by J Thompson
So why was he finding it so damn hard?
Maybe it was time he tried the tonic he had bought, that would be something he would do later on. What would it hurt to try? If it worked well, then that would be a bonus, but maybe he should just get a grip and deal already.
He was stuck on Belinda. That was the long and the short of it. But he didn’t know what to do to get her to see him for more than the mechanic she thought he was. He could offer her so much, if only she would give him the chance. How did he say that to her without sounding desperate, as well as a pussy?
He headed upstairs and made quick work of getting changed and showering, he wanted to head straight back out before he lost his nerve. She would be home, that he knew, so he would go round and knock on and try to ask her out in person.
What would he say? He rolled his eyes and would have bitch slapped himself upside of the head if he could. That had to have been the daftest question yet.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he mumbled to himself as he stood under the spray and made quick work of washing the day’s grease and oil from his body. It always surprised him how much crap came out of his hair and off his skin after a day in the garage. The water, at first, ran an oily brown but soon cleared and he soaped up within an inch of his life.
He loved the feeling of the hot water as it sluiced down his body, easing any leftover aches from his weekend match. Most nights he would have a long soak in the tub, his fellow players knew he had a fondness for a good quality bubble bath and they would take the piss out of him for it by buying him bottles of bubble bath. Mike wasn’t worried, he would get them back on the playing field at training. It always made him laugh to see them give him a wide berth. But regardless of how long it took, he would always get even.
Tonight Mike felt on edge, he had felt it all day if he was honest, and the need to see Belinda had been extremely hard to resist. Usually, once he was engrossed in his work he wouldn’t really think of anything, but today had been different. He hadn’t been able to focus at all and had even nearly fucked up a clutch change.
All he kept seeing in his mind’s eye was her beautiful face and her stunning smile that lit her up and made her glow brightly.
Jesus Christ, he thought as he turned the water off and got out, not bothering to wrap the towel around him, instead he started to mop up the water as he walked. There was something going on, something that had him rushing to get ready and making him believe it was urgent he go round to see her.
Mike, not sure what else to think, got dressed before he walked down the stairs and picked up his keys before he headed straight out of the door. Now he would see if he had the bollocks to go through with it.
†
Belinda’s doorbell rang and pulled her from Google it had been a hard couple of painstaking hours, Belinda had finally written out the letter in what she hoped was the correct translation. With a lingering look, she turned and headed for her front door, not sure who it would be.
She hadn't changed since she had got home from work and she knew she didn't look her best.
Opening the door, she stared.
“Mike...err, hi.”
He didn't speak, only nodded. He was again dressed in jeans and a jumper, but what stood out stark was the bruising and cut on his face.
“Shit Mike, are you ok, what happened?”
He just smiled then shrugged before he finally started to talk.
“Hey...th-th-this is noth-nothing,” he laughed. “The oth-other guy wa-was worse.”
“Other guy? What the hell have you been doing?”
Belinda stepped forward and put her palm to his cheek. She continued to check his face even though he had frozen and was watching her.
“Ru-Rugby game,” he said, and it took Belinda a few seconds to twig what he was saying.
“Ooh right, got you.” She realised what she was doing and stepped back, and before she had chance to stop herself she blurted back, “You don't speak or read French by any chance, do you?”
He didn't answer for a good few long seconds; instead he tilted his head with a small smile before he nodded gently.
“You do?” she said excitedly and waited for the second nod; that was something she had never expected. As it came, she grabbed his arm and tugged him into her house, she closed the door and ushered him into the living room.
“You aren’t messing me about are you Mike, about speaking French?”
He smiled again as he sat down on her small sofa, his sheer size dwarfed it. He looked about her small living room before he looked back her and once again nodded.
“Ye-Yes, I speak Fre-French.”
She just stood and looked down at him. How did a guy built like a brick shit house and with the looks that could make panties drop, know French?
Well why the hell not, it was narrow minded of her to think otherwise.
“Wow, I'm impressed Mike, when did you learn?”
He shrugged again, making little of an impressive talent. There definitely weren't many men like him that could speak many languages.
“France,” he said without a stutter. “I pla-played rug-rugby there.”
“Wow, that's amazing,” she fired back, impressed even more. “Shit, I'm sorry, where are my manners. Can I get you a drink?” she asked- well, more along the lines of blurted it out.
She smiled as he laughed in response, before he shook his head.
“No-No thank you, I’m go-good.”
She nodded but still left the room. One, so she could get her breath and two, she needed a drink. He was in her home, sat on her sofa and her heart was pounding so loud she was convinced he would be able to hear it. So now she had him here what would she do with him?
She shook her head and as she stood in front of the fridge, she leaned her forehead against the door. This was the part where she actually did regret her choice to stay a virgin, because if she wasn’t, then she clearly wouldn’t be stood in the kitchen needing Dutch courage. Instead, she would have pounced on him and taken advantage. She had plenty of ideas after watching quite a few porn movies.
“Be-Belinda, yo-you ok?” his calm, deep voice sounded from the lounge, so she quickly opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle of fruit cider that had been in there for what had to have been a few months. She quickly opened it and drained some of the contents and swiped the back of her hand across her lips. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Yes I’m fine, I will be right there.”
She didn’t do shit like this…ever.
Trying to act calm, she walked back into the front room, without the cider, and sat on the sofa next to Mike. She felt drawn to his side, she could have sat anywhere, but instead chose the seat right next to him.
He smiled as she sat and all Belinda could do was return the smile. She felt like she had started to heat up from the inside, she was edgy, almost irritable. She couldn’t stop her hands that twisted the sleeve of her top as she avoided looking in Mike’s direction.
His large body moved ever so slightly before she felt hands on her own, she watched as they engulfed them and stopped them from tugging. His breath whispered across her cheek before she heard his un-stuttered words in her ear.
“Stop Bel, stop and look at me.”
His voice pulled at her insides, the butterflies morphed into something much bigger and she was helpless to resist his command. She turned her head slightly and looked straight into eyes that mirrored her own confusion and obvious desire. His own flicked down to her lips and then back up to her face before a hand slid behind her head, gently fisting her hair as his lips descended upon her own.
She should stop this, they had barely spoken a full sentence to each other, yet, this felt right, it felt perfect. So Belinda closed her eyes the moment the soft skin of his lips touched hers.
He coaxed and caressed, taking his time to explore before his tongue swept across her full lower lip in a bid for her to open and grant him access. Belinda went with it; she opened and became lost in t
he taste that was Mike. His hand tightened on her hair and she lost the battle to keep a groan to herself. It surprised her as she felt swept up in a tide of want and need. Somehow her own hands now gripped his large biceps as she hung on throughout the kiss. He awakened every sense, made her feel more than she ever had. Her OCD had been sated by his near presence and now she felt like she wouldn’t be able to stay in her skin.
Belinda let Mike lean her back on the sofa. She loved the feel of him as he hovered above her. His size and strength never scared her, only made her feel protected and cherished and the way he continued to kiss her, she would be willing to bare even her soul to him.
Mike didn’t rush the kiss, even when they were horizontal on the sofa he kept the pace slow, as if savouring every movement, every touch. Belinda was lost and for once her mind had no control, she let her body lead the way.
“Belinda.” She heard him breathe her name as he kissed along her jaw line, this act boosting the butterfly effect in her stomach and pushing her towards neediness.
“Mike,” she answered. He pulled back and his hands pushed strands of hair from her cheeks as he looked into her eyes, a small smile on his lips.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, and this time with almost no stutter. His voice deep, he continued to stroke the skin of her cheek before he moved his thumb over her bottom lip.
“Yo-You have no-no idea how long I’ve wai-waited to kis-kiss you.”
Belinda blushed then smiled back, but didn’t answer; she didn’t know what to say. What did a girl say when a guy says some deep and meaningful stuff like that whilst he’s got you flat on your back on the sofa?
Belinda has always classed herself as weird and random so when she opened her mouth she wasn’t surprised by what flew out. What she had been thinking at the back of her mind and didn’t actually want to say, well not at this precise moment.
So instead of stating how she was over the damn moon to finally be in his arms or something to the same soppy effect, she blurted out, “Nice, would you take a look at something for me, you know to make sure ive translated it right from French to English?”
If she could have smacked her head with her hand she would have, and the total confusion on Mike’s face said how much of a total screw up she was.
“Err su-sure.” He slowly pushed himself up and off her and helped her to sit upright. He smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. She had once again stuck her foot in it. Head bowed, she stood up and made an attempt at smoothing her hair and clothing before she walked over to her small desk and picked up the small piece of paper that had the French note on.
The dream that assaulted Belinda that night was different from the previous strange swirl of colours she had had. This time there was no pre-empting or warning, nope, they went straight into a scene she had never in her life witnessed before.
At first the sun shone so brightly it had taken a few minutes for Belinda to see, but once she did, she was faced with one of the many wonders of the world.
The great pyramids of Giza filled the vista, along with the glistening Nile and greenery from the river’s side. Directly in front, though, stood a temple bright with colours and statues, people milled about dressed in what she assumed Egyptians wore. She had no idea really.
A procession approached and Belinda was transfixed at the wealth on show. A team of servants or slaves carried a platform on which was the most beautiful woman Belinda had ever seen.
Dressed in gold- no not dressed, more like coated in gold- she sat, chin held high, back straight on her mobile throne. One name races through Belinda’s head as her dream feet followed the procession.
Cleopatra!
This was the famous queen of Egypt, this was the woman that supposedly brought the Roman Empire to its knees for a short period of time.
Belinda snorted to herself as she kept pace with the procession. It felt strange to be witnessing all of the splendour and also know she was dreaming. But wasn't that the myth of Cleo? She seduced the Caeser, then cheated on him with his general and then when she got found out she killed herself rather than be put on trial. That’s what some of the history books had said. But, then again, who could trust those same history books. Most had been written by men and most would believe that Cleopatra had deserved her fate.
The whole situation had sounded completely fucked up to Belinda and if she was honest she had little sympathy for the queen. If she was going to sell her wares to more than one buyer then she should have been prepared for the consequences. But another part of her wanted to know the truth, the unblemished truth of a woman who showed power and strength, equalling that of any man.
The dream was so realistic that Belinda very nearly walked into someone and only dived to the side at the last minute. She felt for the slaves that had to carry the platform, she could see their muscles bulging under the strain. As Belinda managed to catch up, she stepped up onto a wall so she was at an equal height to the platform; it was only then she saw a familiar item.
No box could be seen, but the bottle that held Cupid’s Essence sat on a small cushion to the left of the queen. Its colours pulsed and swirled, the familiar pinks and purples called out to her and had her fingers clenching in a bid to touch it.
The procession stopped as local people started to assemble. Belinda could only watch as men of all ages fought to get closer to the queen and as the wind picked up, she recognised the scent that wafted her way.
Summer rain.
Cleopatra was wearing the essence and as Belinda breathed in more of the delicious scent, she realised the queen was drenched in it.
The men became more and more forceful as they reached and grabbed. Whatever the essence was, it called to the men. She had been witness to it herself that very day, but the why's still confused her.
She had assumed it was an ordinary perfume, but now she doubted it was merely that.
Ever since she had brought it home, things stranger than anything she had dealt with before had happened. The mob of what could only be described as horny men became more and more violent.
Belinda could do nothing but watch as guards entered the fray in a bid to rescue the queen and there, amongst the males, one dressed in the armour of the Roman Empire appeared and battled his way through to the platform. She watched, transfixed, as he jumped upon the platform that was still being held by all the slaves and wrapped his arms around the queen. There was no false love in his eyes; he showed only courage, love and determination to get his woman.
As Belinda’s dream started to waver back into colours, her last thought was,
why didn't the slaves drop the damn platform?
Cupid sat perched on a bookcase in the library, his legs swinging as he watched the show below. His chosen mortal, she worked hard below trying to keep up on her jobs, all the while dealing with the influx of men that seemed to be constantly coming into the library.
They used the excuse of checking out a book to check her out. He was impressed she had dealt with them all like the classy lady she was, but he could now see the strain as she managed to turn number twelve around and send him back out into the world with little more than hope that she would call him with the number he had forced into her hand when he had grabbed it to kiss her knuckles.
This was the Essence’s doing and Cupid was impressed by how quick and how potent it was. Usually in other cases… Cupid quickly pushed those memories from his mind. It didn't do well to dwell on the past.
Poor Belinda, he thought, it must be exhausting being lusted after.
“Naaa,” he said. “She's loving every moment of it.”
Talking to himself had become a habit since his wife had buggered off on a silly ladies holiday. Luckily, no one could hear his personal ramblings as he had done a Harry Potter and donned his invisibility cloak. The only difference was Cupid looked sexy as fuck and he did an altogether different style of wand play.
As much as he loved people watching, he was getting bored, but i
t just so happened he was perched on the top of the classical mythology section.
With a grin he wriggled onto the tall ladder and started his search, slowly perusing the titles on show before collecting a handful.
He paused halfway down the ladder and looked over his shoulder to the mortal, expecting her to be looking at him as he hadn't been quiet and the site of floating books would shit anyone up. She couldn’t hear him as he talked complete crap to himself, but as he said, he hadn’t been quiet whilst he was grabbing the books. He smirked as he looked at the few that had been dropped to the floor. Nope, she had her head bent doing whatever librarians did.
Other than put books away, what did they do?
He tilted his head and frowned then continued down the ladder with the pile of books balanced on top of each other in his hand.
Dumping the load on the first table he arrived at, he was happy it was sort of hidden but he could still see her bent head. He wasn’t bothered if anyone saw his floating trick or if the mortal questioned how a big pile of books had moved. He was Cupid and he did what the fuck he liked… within reason… if the wife allowed it.
With a shake of the head to dispel any negative thoughts of being under the thumb, he picked up the biggest one titled “Myths and legends” and started to thumb through it for the pictures. He couldn’t be arsed with words, he wanted to see his sexy self in these books and then maybe he would read what an amazing and awesome god he was. Only the first picture caused him to stop, his voice slightly stunned.
“What the fuck a doodle do!”
He bent closer to inspect the picture, still not able to believe what his own eyes were witnessing. There was a detailed copy of a painting of what these mortals thought he looked like, under it a caption that said ‘The fable of love’.
“That is not what I look like, what the holy fuck!” he shouted. “I do not wear nappies, nor do I have fucking wings and what in the name of Pedro’s dangle is that fucking bow?”