The Summer of Aphrodite

by Viva Jones

‘I still want us to stay friends, though.’

  Dolores handed her waiting customer a beer and joined Tanya at the end of the bar.

  ‘Just fuck off. That little stunt you pulled cost me a grand. A fucking grand! Plus I’m not sure they’re ever going to want to work with me again.’

  ‘It was getting so heavy out there. I felt vulnerable.’

  ‘Well you know what they say. If you can’t stand the heat - ‘

  ‘I can’t. There. I’ve said it. I can’t do it any more. That was my neighbour! Who’ll be next, my boss? Someone I sold a house to?’

  ‘You’re right, Miss Hoity-Toity. You stick with your miserable job and your fucked-up car and your rich Arab shag. And don’t you go worrying about me, I’ll be just fine.’

  Dolores went back to serving her customers. Tanya sat there, slumped on her bar stool. She hadn’t known what to expect, but had been hoping that their friendship might be strong enough to outlast their dance routine. She took a sip of her wine, but it tasted sour, and she didn’t feel like finishing it. Dolores had been her best friend in Cyprus, and she couldn’t imagine life without her company.

  ‘Don’t worry, it might never happen, innit?’ a voice next to her said. She looked up, and there stood a baby-faced Cypriot in his early twenties, wearing baggy combat trousers and a loose white T-shirt.

  ‘Already has I’m afraid.’ Tanya put down her glass and picked up her bag.

  ‘You’re not leaving, are you? Stay and have a drink with me.’ His accent was reminiscent of east end kebab shops, and Tanya was tempted to chat, just to feel at home again. But he was so young, and with Dolores radiating contempt from the other side of the bar, she just wanted to leave.

  ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m really not in the mood.’ Tanya turned to watch Dolores, her dark hair piled up in a loose bun, her breasts stretching through an orange top, and felt a deep sense of loss. Not since she and Savvas broke up had she felt so alone.

  ‘Let me get you in the mood,’ he suggested. ‘I bet a girl like you likes champagne, innit?’

  At this she had to laugh. Did he have any idea of the prices in that place? ‘I love it, but not tonight thanks,’ Tanya told him. Who did he think he was, she thought. He was barely old enough to drink himself.

  ‘Are you on holiday here or something?’ he asked.

  Tanya just smiled, shook her head and walked out of the bar. Then she drove herself home to a tin of spaghetti hoops and the latest copy of Heat.

  ***

  In the light of an almost-full moon Douglas sat cross-legged by the pool, watching the lights all around him going out. First it was the rental house, then Anna and Richard’s, Ginnie’s and then Tanya’s, to his relief. Only Nathalie’s stayed on, and he tried to imagine her, sitting up, naked in bed, her soft breasts exposed, nipples hardening in the breeze, reading a book or perhaps even touching herself where he most wanted to touch her.

  What had happened to his powers? It was practically six weeks since he’d summoned her through the Universe, why wasn’t it working? Instead he’d been saddled with Ginnie and then even Tanya had put on a show for him. Yet the one person he wanted remained unavailable.

  Ginnie and Tanya, he still felt awkward about them. Ginnie had been drunk, but he really should have put her off. It was amazing he’d still been able to come under those circumstances. And Tanya, that little fool. What was she doing, getting herself messed up with people like that? He’d always been rather fond of her, in a paternal way, but now the images of her and her so-called friend kept replaying in his mind, when all he really wanted to think about was Nathalie.

  Nathalie, the unavailable. Was she missing the hands of another human being, he wondered. Was she missing tenderness, arousal and passion, and the sense of losing herself with someone in that passion?

  Douglas certainly was. A man was supposed to have sex. Empty balls and a full stomach, it was a law of nature. Douglas shifted. He couldn’t meditate with a hard on, he’d have to swim first instead. He stood up, half-hoping that Nathalie might spy him from her bedroom window, might see him for the living, breathing, sexual being that he was and come to him, as the menopausal Ginnie had done all those weeks before. But no such luck. Douglas dived into the pool instead, and began to swim his lengths.

  It was only when he was half way through his thirty-seventh that he realised that her light had gone out, and he cursed himself for having missed it; that tiny, intimate moment when she gave herself up to the night.

  He carried on swimming, his concentration only disturbed by the sound of the baby crying in the rental house. He intensified his thoughts, his breathing smooth and even in time with the strokes, his arms stretching out in front of him, his face dipping in and out to one side. I command you to be silent, he told the baby, putting as much power into that thought as he could. A couple of minutes later, she stopped, and he smiled, satisfied. He hadn’t lost it after all! He felt omnipotent.

  Douglas pulled himself out of the pool, towelled himself dry, and, keeping an eye on Nathalie’s darkened window, returned to his former position, cross-legged, at the water’s edge. Then he started meditating in the moonlight. He was calling upon the powers, the forces that were all around him, channelling them to send him their energies and wisdom. He was calling upon the great goddess Aphrodite herself, ruler of love, desire and sensuality, to cast her spells and grant him the kind of sexual prowess that even she’d find impressive.

  And he called upon Nathalie, the beautiful, mysterious Nathalie, to join him now, to desire him, and to stay with him for the rest of the night.

  ***

  Nathalie drifted, half in and out of sleep, unsure of whether she was dreaming or awake, when it started happening again. That weight, that heavy force began pressing down on her, paralysing her, and then that terrible feeling that her spine was being pulled out, vertebrae by vertebrae, and that her body was becoming a vessel for another spirit to enter.

  She tried to scream, but her throat contracted, and if she made any noise at all, it was just a whimper. She tried to move her fingers, but they remained immobile. It’ll pass, she kept telling herself. You know it’ll pass, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that she’d experienced it numerous times before; it didn’t stop it from being just as terrifying and exhausting as the first time.

  Then she regained some sensation in her finger tips and began to move them, and the second she did, so the weight started lifting and the sensation in her spine faded.

  She woke up. She was afraid and exhausted, and went to turn on her bedside light. She felt the switch, could feel it click on, but still the room stayed dark. Were her eyes even open? She couldn’t tell, and it was too late to touch them now because that feeling came over her again, that heavy, dark matter, pressing down on her, the evil presence trying to remove her very soul, and that sense of her spine being pulled out started again. God, help me! She tried to call out, but she couldn’t make sound. Get away from me Satan! Then, despite herself, she began to recite the Creed: I believe in God the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only begotten son our lord...

  Her fingers started to move again and she woke up. The room was still dark. Nathalie went to turn on the light. There was the switch, it was in her fingers. But as she clicked it, so the room stayed dark. No! leave me alone! Get away from me!

  The third time it finished Nathalie knew for certain she was awake. This time there was light in the room, the soft shadows cast by a nearly full moon. She was trembling and in shock. There she was, a devout agnostic, reduced to reciting prayers as if some benevolent God might suddenly take pity on her now. I will not let this continue, she told herself and whatever spirits still lingered in the room. I will not let this happen again!

  Then she turned to the window, for the reassuring sight of her neighbours’ houses, and for
the reassuring knowledge that she was surrounded by nice, normal people. And then she saw him, cross-legged by the pool, meditating in the moonlight. Douglas!

  She nearly went to him. She nearly threw on a robe, ran down the stairs and hurtled herself at him. How fucking dare you, she imagined herself yelling. How dare you do this to me? But she didn’t move. She held back, because she knew that that was what he wanted. Whatever Douglas was doing, he was powerful at it. But she refused to let him win.

  No matter how hard it was, and no matter how long it would take, she would find a way to stop him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ginnie enjoyed spending time with Grace, the pregnant little cat. Determined not to miss the birth, she spent the quiet times of day, in between feeds and visits and litter cleaning, in her enclosure with her. After the cat’s initial interest wore off, however, and she retreated to her cushion for a snooze, Ginnie would find herself getting a little bored.

  Today seemed repressively hot, and beads of sweat trickled down between her breasts. Ginnie flapped her shirt up and down, creating a breeze. Her skirt was uncomfortable, too, and kept riding up between her buttocks. As she rearranged it, she remembered the secret toy she kept in her handbag for emergencies, and felt a pang of desire between her thighs.

  She pulled out the travel vibrator, shaped like a bullet, turned it on and surreptitiously hid it up her skirt and inside her knickers, positioning it on her clit. If anyone were to come in, which was unlikely, she could switch it off and pretend it was the fan, making strange noises. She sat back against the wall and let the pink buzzer massage her aching clit, manipulating it with her thighs. This was what she needed. She leaned into it, pretending it was a cock, a hard, strong, vein-throbbing cock, and that its owner - whoever that was - desired her more than anyone else in the world. She was the goddess, and her slaves all longed for the honour of fucking her. That was it, everyone desired her, you weren’t a man unless you’d been allowed to lick Ginnie’s pussy, to slide your tongue between her folds and flaps, to suck gently on her clit, and to insert a finger inside her cunt. And though Ginnie was a generous goddess, she chose her consorts wisely. She’d get them all to unzip their flies and then she’d choose the cock that most appealed to her; the biggest, hardest and strongest cock available, and then she’d deign to place it in her mouth and lick it and taste it and suck it, until finally she’d allow the man to slide it inside her and, following her instructions, bring her to orgasm, forgetting his own until afterwards. The thought of a man holding his own pleasure back for her, then squirting out his cum in uncontrollable desire was enough to trigger Ginnie’s orgasm, and she threw her head back, groping both her breasts as she let the waves of pleasure caress her, like cooling water from a fountain.

  Her orgasm over, Ginnie switched off the vibrator and gave the cat, who’d woken up and was looking at her suspiciously, a guilty grin. The next thing she knew there were footsteps rushing towards her. It was Nigel.

  ‘Ginnie! What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Nigel! I’m just sitting with Grace, that’s all.’

  ‘You were doing a lot more than that, I can tell you. Didn’t you know about the webcam?’

  ‘Webcam?’ Ginnie faltered, her heart pounding.

  ‘I had it installed so that people could follow Grace’s pregnancy. Right there.’ He pointed to the corner opposite her. ‘I had no idea you’d be making movies of your own, though.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it went out?’ Ginnie felt that her throat might swallow itself whole. Then it could swallow the rest of her and have done with it, she thought.

  ‘Luckily for you I managed to switch it off before it got too obvious what was going on in here. Really Ginnie, how could you?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, Nigel. I just - it’s the heat, it’s getting to me. I’m not myself these days.’

  ‘May I suggest you go home. I’ll get someone else to do the evening feed. And I’m not sure I want to see you again in the morning.’

  ‘Oh Nigel, please, no. What about the campaign?’

  ‘Do you really think you’re the best person to represent Tiggles now?’

  Ginnie shook her head, determined not to cry in front of her tormentor, then she gathered her belongings and quietly left Grace’s enclosure, with Nigel following behind. Neither of them noticed the little cat suddenly lurching forward, and the first of four healthy kittens emerging from under her tail. Once it had plopped onto the floor, she turned to lick it, gently and with love, unseen by her hundreds of followers, or by those who cared about her the most.

  ***

  ‘It’s tomorrow your mother arrives, isn’t it?’ Nathalie asked Anna. ‘You might be needing this.’ She handed her a bottle.

  ‘Never I have prepared for a visitor with less relish,’ Anna admitted. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Lavender, rose, mandarin and vetiver, to counteract anxiety,’ Nathalie told her. ‘Just pour some in a tissue and inhale as necessary.’

  ‘Or I could poison her with oleander. Let’s have a glass of wine.’ She opened a bottle of white and, finding it not as chilled as she’d like, popped a few ice cubes into each glass. ‘You look tired. Are you all right?’

  ‘I just slept badly, thanks. I’m fine. You know you can always come to me any time she gets to you?’ Nathalie accepted her glass. ‘This is hurting me too. I won’t see you.’

  Anna was touched to hear those words. ‘It’s such an invasion,’ she said. ‘I wish she’d just stay in a hotel.’ They chinked glasses and each took a sip.

  ‘Let me massage you,’ Nathalie suggested. ‘Get that tension out of your shoulders.’

  She started kneading Anna’s shoulders as they both sank to the floor. Anna felt herself dissolving into Nathalie’s touch, forgetting her anxiety as a wave of desire washed over her. Nathalie’s presence was cleansing, it made everything seem OK. She turned to kiss her, and their lips and tongues met, and, as with all the other times, it still seemed like the first time, special and new. Nathalie unbuttoned Anna’s blouse and unfastened her bra, releasing her breasts and cupping them in her hands, before dropping down to kiss her lover’s neck, throat, chest and nipples.

  ‘Do you want us to go upstairs?’ she whispered.

  ‘Let’s stay here. I want to know we’ve made love on the sofa where the old bag will sit, and that every piece of furniture in this room has a smear of us on it somewhere.’

  They giggled and Nathalie unfastened Anna’s skirt, pushing her onto the sofa before pulling her knickers to one side and plunging her tongue there, lapping and probing and teasing. Anna sighed, sinking into the sofa, her legs apart, and Nathalie knelt before her, tasting her, savouring her and swallowing her juices. She stopped for a moment to take a sip of wine, but retrieved an ice cube too and, holding it between her teeth, gently ran it the length of Anna’s pussy. Anna gasped as the cold hit her, and when the cube fell out of Nathalie’s mouth, her tongue replaced it, feeling gloriously warm by comparison.

  ‘Oh God, let me try that on you,’ Anna said, her voice hoarse with lust, and Nathalie got up, quickly pulled off her summer dress and sank on top of her, so that her pussy was over Anna’s face, and Anna took an ice cube in her teeth and ran it along Nathalie’s pussy, and when it fell away she replaced it with her warm tongue, and the extremes of cold and warm set Nathalie alight.

  They moved into soixante-neuf on the sofa, licking and teasing and fingering each other’s warm cunts, and Nathalie pulled off Anna’s knickers entirely and lifted her buttocks right up, snaking her tongue down her perineum to the dry crinkly entrance that tasted of soap and must, and she licked her there while Anna did the same at her end, then both applied pressure to their clits, two fingers of one hand inside their pussies until their orgasms took over, one by one, and they thrashed and cried and rejoiced and ached that t
his would be the last time in the near future, and possibly even the last time of all.

  A naked and defiant Anna then smeared her fingers, wet with her lover’s juices, on every chair in the room, before falling back in her lover’s arms, and inhaling the soft, sweet scent of her skin.

  Chapter Thirty

  Anna waited at the airport like a woman condemned. Perhaps the plane had been diverted, she imagined. Or her mother had been running late and missed it? Maybe it had even crashed, she mused guiltily, before telling herself off. There would be other passengers on board with a right to live.

  She looked up at the monitor and saw that it had landed. She rehearsed a couple of safe conversations she could start. What did you think of the exhibition at the Tate? Or, Did you see Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new one, it sounds right up your street?

  People began streaming into the arrivals hall. Pale-skinned, in self-consciously summery clothes and wheeling their overly large suitcases, most of the contents of which, Anna reckoned, would never be worn. Middle aged couples, some oldies wearing light raincoats, tired-looking families with sulky children, a few Cypriots being greeted warmly by their loved ones. And in the midst of all of them appeared Anna’s mother, Audrey.

  A diminutive woman with a slender frame, soft silver curls and a well made-up face, wearing a white skirt and blouse with a pale yellow cardigan on top and pushing a trolley carrying one no doubt carefully packed suitcase. She wore smart beige sandals, some bright coral lipstick and arrived in a cloud of Chanel No. 5.

  ‘Anna darling,’ she said with a beaming smile, her arms outstretched. ‘You do look well. Have you put on a bit of weight?’

  ‘Mummy.’ Anna forced herself to smile as she took care of Audrey’s trolley.

  ‘What a packed flight,’ her mother started. ‘And the airport! It was a cattle market.’

  ‘Did you get something to eat?’ Anna asked as they arrived in the car park.