‘I’ll come, but on one condition,’ I warn him.
‘What?’
‘You’re not allowed to bring up your favourite subject once.’
Alex says nothing for a while. Then he answers quietly, but this deliberate quietness cannot hide the debilitating pain in his voice.
‘Is that the only thing stopping you?’
‘Yes.’
After a long pause, he gives his word.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t mention it. So will you come?’
‘I’ll come.’
‘Great! So, someone will call you and explain what you need to do to get a Schengen visa and they’ll help you with it. And don’t worry about the tickets – I’ll email you your e-tickets. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
*** ‘Wildest Moments’ by Jessie Ware ***
I see Alex as soon as I walk into the airport’s arrivals hall. He doesn’t look like his usual self and this only serves to make him even more attractive. He is wearing a thick khaki coat with grey faux fur in the hood, a warm, light beige roll-neck jumper and light blue jeans – I’ve never seen him in clothes like these before. His hair has grown so much in two months that it’s more like a woman’s than a man’s, but this in no way makes him look feminine. If anything, it works to emphasise his male attractiveness even more, literally calling attention to it and making him so sexy and good looking that he stands out from the crowd. I can see women staring at him – not all, of course, but most – unable to tear their eyes away.
Alex greets me with a smile and a hug, but I feel weak at the knees before he even gets to me, before my nose breathes in his scent for the first time in two months, before my eyes meet his brown ones just ten centimetres away.
I don’t know what is happening to me. Every time we meet after some time apart, I cease to exist in the present and find myself somewhere completely different. My brain stops picking up signals and perceiving reality. Either it switches off completely, giving way to my subconscious, or it reinvents itself, sending me to my own inner world – a world of sexual attraction, of obsession with smells, of longing for the touch of skin and hair, of needing contemplation and the ardour and seductive tenderness of a man’s body.
But is this my world? Perhaps it’s not mine at all but Alex’s, and I’m just a casual visitor.
Our lips are as close as they can be without touching and I gradually realise that Alex is making the rhythm of his breathing match my own, breathing in what I breath out. Suddenly, I notice his eyelids lowering. He struggles to keep them open, but this moment of vulnerability makes him lurch forwards and our lips finally meet. Our kiss is not just an intimate touching of lips, tongues, hands, bodies, hearts and souls, but a passionate fusion.
Then, all of a sudden, I hear a pleasant male voice right by my ear say politely in English, ‘You’re not going to have sex right here in the foyer of the airport, are you?’
I pull away from Alex and look at the speaker through blurred eyes. Little by little, the picture starts to clear. Standing before me is a tall, pleasant-looking guy with light hair, blue eyes and a broad, cheerful smile – the kind of smile that only Americans have.
Alex continues breathing into my ear heavily, unevenly, unable to regain control of himself and open his eyes. Then slowly, and with obvious effort, he lifts up his head, his eyes unfocused... but, by sheer force of will, he comes to his senses and says quietly, ‘This is my friend Mark... Mark, this is Valeria...’
It is the first time I have ever heard Alex speak English and he speaks his native tongue beautifully, confidently and clearly.
He can barely stand and is trying to figure something out, but it’s obvious he can’t do it because he doesn’t take his eyes off me. My feet are firmly back on Earth, however. They must be, because I have just been introduced to his friend, the first one ever.
‘Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Lera, just Lera!’ I say, holding out my hand.
And Mark dazzles me with a warm, radiant smile. Where do they get these smiles from? Alex can smile the exact same way, but he has hundreds of them, if not thousands – one for every occasion. As long as he’s not angry or upset, he’ll smile simply because a new day has begun. How? How do they do it? I definitely don’t smile as often or as generously!
Eventually, Alex manages to shake off his paralysis and join us mere mortals back on sinful planet Earth. The three of us leave the airport and approach a large, black SUV parked by the entrance. Mark gets behind the wheel, Alex and I sit in the back, and Alex tries to look anywhere but at me. I honestly have no idea what’s going on.
I admire his long hair, which is almost touching his shoulders and curls up at the back. Any woman would dream of having such hair because they’d never have to do anything with it – nature has taken care of it already.
‘You look like a polar explorer,’ I tell him.
‘I have to spend a lot of my time outdoors and it’s cold here in winter. Not in this coat, though,’ he says, with a smile so sweet that it immediately makes my stomach feel tingly.
‘Your hair is so long...’ I murmur dreamily.
It feels like I’ve been thinking about running my hands through it for such a long time...
‘Yes, I haven’t really had time to make myself presentable. I can’t bear it anyway.’
‘Bear what?’
‘Getting my hair cut.’
‘You don’t need a haircut! I love your hair the way it is right now...’ I say, shocked at myself. I’ve never been very good at flirting, never really been tender, sensual or affectionate. What has happened to me? What’s going on? When did I get so soft?
‘You like me looking like a woman?’ he asks, his mood becoming playful.
‘I wouldn’t worry, Alex. There’s nothing in this world that could make you look like a woman. Your “manhood” so prevails over everything else that you really don’t need to worry about a thing!’ I hurry to assure him in a much firmer voice, thankfully.
*** ‘One In A Million (Urban Noize Remix)’ by Aaliyah ***
I reach out my hand and run a finger through his hair, catching a curl and straightening it out. And, in doing so, I inadvertently discover that this innocent act – not even affection so much as friendly flirting – is getting me excited. And not just me. My beautiful lover’s eyes darken, and he suddenly becomes serious, a familiar shadow crossing his face.
I abruptly pull my hand away and try to distract myself by checking out the car, noticing that the black leather seats smell strongly of sickly-sweet perfume. I also unintentionally spot packets of condoms in the compartment between the front seats and a tall metallic coffee cup. Looking further, I discover the thin foil of an empty condom wrapper on the rubber mat by my lover’s feet. ‘Thank goodness there isn’t also the used condom,’ I think to myself. My good mood is disappearing. There’s no point wondering if the boys are enjoying themselves in Paris!
Suddenly, Alex catches my eye and, noticing the same as me, says sharply in English, ‘Jesus, Mark! I told you to clean the car!!!’
To which Mark calmly replies, ‘I cleaned it!’
My frame of mind is worse than ever. Alex squeezes my hand, but it only serves to annoy me. I scold myself mercilessly for feeling this way. I mean, what the hell? What claim do I have on him? Who are we to each other? Why on earth would someone as hot and sexy as him remain faithful to me, someone he doesn’t see for months at a time? And given my lover’s character, he’s hardly likely to satisfy his physical needs any other way, why would he? Especially when there will always be women ready to help him.
Suddenly, I start feeling a little uneasy because we have never used condoms. I mentally curse myself for my carelessness and complacency and start worrying about all the unprotected sex we’ve had. If Alex could read my thoughts right now, they would put a definite stop to our long-drawn-out affair. But he can’t, so I unhesitatingly hurl myself into the arms of depression. Then I realise there are condoms strewn about all over the
car, making it more than likely that both these heroes use them for chance encounters.
‘Pull over on the Champs-Élysées,’ says Alex frostily. He’s annoyed.
We get out and I politely say goodbye to Mark, then Alex immediately says, ‘It’s not my car!’
‘Okay,’ I reply.
‘Mine’s at the garage. I pranged it, but I’m getting it back today at three!’ he says, looking me in the eye.
I can’t help wondering why he sounds so defensive.
‘It’s okay, Alex. It’s fine!’ I tell him. ‘But please drive more carefully. The car doesn’t matter, but you do!’ I smile. It’s so good to know that the car isn’t his, although that doesn’t mean he’s not still having fun in it along with his friend. But my mood has lifted. Hell, it’s as high as the Eiffel Tower!
This is my first time on the Champs-Élysées – a wide boulevard, lined along both sides with boutiques and shops of nearly every well-known global brand.
‘You’re not cold?’ Alex asks.
‘A little chilly, maybe,’ I reply. ‘But it probably just feels so cold outside because it was so warm on the plane!’ People like me can find an explanation for everything.
I am shivering a little, but that’s completely normal for me, no matter how warmly I’m dressed. Alex smiles and starts pulling me by the hand – he clearly has a particular destination in mind. Finally, we’re standing in front of an eye-wateringly expensive boutique with three mannequins dressed in coats in the window: a white one, a black one, and a light grey one.
Alex points at the grey one and says, ‘I drive down this street every day to our office, and every time I see that coat, I think to myself that it would look perfect on my Valeria.’ He smiles and hugs me.
‘No, Alex. Have you lost your mind? A designer coat? It’s a fortune!’
‘Nonsense!’ he objects. ‘It doesn’t matter as long as it keeps you warm. You’re always freezing! And anyway, a fortune is the house I’ve built for you that you refuse to even take a look at!’
‘Alex, you promised!’
I feel his irritation almost physically, but he stays silent.
‘A down jacket is much warmer than a coat like that,’ I say quietly, refusing to give in.
‘How do you know?’
‘I can’t remember... I think a friend told me.’
‘It’s stupid to take your friend’s word for it. We’re buying it, and then you can see for yourself which is warmer – and you will wear it,’ he cajoles.
‘There is absolutely no way I’ll accept such a gift!’ I object.
Agitated, Alex suddenly straightens up, turns me to face him and, staring at me with a look of annoyance, asks, ‘Why will you never let me buy you anything?!’ His voice is tinged with hurt male pride.
‘You know perfectly well why.’
‘No, I don’t! It’s normal for a man to want to do nice things for his woman, to spoil her a little! Or a lot!’
I’m tempted to say something like: ‘And who says I’m your woman?’, but obviously have the good sense not to.
‘Alex, there’s no doubt I love gifts as much as any girl, but how do you think I’ll explain away a designer coat?’
His mood instantly darkens, and he looks away for a while, then turns his angry brown eyes back to mine, his long black eyelashes blinking furiously.
‘That is really not my problem. My job is to keep you warm and make sure you don’t get ill like the last time!’ (He means when I went to see him with a fever, and he noticed I felt hotter than usual while we were making love.)
I have absolutely no idea how to respond. Meanwhile, he lifts his hands and rests them on the glass either side of me, the flaps of his unzipped jacket falling open and forming a kind of wigwam around me.
‘I wouldn’t have asked your opinion about this particular purchase because it doesn’t have any kind of deeper meaning, but they have it in five different sizes and I’m not very good at guessing them or which one you’d prefer, so let’s pop in now, get you measured up, and buy you a warm coat. Okay?’
‘I said no, Alex!’
At this point, he presses me against the window and his lips touch my cheek, then start to kiss it – intimate, urgent, hot. His nose nudges my scarf lower and his tongue and lips make their way passionately down to my cleavage, my hips pushed firmly against the thick glass of this elite boutique on the Champs-Élysées. I can feel Alex’s hot breath on the delicate skin of my breasts, and the smell and softness of his hair right under my nose, tickling it, is driving me crazy. It takes a tremendous effort of will for me not to run my fingers through it. My hungry body is in a state of animal languor, and this is the exact moment the sly devil chooses to ask, hoarsely, ‘So, do you want it?’
‘Yes!’ I almost scream.
He pulls away sharply, seizes my hand and tries to drag me into the shop, but I refuse to budge and tell him shamefully, ‘That’s not what I was saying yes to!’
Without stopping, Alex turns around quickly and, raising an eyebrow, asks, ‘Oh, really? What, then?’
And I’m speechless. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say. I’m certainly not going to own up to my indefatigable lust for him when that’s not even what he was asking! Alex takes advantage of my dithering and pulls me into the shop, where three lovely young women in lilac suits are smiling broadly. He points at the grey coat and they immediately find my size. One of the women elegantly invites me into the dressing room – a spacious area with mirrored walls and a podium – and I just about make out Alex saying quietly in English, ‘Take off the price tags.’
‘Of course, monsieur.’
When I put it on, it is like an exquisite silver miracle. Reaching down to my knees, it is incredibly warm and light with a soft hood – I love everything about it. I am already captivated by it, and I have never really had such a beautiful piece of clothing before, ever. It’s a real work of art. It’s just that down jackets are all the fashion these days!
I stubbornly take it off and am about to say I don’t like it, when Alex, who has been watching my face closely, gets in before me.
‘Try another?’
And it’s not just his question that leaves me wrong-footed, but the fact that I suddenly realise how desperately he wants to buy me something – my constant rejection of his proposals and gifts actually causes him pain – and it is this simple realisation that makes me say, ‘I like this one.’
His beautiful, nigh on godlike face breaks into a happy, contented smile of satisfaction. Alex walks over to me, puts his arms gently around my waist and kisses me tenderly on the lips.
CHAPTER 10. TAOIST PRACTICES
*** ‘Outlaws Of Love (Full)’ by Adam Lambert ***
Alex’s Paris apartment is both stylish and dull at the same time. Stylish because he has stayed true to himself – even renting somewhere temporary, he manages to find open spaces of glass and metal – and dull because they are completely grey. The shade is soft and soothing, but it is still grey. Grey walls, grey wood flooring with white specks, grey carpets, grey bedding, grey cabinets and kitchen panels, grey bath, grey tiles, grey everything. There isn’t a single splash of colour in the whole place. Only the soft, beautiful music drifting through – left playing even when there is no one home – serves to remedy the situation slightly, adding some much-needed joy and life to the prevailing sense of melancholy.
I notice that the bed is unmade and take it that he doesn’t have a cleaner. More importantly, the bedding is only crumpled on one side. The other side has clearly not been slept in and the pillow is untouched. And, once again, that feeling of thrilling longing in the pit of my stomach: he isn’t sleeping with anyone in here.
Smiling like an idiot, I take a shower. I can’t wait to have sex with him and, Holy Jesus, I’m already on the cusp. I’m afraid that all he’ll need to do today is touch me there and what he usually achieves so skilfully will happen all by itself. I feel like a March hare, but there’s absolutel
y nothing I can do about it and, honestly, I am astonished at how each of my cells is flourishing.
I feel like a WOMAN.
Climbing out of the shower, I don’t find Alex in the bedroom, so I lie down on his pillow. It smells of him, his skin, his hair, and, closing my eyes, I drift on the smell like on a lazy river. I wait for him, trying to urge my newly insubordinate body not to go crazy. I squeeze my legs together because it’s there, between them, that something incredible is happening. I have never felt like this before. It’s not that I can’t wait, it’s that I need it. Desire has been tormenting me for too long now, having begun its bullying before I even left home and reaching its peak at the airport, with an unequivocal reminder of its presence while we were in the car. I just can’t hold it back any longer. Jesus! What the hell has he been doing in the kitchen for so long?!
I stand up, get dressed, and go to find him. Alex has already changed into a t-shirt and looks drop-dead gorgeous because of his broad shoulders, which make the outline of his back and arm muscles stand out through the t-shirt’s thin fabric, putting the idea of extraordinary strength and masculinity into my head. Then there are his jeans-clad buttocks, perfect in both size and shape, his slightly curly hair that now completely covers the back of his neck, and, last but not least, his surprisingly sexy bare feet, with one foot up on its toes and leaning against the other.
It seems that Alex has no idea what I’m going through right at this moment; he is carefully peeling and cutting up fruit and arranging the pieces on a glass plate, while also preparing something else. Looking more closely, I see that they’re oysters! Already covered with some kind of sauce, they are being heated up in the microwave in a black plastic disposable container. It is nothing more than pre-packaged food, ingeniously invented for those who love to eat, but who don’t know how to cook. A large glass table is covered in unfamiliar-looking products, French baguettes, cheeses, a basket of croissants, and boxes full of fancy pastries. It seems that Alex has been preparing for my arrival.
I approach quietly and hug him from behind.
Monogamy Book One. Lover: This is one love for life and beyond time Page 10