This would be the first Christmas in the twenty-three years of our marriage without kids – the twins were skiing in Vermont. We kept to the tradition of reading O. Henry’s Christmas story before bed.

“Timeless,” I said to Christine.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Would you sell your watch for me?”

“In a heartbeat,” I answered.

“You’re not just blowing hot air?” Christine questioned, an impudent smirk on her lips, a twinkle in her eye.

I hastened us under covers. We kissed, and I thought we’d make love, but we just held each other. As always, Christine’s body felt very good against mine, my groin nestled to her bottom, my arm wrapped around her. My other arm was under me, but I was comfortable enough for the time being. With my nose gently nuzzling her abundant hair, enjoying the softness and the scent, I fell asleep.

When I woke up it was still dark and my arm was numb. I tried to move it, only to find my whole body was numb. Scant light edged through the slitted drapes of our window. “Merry Christmas, love” I whispered in Christine’s ear.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied, and then she giggled. I could feel the giggle jostle my body, but I couldn’t feel my body.

“Oh, darling, I really really like my Christmas present,” Christine said to me.

“Oh?” I said, not quite sure what she meant. “But you haven’t...”

“Oh my yes! It feels so good to be 23 again. Impossibly good.”

I still wasn’t sure what she meant. Christine was 46, same as me. But then more light came through the window, and I saw. Christine was 23.

“Holy...” I started to say. “How...”

“Yeah!” Christine exclaimed. “This time I’m going to do things right.”

I tried to see if I was 23 again, too, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t really see anything but Christine in the morning light. She was beautiful, more beautiful than when she was first 23. I tried to take her in my arms, but I couldn’t. My arms wouldn’t work. It was as if I didn’t have any arms.

“I fear I’ve slept wrong,” I said.

“I slept perfect,” Christine said, “and now to have a bath. A long hot Christmas morning soak.”

“What about me?”

“Silly you,” she said with a chuckle. “Hairdryers don’t take baths. Very dangerous.” She smiled and frowned and smiled again. “Come along,” she said. “You can watch. Just this once.”

She picked me up and carried me to the bathroom and set me on the towel shelf atop a small stack of fluffy white towels where I had a good view of the entire tub.

Then she turned the tap, and hot water began to flow. When it reached a certain level, she stepped in, stretched out, and sank down.

More and more light came through the window, and the steam rose up, and Christine didn’t move at all. I didn’t move either. I couldn’t. I just watched. Christine sighed a few times, and then her left hand moved slowly down until it was resting just beneath her belly button.

“In a few minutes I’m going to masturbate,” she announced. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I was going to say no, I didn’t mind, but my throat wouldn’t work.

The minutes went by. Christine sighed a few more times. The water lay utterly still.

Then she brought her other hand, her right, down until it rested on the top of her pubic mound just above the waterline, and then a little more, and her fingers made very small movements, pressing the pad of flesh just above her clitoris, just below the waterline. She continued to press and release, gently, gently, and the water stayed all but still. The slight shiver, the tiny tremor and tremble of her slender thighs failed to ripple the surface of the water.