‘Why my fingers?’
‘Because that’s where you have the most nerve endings; because I wanted to wake you up; because your coffee has already gone cold; and because I have to go to a meeting. I left you a note and my keys, but I thought that I couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye and so here I am, saying goodbye.’ And then he gives me a slow, lingering kiss.
I wake up properly and see Alex kneeling next to the bed wearing a greyish turquoise t-shirt and jogging bottoms. They’re obviously his round-the-house clothes and he looks incredibly endearing in them. The contrast between his remarkable sexuality and this suggestion of domesticity generates an inexplicable warmth in my soul.
‘How much time do you have?’ I ask.
‘Half an hour or so,’ he purrs as he kisses my palm, his overwhelming tenderness making his eyelids fall closed.
‘Then I’ve got time for a shower. I’ll be quick!’ I say, trying to snap him back to reality.
‘Take your time, stick around for a while...’ he says. ‘Perhaps I could get the meeting over and done with quickly and you could wait for me?’ His voice is so soft that I have no desire to go anywhere.
‘No, I need to go home.’
‘Of course,’ he says, his eyes growing sad.
‘Could you drop me in the centre?’
‘I’ll drive you home then go to my meeting.’
‘Will you have time?’
‘They can wait,’ he replies firmly, then kisses my fingers again, his eyes never leaving mine.
I smile at him and his mood lifts.
Stepping out of the shower, I see Alex in a dark blue pinstriped suit and a white shirt with an open collar making him look even more masculine. His messy black curls have been tamed slightly, and he appears to be every bit the businessman.
‘You look like a director,’ I say.
‘That’s exactly what I’m about to become if today’s meeting goes smoothly!’ he replies happily, before walking over to me and kissing me gently on the lips, then burying his nose in my hair and breathing in its scent.
The day actually did have a huge impact on his career, because it was the day that his meteoric, almost vertical flight into the business world began, but I only found this out years later.
CHAPTER 6. A DISCOVERY
‘Here’s a simple test for love: if, after four or five hours without your lover, you start to miss her, you’re not in love - or ten minutes of separation would be enough to make your life absolutely unbearable.’
– Frédéric Beigbeder
We meet up as often as possible and spend the next few months virtually living together. I use every conceivable and inconceivable excuse I can think of to spend the night with my lover. My parents and older sister keep pressuring me to put a stop to it – everyone now knows about my infatuation except my husband. And what the hell he’s thinking, I just don’t know. Our mutual lack of interest in each other is sweeping the unsweepable under the carpet, hiding it under a thick layer of indifference.
The fact is that my husband Timothy plays computer games and lives in a virtual world. All his worries, thoughts and aspirations are confined within the boundaries of a computer game called Lineage II, which he spends all night playing then sleeps ‘til lunchtime. At home he has a mean, highly strung wife and a child with health problems that require care and attention, but in the virtual world he is a clan leader in white armour. And that is not all. He also has a virtual wife and they have even had a virtual wedding. The funny thing is that his busty nymph could well turn out to be some bald guy from God knows where.
Yet despite all this, my guilty conscience is still eating away at me. My problem is looking my husband in the eye and talking to him. It sometimes seems as if he already knows everything and I try to catch the slightest hint in his every word, his every phrase. I am gripped in anticipation for the impending catastrophe, but Timothy knows nothing. We also haven’t indulged our master bedroom with any kind of intimacy for months, but that’s nothing new. Alex’s appearance in my life is not the cause but rather the consequence.
Alex, Alex, Alex... A man made of tenderness and passion, he showers me in kisses as if they’re blessings and his embraces fill me with energy, warmth and happiness. Yet neither of us have ever said the word ‘love’ to each other. Not once.
My relationship with Alex is built solely on sex. At least, that’s what it feels like. Our first nights together were magnificent, but they were far from the best. A couple of weeks later, he started getting creative and I soon realised that my lover is a professional in the whole tricky business or even a virtuoso. I just didn’t want to think about how he could have got so skilled. One day, I decide it’s time to head off whatever he has planned next and say: ‘That’s it, I’ve reached my limit. No more! You’ll have to find someone more uninhibited for such things.’
And he gives me such an odd look, and it’s so serious, that it makes me feel uneasy. Although it still hasn’t actually occurred to me, this is the first time that something deep down in my subconscious realises he might not only be interested in sex.
Yes, I am a prude and a cynic! But, in my defence, I can say with a clear conscience that I wasn’t always like that – I have been fashioned by life. Why did I go to Alex’s apartment that very first time? For the sex? Yes, for sure, but more out of curiosity than desire. At that time, I still didn’t know what it felt like to want sex, only in theory. What I really wanted was to see this hunk of a man without his clothes on and find out whether anything else was possible in bed other than what I already knew, i.e. virtually nothing.
It turns out that something else is possible and it is opening the door to a whole new world – a world that is remarkable, fantastic, astonishing. My mind was clouded and befuddled by the discovery; I was now floating through life rather than smashing through it with an icebreaker. So, in the midst of all these feelings, it takes a while for me to realise that Alex is giving me much more than just fantastic sex. And this ‘more’ fits neatly inside a single, weightless word – ‘affection’. He caresses me, cuddles me and wraps me in warmth, not just during sex but afterwards and even without it – when we meet for a quick cappuccino after my yoga class, for instance, or when we deliberately make our paths and schedules coincide in some busy part of the city. It takes a while, but I finally realise that I’m not running to him for sex.
As much as it pains me to admit, the ‘cake’ surpassed itself a while ago and the marital problems that I have been successfully ignoring for the last few years have been clearly exposed: I was never shown any warmth or male affection and there was hardly any sex. The last one didn’t really bother me, but I found the first two much more difficult. Oh, so difficult! I was horrified, but, in this horror, I have found that I’m warming up, thawing out and starting to give off an aroma. Colours predominated by pink and blue are starting to appear in the grayscale tones of my perception.
Physiology.
I am writing this word last because my endless inhibitions and modesty mean that I haven’t felt brave enough to talk about it until now, but the picture would not be complete without this particular detail. It would even be easier to write about what happened the first time or the second, immediately after or just before, but physiology is difficult to talk about.
People choose each other and form pairs according to the needs of their heart that (the needs, not the heart) science has already broken down into hormones and amino acids, under the influence of which romantic decisions are made. In other words, the whole process is guided by chemistry. Psychologists maintain that psychological compatibility lies at the heart of a loving relationship. There is now also the officially recognised science of sexology, however, which sheds some light on the physiology of love-making.
Have you ever wondered what role physical compatibility plays in relationships?
A long time ago, just as sex between Timothy and me was finally starting to get somewhere but before it had actually arrived, an
d before the shocking news that I was pregnant, my now husband, who, like all young men, had a keen interest in the subject of sex, told me that a woman’s inner workings adapt to a man’s thing over time, thus creating the perfect match. But this takes a certain amount of time, so only partners who are in a long-term relationship (read: ‘married’) and faithful to each other will achieve complete sexual harmony and avoid health problems.
And I thought to myself: ‘Wow! He knows so much!’, but I never guessed that he was just preparing me. At almost two metres tall with a manly build, Timothy was far more well-endowed than the average man. Aware of this, since boys are always obsessed with size, he was trying to prepare me and thus smooth over any possible problems. I realise now, of course, that he also tried during the act of sex itself, but it was still very painful, especially the first time. Men tend to lose control of themselves when they’re excited and want more, although it would be more accurate to say ‘deeper’. Sure enough, the situation improved over time like he’d said it would, and once I’d given birth, the pain disappeared completely and I was able to relax, but only in the classic missionary position because it was still too painful in all the others. Not horrifically, but painful enough, and the fear and anticipation of this potential pain stopped me from knowing and understanding the magic of meaningful sex.
The physiology thing struck me completely out of the blue sometime after our fifth date: Alex fits me perfectly. And considering the way his you know what makes me feel – I’m talking heavenly birdsong, fluttering butterflies, babbling streams and ethereal stardust – it was created for me personally and in any position. No matter what he does to me, the feelings he generates are always somewhere in the range of incredible, inimitable, fantastic, spectacular, and unforgettable.
As much as I hate talking about this stuff, I’m going to try not to be a prude and tell you that Alex’s is smaller. Probably not enough to really make a difference, but it’s just the right size to give me as much pleasure as possible. I’m not ashamed to say that I have tried to compare them, see how they differ, and it hasn’t been that difficult because Alex feels completely comfortable walking around his apartment naked as the day he was born and never rushes to cover himself up, so sure is he of his own irresistibility. I haven’t really noticed anything different visually, so either he has some special way of using it or the size difference is really so minuscule that it is invisible to the naked eye.
But the fact remains: in terms of physiology and anatomy, we fit together like two jigsaw pieces, much as our voices merged into one, complementing each other, when we sang the song that later became ‘ours’.
CHAPTER 7. SPAIN
‘Those most worthy of love are those most unhappy in it.’
–Étienne Rey
*** ‘Old Fires’ by Raised by Swans ***
In mid-September, Alex says he wants to show me Spain – the homeland of his ancestors. Needless to say, it is an extremely tempting offer. I have long dreamed of visiting ‘heaven on Earth’1 and Alex knows this. It means I have to lie to my husband again. I tell him that Danny has been prescribed a holiday by the sea to help him survive the winter colds with the least damage to his bronchial tubes, and the air in Catalonia smells of pine needles, which is doubly beneficial. My husband agrees, only he doesn’t know that there won’t be two of us going, but three. The dishonesty is the most repugnant part of my affair with Alex, but everyone knows you can’t have the sweet without the sour, so...
We fly to Spain at night and land at the El Prat airport in Barcelona. As we fly in, we are greeted by the spectacular sight of the city stretching along the sea and, at night-time, thousands or even millions of lights are visible from the plane. We are also treated to a fantastic view of the port, the viaducts, the bright blue, illuminated Agbar Tower, and the spotlit cathedrals of Tibidabo and Sagrada Família, all of which overwhelm my aesthetically receptive mind with their beauty. Barcelona turns out to be the city of my dreams with its Gothic buildings, its tiny balconies lined with exotic plants, its granite-paved streets, its beautiful port filled with cruise liners and the yachts of princes and oil magnates, its crystal clear azure sea even by the port, and its warm and gentle September sun. The city glows like it is covered in a fine layer of gold dust and, thanks to Alex, it will have my heart forever.
We stroll through the city holding Danny by the hand, and the people we pass probably think we’re a family. I think this is what Alex enjoys most about the trip, because it is far from his first time in Spain. He knows Barcelona as well as if it were his hometown. We lunch in the most incredible places, sampling the most delicious food and wine, and all the owners know Alex by name, shake his hand and greet him warmly.
So I ask him, ‘Why do you feel so at home in this city? I mean, you were born in America, weren’t you?’
And he replies with a smile, ‘My mother comes from here!’
I have a sudden worry that he might introduce me to her, but he doesn’t. On the one hand, this comes as a relief because I’m not the kind of person you should introduce to your mother, but on the other, it makes it clear that he has assigned me the same role in his life that I have assigned myself – his temporary plaything. My tendency is not to focus on the negative, however, so I concentrate on enjoying the views, the sea, the sun, the city’s impossible beauty, and its people – smiley, open, and invariably welcoming.
*** ‘Over’ by Tove Lo ***
After we have our fill of Barcelona, we set off for the coast of Costa Brava, which translated from the Spanish literally means ‘the coast of the brave’. I am stunned. Even in my wildest dreams, I have never seen such beauty! The entire coast is a succession of golden beaches separated by conifer-covered cliffs and ledges, coves and grottoes, and picturesque lagoons. And the sea here is unusually clear and blue, or even azure. The colours are so rich that it’s like you’re not in a real place at all, but in a painting by a fanciful and gifted artist.
The pure sea air, warm and gentle September breeze, and beautiful sunshine, no longer scorching but still hot enough to melt, are like an invitation to bask on the clear golden sand. The beaches are almost deserted and we are able to revel in this idyllic beauty virtually undisturbed. This time of year, Spanish resorts are mostly full of elderly Spanish and English women. Wearing branded sunglasses, their hair short and well-coiffed, they sit around demurely in the white chairs of the terraces still open along the seafront. The women refuse to take their greedy eyes off Alex and it makes me realise that beauty has a terrible force.
The sea is just magical. It is still warm and so salty that you could simply float on the surface if you needed to save yourself. Its colour does not just entice, but bewitches with its azure beauty, making it impossible not to go in again and again, which is exactly what Alex and Danny do.
Dripping wet and exhausted from playing with Danny, Alex finally lies down next to me on the golden sand and I don’t know which is more beautiful: the colour of the sand or the colour of this handsome man’s tanned skin. He is squinting in the sun and trying to look at me, his wet eyelashes fluttering comically in an attempt to protect his amber irises from the sun’s rays – I can see now, in the sunshine, that they are amber brown rather than dark brown as I thought before. Salty drops of seawater are sliding over his tanned skin, sparkling in the sun and giving me an overwhelming urge to kiss his broad shoulders, his strong arms, and his manly, unbearably sexy chest. I dream of using my tongue to lick the seawater off his skin but restrain myself, of course, and instead of kisses, I brush my fingertips over his shoulders and trace them along the soft waves of his muscles.
I don’t really know why Alex is smiling at me so broadly. Maybe he has worked out the desire building up in me from the constant sight of his virtually naked body. I have long suspected that he can read my thoughts, but, my God, he is so beautiful. So insanely, impossibly beautiful. His marine blue swimming trunks are clinging sexily to his narrow hips and the line of tiny dark hairs on his stoma
ch is driving me crazy, but I’m not the only one.
Those poor old women. How I pity them! I only feel such torment during the day, but at night... at night, the owner of this remarkable body does all manner of unthinkable things to appease my suffering, indulging my every need so that I think I must be the most insatiable woman in the world.
*** ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ by The Animals ***
The two of us are sitting in comfortable wicker chairs around a glass table on our large terrace. We are still in our evening clothes because we have only just returned from the restaurant, where we ate and drank like royalty. And drank a lot! I am wearing a short black dress and black tights, because the evenings are already a little chilly, and Alex is in jeans and a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – he never wears t-shirts or anything with short sleeves when he is out in public, only at home. Danny is already asleep, he dropped off in Alex’s arms on the way back so we gently tucked him up in bed and are now enjoying this time together, just the two of us. We are drinking Martinis and listening to music – ‘California Dreamin’’ by The Mamas & The Papas, ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ by The Animals, ‘I Feel Good’ by James Brown – from Alex’s playlist on his laptop.
Even though we have drunk the same amount, Alex is what would be described as only slightly inebriated, whereas I... Well, when I drink, I usually become exponentially more active, both mentally and physically. In other words, I can’t stop myself doing things I probably shouldn’t.
As soon as I hear the first notes of Nancy Sinatra’s ‘These Boots Are Made For Walkin’’, and picture the half-naked women wearing black tights and doing their sexy dance moves in the video, I can’t stop myself. I run to the wardrobe, put on a pair of short black shorts and some high-heeled shoes, take off my dress, leaving just my black bra, and then position myself in front of Alex. I absolutely love to dance, especially when I’ve had a drink, and it usually works that the drunker I am, the better I dance, and this evening I have drunk a lot! Alex’s eyes are on fire but he doesn’t move, and I behave like a complete hussy, if truth be told, because we haven’t had sex since the night before due to Danny waking up earlier than usual this morning. I know Alex a little bit by now and can tell that it is both not enough and too much for him. And so I dance. It turns out to be more like a striptease than a dance, except I don’t actually take anything off. I leave that pleasure to him.
Monogamy Book One. Lover: This is one love for life and beyond time Page 6