My friend seems iron-willed today, however, so I turn my back to him and bend over, keeping my legs straight, then stand up again and start moving my hips, throwing sidelong glances at this champion of restraint. I can imagine how it looks and know that his patience must be reaching its limit. And, sure enough, his admirable attitude soon crumbles. Alex stands up and moves closer, but he doesn’t do any of the things I expected of him. Instead, he starts dancing and, like everything, he does it exquisitely.
His body moves perfectly in time with the rhythm, but the song ends and the next one – ‘Angie’ by the Rolling Stones – doesn’t really fit the bill. Reaching his arm around my waist, he whispers: ‘Don’t move, I’ll be right back!’
Then he runs over to his computer and, a second later, the terrace fills with the opening chords from the charming dance scene in Pulp Fiction, which also happens to be one of my favourite films. This time, we let rip together. I know all the dance moves off by heart – I’ve danced it at home with Danny more than once – and it seems that Alex knows them all too. He’s on fire. While I look like I’m flailing my arms around helplessly, Alex’s moves are really hot. There is definitely a Flamenco dancer hidden in there somewhere. At the bit where John Travolta starts moving his arms and shoulders around, Alex leans right over me, biting his lip, and I almost can’t hold it together!
Immediately after this song is another from Pulp Fiction – ‘Girl, You’ll Be A Woman, Soon’ – and I think to myself, ‘Oh, Jesus. This is it! Any minute now!’
But no such luck. Alex quickly grabs me and now we’re dancing together, our bodies pressed up against each other. He smells of some intoxicating aftershave – he really knows how to choose them – his body is hot and sweaty from dancing, and the fire in his eyes makes me worry that the few clothes I’m wearing might just self-combust. Yet my dance partner doesn’t make a single sexual move, not even a kiss! It is strange, very strange indeed, because, even in the daytime, when Danny isn’t looking, he usually can’t stop kissing me and is always trying to touch me, stroking my arm or my stomach. His unnatural restraint is exciting me even more. Like in a bad romance novel, I am all aflame!
James Brown’s ‘This Is A Man’s World’ floats out onto the terrace and Alex holds me around the waist, my hand in his. His movements are precise, elegantly flexible, smooth, and... sexy! Like everything else about him.
Suddenly, he says: ‘Let’s go swimming!’
‘What, now?’
‘Why not? Look at the stars! Imagine how amazing it will be to swim in their reflection!’
‘I don’t really like that kind of thing, to be honest: it’s dark, the water’s cold. Brrr...’
‘The water is warmer at night,’ he tells me softly, almost in a whisper, as he leads me tenderly in the dance, his lips all but touching my cheek.
‘Naked?’
Alex arches his perfect eyebrows and replies with a childish smile: ‘Of course! A beautiful and desirable woman like you would look ridiculous in a swimming costume at night. And for me, it would be like eating ice-cream while wearing a gag!’ I can feel his smile against my cheek.
‘But what about Danny?’
‘The sea’s only thirty metres away. We’ll hear him if he wakes up.’
Alex unfastens his shirt slowly, button by button, and takes it off. Then, in just his jeans, he starts on mine: my shoes, my shorts, my tights, and finally my bra – all off. Alex puts my hand on his belt, wanting me to take off his jeans, and I do it just as slowly as he did. Not because I’m a master of seduction, but simply because my hands aren’t responding to my inebriated brain. It takes a while and by the time I finally manage to undo his belt and pull his jeans down to his knees, he’s helping.
Then he picks me up gently – I feel like a little girl in his arms – and carries me effortlessly to the water’s edge. How amazing, how inexpressibly, indescribably delicious to suddenly change back from a grown woman, wife and mother to a fragile girl again!
*** ‘The Sound of Silence’ (Original Version from 1964) ***
The moon is out, and the yellow circle of light reflected on the water leads like a golden path up into a sky littered with bright stars – an unforgettable sight for its poetry. And the water really is much warmer at night.
Alex looks elated and has the happiest of smiles, making him look even more beautiful and romantic. The feel of his warm hands on my waist is exquisite. They stroke my back and occasionally slide down to my buttocks – accidentally, of course – and I find this teasing extremely arousing. But what I like most about Alex is that he understands what is appropriate when it comes to a woman’s dignity. So he does not do what he would do in bed, but keeps his hands on my submerged behind. My lips, neck and shoulders are a different matter, however. He kisses them repeatedly, scorching me with his hot breath.
We swim together and race against each other, which I win, of course, because Alex is behind me, nibbling at the nape of my neck and causing an explosion of goose bumps.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me or his hands, like he’s using every second we are together, just the two of us, as if we truly belong to each other. His smile never leaves his face and I’m surprised that his lips don’t hurt from all the endless kissing and smiling as he wraps me in tenderness, covering me from head to toe so that I become lost in it and even envy myself.
But everything has to come to an end eventually. It is at times like these that I desperately wish I could do the impossible and stop time.
The swimming has sobered us both up and Alex whispers: ‘Now we can go to bed.’
‘Only now?’
‘Only now,’ he smiles.
‘Why not before?’
‘What’s the point of doing something based on sensuality at a time when you sense nothing?’ And with these words he once again takes me in his arms and carries me back to our terrace, to our room, and to our bed.
Divinely beautiful and with a truly angelic touch, Alex lays me slowly and carefully onto the bed and I know that something extraordinarily romantic is about to happen.
Barely touching, he strokes my skin and kisses me so tenderly and so agonisingly slowly that I am flooded with feelings I don’t understand. They are cracking open my rib cage in an effort to break free. His lips caress me and I... I can barely stop myself from crying, my heart pounding as I am overwhelmed with happiness. It is pouring out of me and I don’t know where it’s coming from or what is happening to me because it’s just a simple holiday fling; just a brief romance that I’ll soon forget about.
We sleep for two hours a day and it seems to be enough – either because the air here is so clean or the sun is so beneficial, or our happiness is so immense... Happiness?
On one of our final days, Alex hires a car – a black Porsche, of course, since that’s the only car he drives – and we go to the small picturesque town of Tossa de Mar.
Alex is dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and tight-fitting dark blue trousers, thereby making it clear the kind of outfit I should be wearing. He does everything subtly, his manner of speaking in half hints, gestures and deeds always imbued with an aperitif of undertones, like throwing a ball using only a little bit of force rather than everything you have, but the ball still flies through the air at an unprecedented speed. I fear this way of his; I’m afraid to ask, afraid to speak. I put on an elegant dark blue, knee-length dress and high-heeled shoes. Alex’s face breaks into a satisfied smile, telling me I interpreted his silent hint correctly, and I’m glad to have pleased him with this one small thing.
*** ‘The Funeral’ by Band of Horses ***
We arrive and he leads me by the hand to the Sant Vicenç – an architectural and cultural creation of the eighteenth century that is stunning for its unusual beauty. It was constructed in the very best traditions of the Gothic style with stained-glass windows depicting biblical scenes, gracefully tapered arches reaching skywards, carved benches, a figured altarpiece, and an organ.
We get
there just in time for the start of Mass. Catholic singing is the most beautiful of all religious singing and I get a tremendous amount of joy from listening to it, which is obviously written all over my face because Alex is looking at me with a smile of satisfaction. In fact, he spends most of his time looking at me and even when I meet his stare, he doesn’t hurry to look away.
The service and the organ music are so mesmerising that even Danny sits still and listens intently – my son understands beauty.
After Mass, the congregation disperses quietly; some hurry to confession and others light candles in red see-through cups. We remain sitting. Alex seems reluctant to leave and I don’t know why. When it becomes completely quiet, he takes my hand and does something stupid, foolish and impossible.
‘You know, there are things that can be done easily and simply and there are things that are very difficult. When it comes to the important stuff, I always seem to take the most difficult path, for some reason. You can buy the most amazing ring and get down on one knee or write a message in the sky or go up in a hot air balloon, but all of those options are for people who do everything on time, and that’s not me. I made my choice a long time ago... But how can I tell this girl that I want to live a full and happy life and that that’s only possible with her when she’s not available? Somebody beat me to it, but it’s so much more than that. How can I tell her that I’ll never hurt her, never cause her pain? That I’ll dedicate my life to protecting her from all the bad, from every possible harm and danger? That I want to have lots of babies, but only if she is their mother? That I can’t imagine my life without her? How can I tell her all this if she has already given herself to someone else?’
I’m on the verge of tears... No, not on the verge. I’m already crying and I can feel the tears snaking their way nervously down my cheeks because my answer consists of just three words: ‘I can’t, Alex...’
And for the first time in my life, I see an expression of loss and despair, of hopelessness and pain flicker across his face. On this amazingly beautiful day in this medieval town on the coast of the azure Mediterranean Sea, our relationship experiences pain and anguish for the very first time. Fate has prepared a whole bottle of it for us. No, not a bottle. A huge barrel. A bloody tank full of it! And Alex opened it first. He received the very first vaccine dose, but this does not help him to avoid subsequent injections.
Thankfully, he at least had the sense to do it at the end of our holiday, rather than the beginning or the middle. He is no longer smiling, or only occasionally at Danny and only very despondently, and we spend our time not talking about it. In fact, we don’t really talk at all because Alex doesn’t like to talk, for which he will suffer more than once. For which both of us will suffer.
That night is unlike any of the previous ones, except perhaps our very first night together. It now contains far more feeling and passion, painful and indefatigable. What we have is not sex, but love. He makes love to me and seems to want me more than ever, so desperately that he is almost crying, but his hands and lips never stop. They long to be satiated. Alex persists for such a long time that it seems as if he’s trying to satisfy his hunger once and forever. He no longer needs to show me what he can do or how good it would feel if I chose him, he just loves me. He loves me as he would like to be loved himself. And although it wasn’t his aim, it turns out to be the best night of my life – the most tender, the sincerest, and the most real.
It is only now that I realise exactly how strong his feelings were in those days.
Back then everything was different, however: a different perception, different thoughts, different conclusions.
I could see that he was dealing with something big and painful, of course, but the seriousness of the situation only hit me after his futile proposal at the church. I was afraid of hurting him, but there just wasn’t time to think. Alex caught me by surprise with his feelings. He had never spoken of love before and I had no idea that the word was even in his vocabulary.
Until this moment, I never imagined a scenario where I would leave my family and join my life to his, but now... now I have and it looks fantastic, a series of snazzy postcards with images of the comfortable life awaiting me, a life of luxury by his side filled with travel, experiences, interesting places, extraordinary people, and sex – frequent, unbelievable, voracious sex.
But there is also my brain and it is gently, unobtrusively asking me questions that don’t require answers because the answers are already there: it won’t last; he’s just TOO perfect for me, TOO handsome, TOO sexy; I’m not the one for him, if such a person exists at all. Sooner or later it will come to an end because the feelings disappear, even the strongest ones. They are inexorably broken down by life’s worries and problems and the fears that come with them. But with Alex it will most likely happen sooner rather than later – he is just TOO seductive and virtually all women without exception look at him TOO greedily. When it’s all over, he’ll simply step over us and move on and I... I’ll be abandoned like an empty cigarette packet on a dirty pavement. I have no desire to fade away in the scorching sun, covered in dust and dripping wet with dirty rainwater.
*** ‘Fountain’ by iamamiwhoami ***
The next morning is overcast and melancholy, so even a little romantic. I wake up early because my brain is currently working overtime, tirelessly weighing up the pros and cons without a moment’s reprieve.
Alex is not there. I brew some fresh coffee, check on Danny who is still asleep, and look out onto the terrace. There is a cool autumn breeze and it is definitely September outside. This is not good news because the only warm item of clothing I have with me is a windbreaker. Danny managed to spill juice on it the night before and, although now washed, it is still damp and hanging out on the terrace. I really want to drink my morning coffee outside: as an aesthete, I find the breathtaking Spanish views irresistible, especially on such a romantically sombre morning.
Alex’s warm, pale-grey hoodie is over the back of a chair in our room and I stare at it for a while. The soft, slightly fluffy material inside is inviting me to put it on, but I hesitate because... Well, because it’s not mine and I never wear other people’s clothes. I am extremely protective of my own privacy and respect the privacy of others. But it’s chilly on the terrace and I really want to sit out there. ‘Alex isn’t here and he’ll never know I borrowed his hoodie,’ I think to myself as I carefully pick it up and put it on. It is warm and soft and smells of him. My eyes close of their own accord. He’s not here, but his smell is here; it’s on me. There is a delicious languor in the pit of my stomach and I like it. It is making my heart pound.
I take my cup of coffee out onto the terrace and, sip by sip, my favourite drink both warms me up and wakes me up. Spread out before me is the sea, the beach, palm trees, a white marina in the distance filled with the townspeople’s small boats, and a heavy grey sky. The light is unusual and this seems to make it even more beautiful. Despite the lack of sunshine, the colours of the landscape are rich, and the shades of the water, the sand, the light green pine needles and the overcast sky look especially romantic. The breeze is slightly stronger than usual, but it is pleasantly refreshing rather than cold as it caresses my face and ruffles my hair, which still smells of yesterday’s sun. I feel a part of it all, but the appreciation of beauty also gives me enormous pleasure and a tremendous thrill. I lose myself in it, eager to satiate myself. I try to lock every detail, every shade in my memory.
Suddenly, I hear rapid footsteps coming up the stairs that lead from the beach to our terrace. Realising it must be Alex and that I am still wearing his sweatshirt, I feel like a naughty schoolgirl having a sneaky cigarette and find myself hiding around the corner.
Before long, Alex appears on the terrace wearing a pair of soft grey shorts and a dark blue t-shirt that is sticking to his body with sweat – he has been running. With a practised movement, he takes out his earphones and puts them on the terrace’s low granite wall, then grabs the back of his t-shir
t and pulls it up and over his head just as deftly before throwing it in the same direction as the earphones. His quick strip has left his shaggy hair pushed forward and covering his forehead, making him look provocative and sexy. I break into a smile because he is magnificent. Everything he does, even the most trivial of things, he either does sexily or just plain beautifully. It is impossible not to feast your eyes on him and I am certainly feasting mine. He hasn’t noticed me and, without stopping to push his hair from his eyes, he quickly turns around, jumps up and grabs onto a large arch stretching over the top of the steps – it is actually a frame for Chinese wisteria, a climbing plant with huge bunches of lilac flowers. Alex then starts doing pull ups and I... I am transfixed.
The sight before me is difficult to describe because it is almost impossible to convey the emotions ravaging my nervous system at this exact moment. The word ‘beautiful’ just does not do it justice. It is spectacular, stunning, impressive, and very, very sexy!
My brain simply cannot handle how unbearably delicious this man’s body is, and I can feel the ache of treacherous lust below my abdomen. His broad shoulders, or the upper part of his torso, even, with its well-defined muscles, and his powerful arms, biceps bulging from all the physical exercise making them look strong but also elegant, are in sharp contrast to his narrow waist and hips. Alex does a series of pull ups quickly and relatively effortlessly, then raises himself up above the arch and straightens his arms completely so that, if he only swung his leg over, he’d be riding it. He lets his arms relax, however, and falls down, then lifts himself up and does the same thing again, and again, and again. Just imagine how strong you’d have to be to do that!
Monogamy Book One. Lover: This is one love for life and beyond time Page 7