Not Coming, Drowning


I never really took the threats seriously. It was just something he was going to do, like fix his car properly or not leave his laundry sitting about till he next saw his Mum. The idea just popped up from time to time, usually at his place with me moaning about two people trying to get a decent night's sleep in a single bed. I never thought for a moment that he'd actually carry through on his word... but he has. He's gone and bought a waterbed.

God, I hate waterbeds. That anything so blatantly awkward and inconvenient should ever have made it's way onto the general market is a testament to the genius of advertising.

Let's start with the basics. You sit down on the waterbed and it obligingly gives way, dropping your posterior and presenting you with a close-range view of your knees as they get correspondingly hooked over the side wall. I mean forget grace and dignity; you're left flapping like a fly in chewing gum as you search for enough leverage to claw your way out again. Should you gather your courage and actually lie down on the beast, it starts doing a creditable impersonation of a B-grade movie monster with a penchant for people absorption.

Now as for sleeping, I'm personally convinced that the entire waterbed concept was invented by a wily chiropractor to bolster a failing business. Your pillow acting like a life-preserver keeps your head floating comfortably, but the rest of you is sinking slowly into the depths. This sort of misalignment not only makes your back go out, it makes it pack its bags and head for the Bahamas! As if this wasn't enough, should either of you happen to turn over, you set the waterbed rocking like a rowboat, successfully snapping the other person back to wakefulness. In fact should your bedmate be a particularly restless sleeper, you may well find yourself performing a quick aerial ballet over the edge of the bed, because even the smallest movement can cause a tidal wave worthy of a major earthquake.

Which brings me to my main complaint: have you ever tried to FUCK in one of those things? Sex, very basically speaking, involves a pair of nicely juxtaposed forces--he pushes and you push back. This necessitates one or the other of you having some sort of stable resistance to push from. Which is where the waterbed goes astray. Let's try the missionary possie. He gets on top of you and pushes down. Instead of some nice tactile resistance, all this pressure does is make you sink into the bed, entirely the wrong direction for what the pair of you have in mind. If he pushes harder, then he should go deeper. Instead, you do. try bracing your feet on the bed in order to lift yourself to meet him. Uh-uh, sorry! The bloody thing gives way under the pressure of your feet and all you do is wave your legs up and down. Given time you might get up enough wave motion to make things interesting, but it's far more likely to make you seasick.

So you try getting on top (assuming the bed actually allows you to get up from where you are). Your knees sink down on either side of him, which at first seems like a good idea until you realise that he's sinking at the same rate (if not faster) and you can't get any closer than before. Doggy-style overcomes the resistance problem, but just you try staying remotely upright while the entire bed is quivering like an epileptic blancmange. You dig your nails in, but not too deeply or you'll end up with a wet patch like you've never known before.

There's just nothing for it but to struggle to your feet, grab the doona and your man (if you haven't had an enormous fight by now) and make for the relative sanity of the lounge room and the couch. Where neither of you will be able to sleep.

My current heart and I have survived misunderstandings, misadventure and fear of commitment (on both sides). If we can survive the waterbed...I think I might propose!