The Sage turned off the light and stood, hesitatingly, by the window. “It’s hot” he said, “but I don’t want to let in the mosquitoes”. “At least they won’t be drawn by the light” I answered. “Just by the scent of our warmly trembling bodies.”
“I’ll just open it a couple of inches,” he decided. “Good call,” I said approvingly. “That’ll keep out all those three-inch mosquitoes.”
He moved into my waiting arms. Later, I woke and looked at the clock. It was 20 minutes after I last looked. I had been woken by a whining drone. Not a bee, nor Bertie Wooster, but a marauding mozzie. Too tired to get up and look for it, I huddled the duvet round me, only letting my face take its chances.
Within minutes, I had to throw it off entirely before I slid wetly out of bed in a pool of my own moisture.
The mozzie fed well last night.