My fetish did lead to one embarrassing moment while I was at Uni. I had played tongue hockey at a night club, with an extremely handsome rugby player. One thing led to another and we ended up back at his flat mucking around. I expressed a desire to have my toes sucked and he seemed happy to oblige. Unfortunately I had been wearing cheap, synthetic shoes, and unbeknown to me was suffering from a bad case of foot odour. The luckless fellow worked his way down my body until he got to my feet. He picked one up to start the toe ravishing, stopping with his mouth about an inch from my big toe. ‘I’m sorry,’ he spluttered, ‘I just can’t.’ He collapsed on the bed, so overwhelmed by the smell of my feet and the alcohol he had consumed that he passed out. Anyway enough of that – back to the restaurant.)
I rushed off to the ladies, all hot and bothered, and examined myself in the mirror. My face was flushed and my nipples were sticking out through the material of my blouse. I splashed cold water on my face in an attempt to cool off, but some of it slid down my cleavage, only enhancing the sensual experience. There was nothing to do except grab the bull by the horn and invite Jake home for coffee. Then I would wait until he expressed a desire to take things further and calmly let myself be seduced.
The sexual tension in the car was so thick I had to think calming thoughts to stop myself leaping on him whenever we stopped at a red light. These calming thoughts were totally ruined by the left side of my brain, which is very arty and quite mischievous. One minute I would be deep breathing, picturing waves washing gently over golden sands and then pop, Jake and I would be on those golden sands, naked, with the waves washing gently over our feet. He was deep inside me, thrusting away. Christ, by the time we got home I was in quite a state.
I lasted until the front door was closed before leaping on him, pinning him to the door with my body and my mouth, while I tried feverishly to undo the buttons of his shirt.
‘Here,’ he grunted, buttons flying everywhere as he ripped it off.
The fabric of my blouse was a little softer and I heard fabric tear as he shredded it from my body. All I could think about was getting as close to him as possible. I had to feel naked skin moving against naked skin or I was going to go nuts. And even then it wasn’t enough. I wanted to get under his skin, eat him up, and tear at him with my nails, all the time pulling him closer and closer until I got what I really wanted.
He took me there against the front door. Lifting me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist, he thrust straight inside me. I remember clutching his hair and calling out his name.
I felt weightless pinned against the door while I tried to pull him deeper and even deeper, until suddenly we both came, me bucking backwards against the door as the waves of my orgasm took me higher and higher.
When the overwhelming sensation had finally subsided, I managed to roll my eyes back to the front of my head and open them. He was watching my face, the remnants of pure lust fading from his. I was wearing my bra, undone at the back, and my skirt was up around my waist. His jeans were lying around his ankles, his boxers caught mid-thigh. His hair had been thoroughly ruffled by me running my hands through it and was standing up on top like a rooster. I don’t think the whole episode lasted more than five minutes.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s one to tell the grandchildren.’
And then he kissed me.
The sound of the phone ringing brought me out of my reverie. I could hear my mother’s voice talking to the answering machine. ‘Tara love. Sorry to hear about Cocky, I know how much he meant to you. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Don’t be late.’
My bath had been totally ruined by the memory of Jake. Damn it, I thought as I dried myself off. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I guess for a while I had, in a sick way, enjoyed the moping and crying. It had gotten out of hand though, and been going on too long. Was deciding to move on enough to actually enable you to move on? Was that the catalyst I had been missing: a true desire to say goodbye to depression and self-pity? The letting go of the final tendril of hope? The acknowledgement that there would never ever be anything between Jake and I again?
I certainly hoped so. If it took a Cosmo magazine and ‘Seven Easy Steps of Closure’ to get me over the finish line then by God I was going to do it. The hair, the shopping, the dating, the meaningless and the meaningful sex, I suddenly wanted it all. I went to bed that night feeling positive for the first time in a year.
* * *
I was, as usual, late arriving at my parent’s for lunch the next day. My Mum and Dad – Elizabeth and Albert Babcock, better known as Bet and Bert – retired to Umina Beach about 10 years ago. Umina Beach is 60 kilometres north of Sydney, and is only a 75 minute train ride from town. They have a cute little cottage with a big back yard, and are close enough to the beach to hear the waves and smell the salt.
Dad is a keen gardener and spends most of his days out the back with his impressive shed, listening to sports on the radio. He has created an edible garden around the side of the house where he grows their fruit, vegetables and herbs. When you walk out the back you are overwhelmed by the sight and scent of the different types of flowering bushes he has planted. Beautiful camellias, gardenias and rose bushes are predominant. But he has also used native bushes, different types of bottlebrushes, and every morning and night the wild birds flock to the yard to feed. Fantastic red, green and blue plumed lorikeets, gorgeous galahs, and even white cockatoos have been known to drop in to visit.
Choruses of ‘Happy Birthday’ greeted me as I entered, and three of my eldest nieces welcomed me with a group hug. Lily, who is 4 years older than me, is like a copy of me that someone drew in different colours. We are the same height and build, but while I have brown eyes and hair, she has dark blonde hair and green eyes. I am jealous of the green eyes, but happier to have my olive skin over her strawberry and cream complexion. She just has to think about going outside to get sunburned.
Lil is married to a wonderful man called Martin. They were childhood sweethearts who drifted apart and then ran into each other again at University.
Quite literally.
Lily, late for a class, was running down the library stairs, her arms full of books. She crashed straight into Martin. Books and bags flew everywhere and they ended up in a jumble of arms and legs on the ground. According to Lily they looked into each other’s eyes and, ‘bam, it was like a lightning bolt going straight through me’.
They’ve been together ever since and as I mentioned previously, are expecting their seventh child. Crazy, I know, but they just love children.
All of Lily and Martin’s children are girls. I’m told it has something to do with Martin being a pilot. They don’t seem to have any secret yearnings for a son thankfully, because this one is a girl as well. Like Lily, all of their children are named after flowers. Initially I thought it was a bit poxy, but Martin always refers to them as his bouquet which is quite sweet. In descending order of age we have Rose, 12, Lotus, 11, Tulip, 9, Petunia, 7, Blossom, 5, Camellia 3, and they are calling number 7 Iris. I’d been all for Snapdragon but Lily had haughtily advised me that Snapdragon was not an acceptable name for a child.
‘Hi Mum,’ I said, watching her take a roast lamb out of the oven. My stomach started to grumble in response to the aroma.
‘Hi baby.’ She took her oven mitts off and kissed me on the forehead.
Lily pulled a wrapped present out of her bag and came over to give me a hug.
‘I want to give Aunty Tara her present,’ Rose said.
Lily shrugged her shoulders and handed the present to Rose.
‘No, I want to,’ said Tulip.
‘I want to,’ chipped in Petunia and Blossom.
The girls started to wrestle with my present in an attempt to gain control of it.
‘I hope it’s not breakable,’ I said to Lily, well aware of what was about to happen.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, easing her slightly enlarged body into a chair and settling in for the fight.
Camellia, who was too short to reach and too young to understand what all the fuss was about, started crying and was quickly followed by Blossom – who didn’t have enough strength in her pudgy little hands to hold on.
‘Wahhhhhhh,’ wailed Camellia.
‘Boohoohoo,’ cried Blossom.
Petunia landed a nice shin kick on Lotus who dropped to the ground and was out of the running. Tears welled in her eyes while she rubbed her shin, but she bravely managed to hold them back.
Rose, Tulip and Petunia still had firm grips on the gift. Rose had the advantage of age and height, Tulip wasn’t far behind, but Petunia had – quite by necessity – become a very cunning and dirty fighter. With her spare hand she reached out and tugged on Rose’s dress. Rose was just starting to develop breasts and had unfortunately worn an elastic topped, strapless number, which responded to Petunia’s enthusiastic tugging by turning into a skirt. Rose screamed and ran crying from the rooms with her arms clutched over her chest.
Mum handed me a glass of wine and took a seat for the final round.
Tulip and Petunia circled each other like pro boxers in a ring. Tulip tried a lunge to the left but Petunia moved with her. Petunia tried to land a kick but Tulip, dancing like a ballerina, easily dodged the blow. I took a sip of my wine.
‘This is really good Mum,’ I said, holding the glass up to look at the wine.
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘it’s Giesen.’
We both winced as Tulip risked her hold to pinch Petunia under her right arm. Petunia squealed but responded by tightening her grasp.
‘Where’s Giesen from?’
‘New Zealand – Marlborough region.’
‘Ahh, no wonder I like it so much.’
Just at that moment Petunia faked a look of horror and peered above Tulip’s head.
‘Spider!’ she squawked, very riskily letting go with one hand to point at the ceiling.
This tactic may not normally have worked, but the last time the girls had stayed with their grandparents they had been playing hide and seek in the garden and poor Tulip had ended up with a huge huntsman spider on her head. She had come very close to knocking herself out cold with a shovel.
Tulip let out a huge ‘Aieeeeeee’, and releasing the gift, launched herself sideways through the air into an impressive commando roll. She bounced back onto her feet and starting searching her hair for the spider.
Lily, Mum and I laughed, watching Petunia do her victory dance.
‘Oh yeah, oh yeah,’ she chanted, while waving the present in the air.
Tulip, realising she had been tricked, kicked the carpet and went over to shake hands with Petunia.
‘Nice play,’ she said grudgingly.
Martin and Dad had arrived for the last half of the battle and both applauded Petunia’s efforts. She bowed in their direction and then deposited the present in my lap.
As I was opening it there was a knock at the front door.
‘That’ll be Aunt Esme,’ Mum called out to Dad.
‘Aunt Esme?’ I asked in horror.
Mum looked sheepish. ‘Sorry love,’ she said, ‘I accidentally mentioned your birthday when I was on the phone last week. Of course she insisted she come.’
I sighed, resisting the urge to sulk. Aunt Esme was Mum’s Aunt. A tall, elegant lady with an acrid tongue, she had never gained my vote for favourite relative of the year. She loved Tash of course – but Lil and I? Well I guess she loved us in her own weird little way.
Aunt Esme developed a heart condition a few years ago, which she is not scared to use to her advantage. If something isn’t going her way she’ll clutch her chest, roll her eyes back in her head and start moaning. Two years ago, sick of her demeaning attitude towards us, Lil and I had decided to test our theory that the heart condition was non-existent. Unfortunately we had underestimated her acting skills and her competitive nature. Consequently the whole family spent Christmas Eve at the Gosford Emergency Ward, waiting to hear if we had killed her. We still think it’s all bluff, but as the wily old bat is prepared to go the whole hog to get her way, we have to concede every point.
It was during lunch that the topic I had been dreading was raised.
‘So,’ said Aunt Esme, watching me carefully, ‘Jackie tells me that Natasha and Jake are engaged.’
‘Yes,’ I said, trying to keep the expression on my face neutral, ‘so I’ve heard.’
‘What?’ said Lily in outrage. ‘You’re not even divorced yet.’
‘Well,’ I replied, managing with super human effort to maintain a level voice pitch, ‘in all fairness to Jake, you have to be separated for a year before you can file for divorce. Oh wait,’ I said, ‘it’s been a year now, so I guess I’ll be getting a surprise sometime this week.’ I let out a little laugh, aiming for a casual devil-may-care affect. I sounded instead a little like a chicken being strangled.
‘Well,’ said Mum, ‘the sooner you get him out of your life completely the better. Mind you if he becomes Lord Mayor none of us will be able to get him out of our lives.’
‘Hmmmm,’ I said nonchalantly, as I shoved a huge piece of potato into my mouth followed by an even larger piece of lamb and proceeded to chew noisily. My gross tactic appeared to work and Aunt Esme, who can’t abide noisy eaters, was momentarily distracted.
‘Really Tara,’ she admonished, ‘you’d think you hadn’t eaten for a week.’
I gulped loudly and grabbed my wine. ‘Oh look, I’m empty,’ I said, after I’d skolled the remnants in my glass, ‘anyone else for more?’ Hopping up I proceeded to top up the still full glasses around the table.
‘Jackie tells me the way he proposed was so romantic,’ Aunt Esme continued. ‘You don’t mind me talking about it dear?’ she asked me, fake sympathy fairly oozing from her voice.
I knew she was trying to get a rise out of me, so she could clutch her chest and pretend to swoon. Mum was staring at me with wide eyes – silently willing me to behave myself, so instead of pouring the contents of my wine glass over Aunt Esme’s head – which would have given me a few seconds satisfaction, I replied airily, ‘Of course not. I’m so over him that I couldn’t be more over him.’ Realising how silly that sounded I took another swig from my glass and sat back down. Lily squeezed my knee under the table in sympathy as she continued.
‘He took her horse riding at sunrise along a beach, and there was a table set up overlooking the water. He had organised one of the top chefs from the Hilton to cook breakfast for them right there.’
I picked up a toothpick and began to clean between my teeth, thoroughly examining the end of the pick as I went for any signs of plaque.
‘And then it turned out that her serviette was really a big treasure map and she had to follow the map and find the clues.’
Yawning loudly I stretched my arms above my head.
‘It took her all along the beach until finally she found the place on the map where the treasure was.’ Aunt Esme was really getting into her story.
‘They did that once in TheBold and the Beautiful,’ interrupted Lily, boldly attempting to stall her without causing a myocardial infarction. Aunt Esme looked at her. ‘Ridge was proposing to Taylor, mmm, could have been Brooke – I can’t keep up with them. Anyway he did a treasure hunt on the beach and she found a little chest, and in it was an engagement ring.’
Aunt Esme, looking disappointed that her thunder had been stolen, continued. ‘Well it was kind of like that,’ she concurred, ‘but in the chest was a little heart with Jake’s name on it. And when she picked it up he said, “My heart is in your hands, will you marry me.”‘
She looked positively teary. I, however, had a strong desire to throw up.
‘And then a man appeared with a limousine and whisked them off to Tiffany and Co.’s. They had the whole shop to themselves while she picked out her engagement ring.’
‘That’s like in The Bachelor.’
‘Huh.’ Aunt Esme stopped with her mouth wide open, looking at Lily.
‘In the show The Bachelor when he is choosing between the last two girls he takes each of them to a jewellery store where they pick out an engagement ring, and then the next day when he chooses the winner he proposes with the ring.’
‘Hmmmph. I doubt Jake would watch a show like The Bachelor.’
‘Everyone finished?’ I asked jumping up to start clearing the table.
I wanted to do the dishes to take my mind off Aunt Esme’s story, but as the birthday girl I was forbidden to even enter the kitchen. I took my glass of wine and retired to the garden where there was an extremely comfortable chair. It was only normal, I guess, that I would think about how Jake had proposed to me, comparing and analysing the differences.
We had been dating for two months when I turned 22, and were just starting to reach a comfortable place in our relationship. He had taken me out to dinner and I was a little nervous, never having done any official gift exchange with him before. I was a little panicked thinking, What if I don’t like it? Orwhat if it’s a really functional, useful present? When let’s face it, all we really want is something pretty. Or even worse… What if he doesn’t even get me a present? Then I would have to pretend that it didn’t matter, when I knew deep down I would be devastated. Not that I wanted something big or ludicrously expensive – rather just a token of his affection.
We had just finished dinner when the waiter appeared at the table with a wrapped box, sporting a big bow. It was from Jake and I could tell he had wrapped it himself because the raw ends of the paper hadn’t been folded under.
So I shook it and, looking cheekily at him, said, ‘What is it?’
‘You’re going to have to open it to find out,’ he answered, quite seriously.
I unwrapped it and there was another box inside, also wrapped. And then another and another, like a game of pass the parcel, until finally I was left with a tiny box, and I thought, Oh God he’s bought me a piece of jewellery, I hope it’s not a locket. I start mentally practising my Oh-God-it’s-so-beautiful-I-really-really-love-it face.
The Seven Steps to Closure Page 3