Sarah Crawford was dreaming of her husband's testicles when she awoke in the night.
As a young wife of 20, in that November of 1907, this was highly unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome as she rose to consciousness. Sometimes dreams had a way of doing that, bringing unspoken desires into waking thoughts despite one's best efforts.
She was recalling the first time she'd seen her husband naked, as she dreamed. It had been their wedding night, some 8 months prior, when she'd first laid eyes on his hair-covered scrotum in the light of the Simmons lantern he'd placed on their bedside table as they readied themselves for bed for the very first time as a couple.
Her husband, John, was a carpenter by trade and worked as a caretaker at the Mentone Springs Hotel in the far northeast corner of rural Alabama. Their courtship had been relatively brief and, as a good Christian lady, she'd certainly never had the chance to look at his genitals during their engagement.
When John had removed his overalls and long underwear on the evening they'd been wedded, she'd been delighted by the sight of the large orbs hanging low in his sac. Their unveiling was reserved just for her and she recalled it fondly as she surfaced from her slumber.
She rolled over onto her side, the soft straw of the mattress underneath adjusting itself to the shape of her thin body. The blankets that covered her retained the warmth she radiated as she slept but the bedroom was cold. The embers in the fireplace in the living space of their two-room home had long since died down in the frigid night.
Moments later, Sara awakened fully as a sharp stomach cramp gripped her. She shifted fitfully in the bed as she remembered John wasn't home. He had been, briefly, after he'd helped to complete the construction of a local school down in the valley. But his absence from his regular job at the hotel meant he'd needed to stay there for a few nights to catch up on his maintenance work.
She was glad John wasn't there in that moment as her bowels bubbled and growled. Sarah was a practical person and understood nature's call had to be answered, but she wouldn't have wanted her new husband to hear her bodily functions. Her breathing slowed as she tried to let the cramp pass. The sounds of her digestion continued to build as she opened her eyes, the cold moonlight illuminating the floor of their small cabin.
She clenched the muscles of her hair-covered anus tightly as her body quickly calculated the likelihood of passing gas versus a bowel movement. Her rectal vault inflated sharply and, knowing she was alone, she relaxed her sphincter and let what was, thankfully, air escape from her dainty asshole. She moved her nose under the bedsheet and blankets and lifted them up and down one time to see if she could smell the result of her discomfort. There was a definite odor, but it was warm, like damp earth, and not wholly unpleasant.
Sarah laid in the bed for a bit, hoping she could just fall back asleep. A trip to the outhouse in the early November freeze was not something she wanted to undertake. John had built theirs about 40 yards from the house and situated it so the rough-hewn door overlooked the valley below their mountain cabin. She often left it open, especially that first fall of their marriage when John had been away.
He'd cut away a small sun-shape in door instead of the typical crescent moon when he built it. When she asked why, he'd said it was because she was the light of his life, which made her laugh. They both knew full well what happened in the outhouse, even though they never discussed it, and the incongruity amused her greatly.
In the cabin, Sarah's breathing slowly returned to normal and she was just about to fall back asleep when she felt another sharp twinge in her gut. Despite the cold, and sighing reluctantly, she swung her feet out of the warm bed and onto the chilly wooden floor of the cabin. She was wearing a thin cotton shift and didn't feel like lighting a lantern, so she let the moonlight shining on the flat mountaintop be her guide.
