in my naturally stiff shoulders and neck.

These hands don’t belong to anyone in particular. They don’t come with a face. These hands then turn into arms which embrace me tight, but not too tight.

These hands and arms belong to someone I trust and like. Like, to me, is more important than love. I have to like a guy enough to trust him. Enough to let him touch me. Enough to let him even set foot in my house.

I’ve spent most of my life sleeping on a tiny twin-sized bed. My parents bought me the bed when I as a toddler as part of a bedroom set (that they still own today and use in a guest room). As an adult, I can barely fit on this bed and I’m not all that big or tall. However, it’s very snug and envelops me enough to where it’s easy to fall asleep on most occasions. In college, the dorm bed was the same size as my twin bed, maybe even a little smaller. I often wondered how anyone over 5′9 (especially guys) could even fit on those beds or couples for that matter.

Now that I have my own place, I have a queen-sized bed. It’s the right size, but I always sleep on the same side of it every night, making that side quite a deal softer as opposed to the other, unused side. Sometimes I do go to that other side, but it’s harder for me to fall asleep there. Falling asleep in the middle is even stranger.

I’m not used to sharing a bed. I wouldn’t know how I would get used to it if I ever did find someone I like.