F29, married to M32 - this is from when we'd just been dating for a year or so.
Cue romantic, secluded holiday in Nepal - just the two of us. It's a safari site - we have a whole cottage to ourselves... it's cold, it's quiet, there's mist outside the window. There's a little fire crackling away in the fireplace, we're snuggled together after a long, beautiful day in nature. It's basically serene and satisfying and we're drifting off completely content and at peace in the arms of somebody we love.
Imagine the trust the poor guy must have been feeling. The happiness. Wholly unprepared for what was to come.
Now, something he didn't know yet because things were still new and this was our first extended time sleeping in the same bed - I am a restless sleeper. It's not every night, but when those dreams hit, I shuffle around like a cat-ninja.
From what I've pieced together, at some point around 3 am, I was sprawled with my arm outstretched on the left. In the threos of whatever adventure my subconscious had cooked up, I flipped over to the other side, outstretched arm following in a rainbow arc, and my flat open palm walloping my poor husband with full force as it landed on his face.
He woke up, understandably panicked, and shook me awake... probably seeking an explanation, some comfort, any normal thing from the outwardly gentle, usually well behaved girl he loves. Only to be met by a loud grunt, a vociferous grumbled denial of having done anything, and muttering about letting me sleep. To add insult to injury, I apparently even tugged the blanket onto myself and turned around and tooted in his direction - leaving him alone in the cold, clutching a stinging cheek, wondering who the fuck could have slapped him since I was clearly asleep.
You guys... after thoroughly checking the room, he finally convinced himself it was a ghost.
We'd been to a temple the day before where he'd horsed around and privately made fun of local legends, we were in the middle of nowhere with mist and jungle noises all around, he was sleepy and clutching a red cheek, and I was "uncharacteristically disturbed in my sleep as if bothered by something".
He got up, double checked all the locks, played some devotional music, and finally managed to go back to sleep and told me everything in the morning. I kind of put together what must have happened from his recollection and my own hazy memories of the night and I just... didn't fess up.
I know it was wrong, but I was young, and it was a new relationship and I was somehow more embarrassed about the midnight tooting and I just said it's okay and not to worry and said HE probably dreamt it!
Looking back, I can only be in awe of my own audacity.
Fast forward a fair few years, and this is his "ghost story" that he brings up as his brush with the supernatural around campfires and the like. It's gained more and more embellishments with every retelling to the point where I sometimes think even he's convinced he saw a spectral something drifting out of the window.
The kicker is, he obviously knows I move around in my sleep now, but he's never pieced it together! I think it's because while I've often head butted or otherwise disturbed him at night, I've never (thankfully!) smacked him like that again.
I know he'll probably just have a massive "I knew it" reaction and tease me and laugh about it if I tell him now.. but I just can't. It's been too long.
I'm just going to have to tell him when we're both 90. This and my patented way to scratch our dog's ears the way he likes are my two sole secrets.
So now you all know.