Monogamy Book One. Lover: This is one love for life and beyond time

by Victoria Sobolev

  We lie in bed and stare into each other’s eyes, our arms and legs intertwined. The room gradually fills with the sound of rain against the window, and a strong wind blows orange and yellow leaves across the wet terrace from nearby maple and birch trees – Alex’s building is adjacent to a park. The rain gets heavier, becoming a downpour. Alex holds me even tighter and I can see pain in his eyes.

  Suddenly, I remember about the sponge in the oven and jump up to rescue it. Completely naked with my hair hanging down my back, I get busy in the kitchen. Pulling out the cake tin, I check if the cake dough is ready, spend some time trying to decide whether it’s time to take it out, and eventually opt for leaving it in. Then I turn around and see one of the most heart-breaking scenes of my life: already dressed, Alex is sitting on the floor by the door, his elbows on his knees, a hand clasped to his mouth, and his eyes... his eyes are filled with tears. They aren’t sliding down his cheeks yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

  ‘Alex, what happened?’ I ask.

  ‘You’re so... beautiful...’

  Jesus, the pain in my chest is pulling at me, as if someone is holding my heart in their hand and yanking it towards them. I have no idea what to say or do, or how to help him, when I am unable to give him what he so desperately desires. Loving him is out of the question; it’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t just risk getting my fingers burned, but all of me. I desperately want to run away or, at the very least, get dressed.

  ‘Sorry for being naked in your kitchen. I’ll just go and get dressed...’ I say, searching for an excuse.

  I try to slip past him into the bedroom, but he catches me, seizing both my hands and pulling me down onto his lap. Holding me tight, he kisses me, saying over and over: ‘Be mine... Be mine, I’m begging you! Be mine... I’ll place the world at your feet if you’ll only be mine! I promise! You will never, ever regret it, believe me! Be mine... please! Be... mine...’

  I stay silent, wisely silent, and let him find hope in that silence because today is his day. If I answer him honestly, if I tell him the truth, he will drown in his pain once more, and what kind of birthday would that be? So, although he knows the answer, my silence lets him believe that there is another way for us.

  I take the cake out of the oven and we drink tea. Then we make love again. And again. And at five in the afternoon, I leave to collect Danny from daycare, go home and make dinner, read my son a book and put him to bed.

  That day, Alex’s emotional saturation reached its peak. His pain was so intense, and he was so young, that neither his amazing self-restraint nor his self-confidence were able to hold back the flood of feelings and emotions overwhelming him. It is the only time I ever see him like that.

  As for me, I found out early on, through personal experience, that falling in love passes quickly, as do strong feelings. I feel bad for him, but I know he’ll soon get over it. Give it a couple of months and he’ll find himself attracted to someone else.

  *** ‘Where Is My Mind (Pixies Piano Cover)’ by Maxence Cyrin ***

  In late November, Alex finishes his project and the time comes for him to return home to his normal life across the ocean. Love boats and even liners are smashed to smithereens against such changes, but not ours.

  Alex is away for a month – the long, agonizing, endlessly cold and miserable month of December. He doesn’t call or write, and I even start to wonder if my beautiful lover is cured of his feelings for me, if my section of his timeline is over. I knew it would happen and expected it to be over quickly – it makes sense and is perfectly understandable.

  Except for one big ‘but’: he said he was coming back.

  I see him early one cold January morning as I’m returning from Danny’s daycare. Alex is leaning against his car squinting at me, trying to hold back a smile. It is overcast and the wind is chasing the clouds, mixing plain grey with a dark blue-grey and changing the light from unnatural to even more unusual.

  My God, he is so beautiful!

  It is impossible, just incredible to be so beautiful! Why? Why is he alone so handsome? If the gods are perfect, then he is better than perfect! But his is not a cold beauty, it is warm like a sunny day in May, gentle and comforting. You look at and admire him, and you don’t know what you want more: to surrender to passion in his arms or lay your head on his shoulder, close your eyes and lose yourself in his carefree, dependable aura, because it’s the calmest and safest place in the world.

  Hell, the whole Universe!

  His smell infuses your body with lust, his eyes drive you crazy, his hair begs to be touched to feel its softness, and his sensual, tender lips crush your willpower and make you his slave forever.

  You, but not me.

  ‘Why didn’t you call?’

  ‘I lost my phone,’ he replies guiltily.

  Alex moves his face as close to mine as possible without touching it. He is teasing me and my affection-starved body with his proximity, with anticipation. I can make out every cell of his perfect, tanned skin and his lips, which are already burning.

  Before I know what is happening, I’m in his arms. I know he wants my lips, but he’s brushing his mouth against my cheek and neck, taking his time. Finally he gets there, only moving his lips lightly over mine to begin with, teasing us both, resisting the desire to press as hard as possible, or cover my mouth with his own to feel its fullness, its softness, to taste it. Pressing harder, he opens my mouth with his and our tongues touch, caressing each other gently, and I can see that he’s losing control, that his eyelids are lowered, although I know he doesn’t like to close his eyes.

  Alex always tries to show restraint, but sometimes, like now, for example, he just can’t do it. His rapid, uneven breathing and jerky movements betray his powerful, unbridled emotions. I can hear his heartbeat and it’s not just racing, it is so rapid and strong that it’s as if his heart is desperate to jump out of his chest and become one with mine. I press tighter against him, willing my heart to pass a calmer, more measured rhythm onto his, although mine is also more erratic than usual.

  *** ‘See You Soon’ by Coldplay ***

  Our meetings are different now, very different, but they always happen in the same place – my favourite place – his wonderful, beautiful apartment.

  One cold February day, I arrive, Alex opens the door, and we immediately embrace without saying a word, not even hello – rules are not for us, everything we do is against the rules. Then, as always, I get lost in his eyes. Even when they’re sad, they are still inexpressibly beautiful, deep, warm, loving. His eyes are what I love the most... and his hands... his lips... his hair... I have no idea what I love the most!

  Slowly, almost excruciatingly so, Alex undresses me. He takes off my coat and scarf, drops down to unzip my boots and pulls them off, straightens up again, unbuttons my jeans and tugs them down to my knees, then presses his face against my cold, bare thighs and closes his eyes.

  After a while, he remembers about my jeans and takes them off completely, kissing something along the way – my ankles, I think – then stands up again and gently lifts the edge of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the skin at my waist and I can feel this touch taking me away to another dimension. I close my eyes and concentrate on his movements as he takes off the rest of my clothes.

  A hot damp touch on my stomach, another kiss. Then it’s my shoulder, my neck. I feel myself soaring upwards, literally, this time, because Alex is lifting me up. He does this often; he loves carrying me in his arms. It is at moments like these that he probably feels I belong to him and him alone.

  I open my eyes to find that we’re in his bathroom. Alex lowers my body into the enormous Jacuzzi, already filled with water, then gets undressed himself and joins me. He leans me back against his chest and we are both in complete and utter bliss, but me especially, because the wind and snow outside are unbearably cold. In fact, I called Alex on the way over to moan that I was freezing to death. And now here he is, warming me up with his body and the hot water, his arms wr
apped around me. I feel like I’m in an invincible, impregnable wigwam of tenderness and affection. I am at peace, I am in ecstasy, I am in pleasure, I am in healing, I am in purging, I am in love...

  *** ‘Gravity’ by Coldplay ***

  Turning to face him, my chest is now pressed against his and we are both desperate to kiss, but we take it slowly because the best is always saved for later. I feel like a kitten nestled against the chest of a friendly giant stroking me and asking for love in return. I smile at him and he smiles back. Eyes closed, I bury my nose in his neck and inhale the scent of his skin and what little aftershave has survived the water and shower gel. Longer than average, the bottom of his hair is wet, but the fringe is still completely dry. It looks funny and I wet all of it, massaging it gently, and he watches me with interest and heart-warming delight. He smiles... Finally, he smiles at me...

  I love it when he’s happy, because the sadness in his brown eyes makes my heart ache, as I now doubt that truth is where I was told it was, suspecting that I may have even been deceptively and cruelly sent in the wrong direction.

  But there are times when Alex meets me somewhere in the city, and we rush back to his beautiful apartment at breakneck speed because he just can’t wait. I don’t know who he sleeps with in his America, but he always comes to me with a desperate hunger.

  I generally try not to dwell on the impact Alex has on women. It has always been perfectly obvious that it’s not just me who finds him irresistibly attractive, but others too. Many others. Virtually everyone. We mostly meet in private, so I can only surmise the kind of success he usually has when there are women around. It is dangerous to think about – like a poison you administer to yourself. So I think of nothing. My intuition tells me it would be foolish not to grab as much happiness as possible while I can.

  Our lips locked together, we tumble into his apartment and his experienced, skilful hands immediately start removing our clothes. He drags me past the shower to his bed, although he knows I only like having sex after showering – hygiene before anything else – but his need is already so great that he just can’t wait. And anyway, Alex loves how I smell. He is always trying to breathe in my scent, as I do his, and water would wash this away.

  Sometimes I tell him I’m hungry, so he takes me to some excellent restaurant and we eat, or rather I do, because his plates almost always remain virtually untouched. Alex doesn’t eat even half of what he orders, and I always wonder where he gets all his strength from given that he eats so little. Alex jokes in response that he survives on cosmic energy. Only once the meal is over do we then hurry back to his, our clothes starting to come off before we’re even out of the lift, because he spent what was left of his patience watching me eat. I noticed a long time ago that my mouth, my lips, and anything I may do with them excites him. I know that when we have coffee and croissants together, I can’t lick my lips otherwise Alex will drag me straight to bed, no matter when the last time was. But more important than anything is that I want him – constantly, desperately – and I cannot bear the time we are apart.

  Alex comes fairly regularly, every two to three weeks, to finish his projects. Then one day I realise that these projects were completed a long time ago and he’s just coming for me.

  Sometimes we have a few days and even hang out together. Sometimes he’s just here for a night, but I can’t stay with him and, after making love, I dash back home in the pouring rain, in the snow, through falling leaves, across the spring grass just emerging.

  One day, as I open my car door, I see him at the window and my heart feels his longing and loneliness. Drops of rain flow down his enormous windows like tears. It stays in my memory and pierces my heart, because the most important thing is not to hurt anyone.

  Very soon, it becomes clear to me, in the most incomprehensible, most incredible way, that he is seriously in love. It is the only time I have a question that I cannot find an answer to for a very long time, no matter how hard I try: what does he see in me? What?? What exactly does he find so irresistible? My analytical brain comes up with the most outrageous suggestions, but, for the very first time, gets nowhere.

  *** ‘Blue Monday’ by Flunk ***

  Alex moves from New York to Seattle and asks me to join him. He asks me many times – sometimes insistently, sometimes pleadingly – but he never pressures me. I also never take him seriously, regarding our meetings as just a happy continuation of our summer romance. I don’t believe for a second that he actually means it, and I don’t hear him when he says he has built my dream house by the sea. As I mentioned before, I have always known where my horizons are and have no illusions on that score. But, most importantly, what could be worse than destroying your family for your own selfish pleasure?! Hurting those closest to me for some, no doubt temporary, fool’s paradise in America is just never going to happen. I could never do it.

  And yet he keeps on coming... It is getting harder and harder for me to meet up with him – Danny already understands too much and my affair could easily be discovered at any moment. I only manage to see Alex for a couple of hours at a time and we spend it having magical sex, drowning in each other’s tenderness. But more often his love for me is insatiable and he refuses to let me go, imploring me to stay longer. And, every time, it seems there is more sadness in his eyes. I don’t mean to hurt him, but I am not going to break up my family. I cannot walk away from him either, though, because he has given me so much. He has given me more love and affection than anyone in my life. His touch awakens the woman in me, his kisses give me joy, and his warmth comforts me and gives me the strength to live, work, and love those closest to me.

  Alex can read me like a book, knows where I want to be touched, and kisses me so sweetly and tenderly that I’m transported to another world.

  ‘He’s probably had thousands of women,’ I think to myself. ‘How else would he be SUCH a good lover?’ And I’m right. Maybe not thousands, but definitely dozens, and he does his best to hide it. His appearance and insistence on hiding his striking good looks under long sleeves, dark glasses and baseball caps out in public are all part of a puzzle called ‘Alex’s Turbulent Past’ that I have no intention of piecing together. Ever.

  I have just one selfish goal – to take what’s mine while receiving as much pleasure as possible.

  CHAPTER 9. PARIS

  *** ‘Love More’ by Ritmo ***

  *** ‘Fallen’ by Gert Taberner ***

  About a year after Alex’s departure for America, he gets the chance to spend a few winter months working in France. He claims the work is so intense that he can’t get away to see me, although it’s just a three-hour flight, but I suspect something different: being far away, he clearly struggles with his feelings and most likely contemplates breaking up with me. The reason I think this is because of his unusual behaviour: when we’re together, his love for me is passionate and tender, but when we’re not, he never calls and never writes. At best, he might let me know when he’s coming so I can plan my days in advance and make sure I have time for him, but more often he’ll simply take me by surprise and wait in his car until I appear.

  But now he has been gone for a whole six weeks and it’s the first time we have been apart for so long. Alex used to come every three to four weeks, sometimes even every two, and that was from America. Now there is just three hours separating us, but I haven’t seen him for fifty days...

  I have been dreaming of him constantly for the last two weeks, thinking of how one phrase, one short little three-word phrase I have already typed into my phone but can’t bring myself to send, could help me: ‘I miss you...’

  It’s February outside – cold, grey and melancholy. Tim and I are in the middle of yet another long-drawn-out argument and haven’t spoken to each other for about three months, maybe more. I can’t even remember what the argument was about, but I still have no desire to make up with him. I don’t want his words, his voice, or his hands anywhere near me.

  And so, on this overcast, wet, unbear
ably dreary day, I find my resolve starting to slip and my finger accidentally on purpose pressing the grey rectangular ‘Send’ button. An unexpected sigh of relief escapes me, and I tell myself that pride is priceless, but sometimes it’s okay to allow yourself a few small weaknesses.

  A minute later, I receive a reply.

  Alex: ‘I’ll call in an hour. Busy now, can’t talk.’

  And he really does call an hour later. It seems like forever since I heard his voice. Is fifty days forever?

  ‘I’ve nearly finished here and will be leaving for the States in three weeks. I’ll have five days off before I do, though, and would like to see you, so I could come to you. But I have an alternative suggestion.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Why don’t you come and stay with me for those five days? You’ve never been to Paris, have you?’

  ‘No, I’ve never been to Paris,’ I reply wistfully.

  It’s the stuff of daydreams. Spending five February days alone with Alex in France’s fairytale capital – what could be more appealing than that? And what could be more dangerous, given his occasional preoccupation with one particular question. Maybe he’s planning something like the Spanish church again, and it might be even worse this time. I desperately want to go to Paris and even more desperately want to go to Alex – I miss him more than I can bear – but I’m worried that I’ll just cause him more pain. And me, now, too. Both of us.