Love...Under Different Skies

by Nick Spalding

  I’m just debating whether I should man up and dive in when I see Mindy walking toward me carrying a six-pack. She’s wearing a bright red bikini that covers about two square inches of her golden body.

  “Hey, Jamie!”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You okay?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Jamie? You want a beer?”

  “What? Oh, yes please.”

  Mindy hands over the six-pack, and I wrench a tin from the plastic ring. At the same time I subconsciously attempt to suck in my gut, not a particularly comfortable thing to do when you’re full of messy bacon sandwich.

  The letting agency trainee—and part-time supermodel if she has any sense—takes her own tin and lays down on one of the loungers that surround the pool. “This is great. I’m normally out here on my own, so I’m wrapped I’ve got some company.”

  “Won’t your boss mind you doing this while you’re supposed to be working?” I ask, lowering myself slowly onto the sun bed next to her, which isn’t an easy process with all the sucking in of stomach muscles.

  “Nah. They never come down here unless they have to. As long as they think the place is running smoothly, they’re happy. Besides, if the phone goes I can hear it from here anyway.”

  Mindy takes a sip of beer, and I sneak a customary look at her boobs. I can see an awful lot of them as the red bikini she’s got on is one of the tiny ones you’d usually find in your average copy of Playboy.

  Thankfully, all the effort I’m employing to stop my gut from rolling out over my board shorts is preventing any blood from going to my penis. “What about friends? I remember you talked about some guy called Dan.”

  “Things didn’t work out with Dan, and my friends are all working. I wouldn’t want to risk any of the tenants telling my boss I’ve had any of my girls over anyway.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Mindy dazzles me with a bright, open smile. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here, yeah? And you’re a lot cooler than most of my friends.”

  Oh, I see…

  Now I understand why Mindy asked me to join her today. She’s stark-staring insane. That can be the only explanation for her last comment.

  For some reason this revelation makes me feel better. Mindy’s grip on the real world must be tenuous at best, so I figure there’s no point in standing on ceremony. I slowly relax my stomach muscles and let my spare tyre free.

  “What’s your thriller about?” Mindy asks with genuine interest.

  I explain the brief plot details of Max Danger and the Boobatrons to her.

  “Oh wow, that sounds really original,” she says.

  This statement once again confirms my diagnosis of her poor mental state. Such a shame. Here she is, an otherwise incredibly attractive and bubbly girl with her whole life in front of her, and she’s likely to end up in a padded cell before she’s thirty.

  “Thanks,” I reply and take another sip of beer.

  “What’s your wife’s name again? I see her most mornings when she’s going to work.”

  “It’s Laura.”

  “She works a lot of hours, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Too many.”

  “Out all day it looks like.”

  “Yep.”

  “Takes your little girl with her most of the time as well.”

  Boy, for someone who comes across as a bit of an airhead on first inspection, Mindy is an extremely observant girl. “She does.”

  “Leaves you on your own a lot, then?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mindy takes a long draw on her beer, looking at me over the neck of the bottle. “You wanna take a swim, Jamie?”

  Given the fact that I can feel rivulets of sweat running down my back and into my arse crack, I’d say that’s a terrific idea. I nod my head and put my beer on the ground. “Don’t try racing me though. I’m a lot older than you. You’ll hammer me!”

  Mindy stands up slowly. I can’t help but watch how her leg and stomach muscles flex under her tanned skin, and the way her breasts strain at the bikini top when she stands fully upright and takes a long, catlike stretch.

  “You’re not that old, Jamie,” she says and pads softly past me towards the shallow end. “I don’t think you look a day over twenty-five.”

  Mad.

  Absolutely certifiable.

  And possibly blind.

  I follow her wiggling bottom down to the end of the pool and my gut involuntarily sucks itself in again. Mindy walks down the steps into the cool water and with a squeal of delight starts to swim towards the deep end. I get as far as the first step down, with barely my ankles covered, before starting to regret the decision to get wet. If anything, it’s colder at the shallow end than it is over by where I dipped my foot in halfway down. This section of the pool is in the shade, and the glorious mid-afternoon sun hasn’t had a chance to warm it up. But I’ve committed myself now, haven’t I? I’m going to look a right softie if I don’t follow Mindy into the water.

  “Come on, Jamie!” Mindy shouts from down at the deep end.

  I smile, wave, and take a deep breath.

  With far more bravery than I’m used to exerting, I march down the steps and into the water, submerging myself up to the neck.

  “Hawoooofa!” I exclaim as the cold water sends a shock up my spine.

  Well done, Jamie. At least you don’t look like a complete homosexual now.

  In fact, once the initial shock has worn off, the water feels quite pleasant and I start to swim towards Mindy and into the sunny part of the pool.

  “The water’s really good today,” she says as I reach her.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  It’s also doing a good job of hiding my spare tyre and doughy physique as well, which can only be a good thing when in the company of someone as lithe, brown, and annoyingly fit as Mindy.

  She giggles, splashes me, and takes off back towards the shallow end.

  “Come back here!” I shout with a chuckle and go after her.

  No. I had no idea what was really going on at this point, in case you were wondering. I know that this whole situation has a very obvious undercurrent to it, but it wasn’t one I could see at the time, okay?

  Don’t worry, Mindy will make me painfully aware of it very shortly. But first, there’s an agonising cramp to deal with…

  I’m halfway to Mindy, intent on ducking her head under the water when I catch her, when searing, immediate pain rockets down my leg. It seems that the old wives’ tale might not be so inaccurate after all. My right thigh feels like someone’s jabbed a red-hot poker into it.

  “Aaaaargggh!” I scream and grab my leg. This is not the best course of action when still slightly out of your depth in a swimming pool, so my next exclamation of pain is swallowed up by the pool water as my head goes under.

  Great. Now I not only have the cramp from hell, I’m also choking to death. Panic sets in and I start thrashing about, secure in the knowledge I’m about to drown in less than six feet of water. Then I feel Mindy’s breasts against my back and everything isn’t quite so bad after all.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, one arm clamped around my chest.

  “Cramp!”

  “Where?”

  “Right thigh. Really painful.”

  “Okay, hang on. I’ll get you to the shallow end. Just relax, I used to be a surf lifesaver.”

  And I bet all her skills and experience are coming into play now, as she has to manhandle a fully grown man through the treacherous shallow waters of a medium-size swimming pool on a bright, sunny day.

  Good grief. How embarrassing.

  Mindy helps me back up the pool steps and onto dry land. The cramp is so painful I have to lean on her as we make our way back over to the sun beds.

  “Here, lie down and I’ll take a look at it,�
�� Mindy says. With a wince I sit down and stretch myself out on the plastic bed, trying hard not to groan in agony too much.

  Then Mindy kneels next to me and grabs my thigh with both hands. She starts to massage the muscle in an attempt to release the cramp. Initially, I have to throw my head back in pain, body ramrod straight, but as the massage begins to take effect and the cramp dissipates, I start to relax. I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the sun bed.

  “Wow, you’re good at that,” I tell Mindy.

  “Thanks. Dealt with a lot of cramps like this in my time, so I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “I’m very grateful,” I murmur, still with my head back and eyes closed.

  “No worries. I’m just going to move up your leg a bit. It still feels stiff.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Great. The cramp’s almost all gone.”

  “Just a bit higher…” Mindy says and I feel the sun bed move as she lowers her body onto it.

  This girl really is thorough. She’s not going to stop until that cramp is well and truly—Hmmm. I’m pretty sure the cramp doesn’t go quite that far up. I open my eyes and lift my head. The sight that greets me would have been all my Christmases and birthdays rolled into one when I was eighteen.

  Mindy is now straddling me. I can see right between her boobs thanks to the way she’s leaning forward. Her hands are right up my board shorts and more or less in my groin. All at once, I become fully aware of what Mindy’s intentions have been since she knocked on my door this morning.

  My mind plays out the last couple of hours in a split second and comes to the stupendously obvious conclusion that Mindy, the twenty-year-old letting agency trainee, wants a piece of Newman. Specifically, the piece her hands are getting closer and closer to by the moment.

  “Okay if I go a bit higher?” she says in a low whisper.

  I stare at her, truck dumbstruck.

  Jamie? Jamie? This is your conscience.

  Afternoon conscience. How are you?

  Perturbed.

  Why’s that, then?

  Well, Jamie, for some reason you haven’t as yet said no to the delightful Mindy’s proposition.

  I see.

  As your conscience, I must point out that you are married to a rather lovely, intelligent, and beautiful woman with whom you have an equally beautiful daughter.

  This is very true.

  And yet, here we still lie, not telling Mindy to get away from us, as is right and proper in the situation. Can you think of why this is?

  I know why.

  Go away penis, this doesn’t concern you in the slightest.

  Doesn’t concern me? This is all about me, pal. She’s only a couple of inches from wrapping one hand around me and making this afternoon end with a bang.

  I wish both of you would leave me alone.

  I agree. You just lie back and let me do all the heavy lifting.

  No. This is wrong. Tell her so, Jamie!

  Mindy’s speculative look would be enough to turn any man’s bones to water. But then I see the combined faces of my wife and daughter and self-preservation kicks in.

  “Um…I don’t think so, Mindy. Thanks for the offer, though.” I gently pick her hand up and remove it from my thigh.

  Mindy looks decidedly disappointed. I get the feeling that it’s rare for any man to turn down her considerable charms. “You sure?” she says, batting her eyelashes and breathing in deeply to push out those fabulous breasts. This one doesn’t give up without a fight.

  “Yeah. I’m very flattered, but I’ve got a wife I love and—”

  “Okay, no worries.” The look of disappointment is gone and Mindy is all smiles again. “You want another beer?”

  It’s like the last thirty seconds never happened as far as this particular letting agent is concerned.

  “I’d better not. I promised Laura I’d clean the flat before she got home, so I’d better get back upstairs.” As excuses go, I could have picked one that didn’t emasculate me quite as much. I might just as well have said, “I can’t let you give me a hand job because I am my wife’s little bitch. Now unhand me, my good lady, for I have dusting to do!”

  “That’s a real shame, Jamie. I was having a fun time with you.”

  In an instant my mind throws up several different sexual positions I could engage Mindy in during the next couple of hours, and then it compares this experience to vacuuming the bedroom carpet. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

  “Yeah, it was nice to hang out with you, too,” I say. Then, my stupid innate sense of British politeness rears its ugly head. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”

  Why did you say that, you idiot?

  I’m trying to be nice!

  Fuck nice! You’re just leading her on!

  Lead her on baby! Lead her on!

  Shut up!

  Mindy smiles and climbs off me. “I’d like that Jamie…very much.” She sits herself back down on the sun bed next to me and sighs. “I suppose I’d better get back to the office myself. I’m sure I’ve got some work I could be doing.” Mindy then looks up into the glorious blue sky. I try very hard not to look at the gentle curve of her neck as she does so. “It’s just so lovely out here though.” She lies back down and stretches herself out on the sun bed provocatively. “A few more minutes can’t hurt.”

  Not for her maybe, but if I spend any more time in her company I’m likely to explode. I have to leave right now.

  “Well, see you later Mindy,” I say in a strangled voice and start to hurry away.

  “Bye, Jamie,” Mindy replies in a husky voice that is no doubt deliberately targeted at my libido.

  I slam the front door behind me and lean against it, thinking long and hard about what’s just happened. A bloom of intense guilt has flowered in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I don’t know why I feel so remorseful. Nothing happened after all. I did the right thing and put Mindy off the massage way before it had a chance to turn into a happy ending, so why do I still feel so shitty?

  Because you should never have been in that situation in the first place?

  I try my best to ignore my conscience, but there’s every chance it’s right. I should have been a bit more alert to Mindy’s intentions, but who’d have thought someone like that would have been interested in somebody like me?

  A rather disturbing thought then occurs: what if there was a part of me that knew damn well what Mindy was up to and was quite happy to let it happen? If so, what does that say about the state of my relationship with Laura? Before we came to Australia, I’d never so much as looked at another woman, and yet here I am today getting offered a hand job by one after agreeing to take a swim with her and her pneumatic breasts.

  Either I’ve become so socially inept that I can’t detect when a woman is overtly coming on to me, or my marriage has reached such a bad stage that I subconsciously welcome that kind of attention.

  I spend the next ten minutes leaning against the front door playing all these dreadful thoughts in my mind and am moved from the spot only when the doorbell rings and frightens the living shit out of me. I open the door to once again see Mindy the temptress standing there in her bikini with a speculative smile on her face, holding out my iPhone in one hand.

  I forgot to pick the fucking thing up, which she probably thinks was a deliberate ploy on my part to get her up to the apartment. Her sexually charged smile widens.

  “You left your phone by the pool. I thought I’d better return it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You should really be more careful. This is a great phone. I love the camera on it.”

  “Yep. Great camera!”

  Christ, this is excruciating.

  “Anyone would think you wanted me to—”

  “Great camera. Grea
t phone. Thanks for bringing it back. Bye now!” I snatch the phone out of her hand, shut the door in her face, and run into the bedroom to hide myself under the duvet. I’m fairly sure I hear Mindy’s footsteps going back down the stairs almost immediately but decide that discretion is the better part of valour and stay hidden for another twenty minutes.

  I spend the rest of the day suffering from an inexplicable pain in the penis. I’m sure this is entirely deliberate on its part.

  LAURA’S DIARY

  Tuesday, October 6

  Dear Mum,

  Why is it that men never seem to grow up?

  No matter what success they have in life, or how many years of adult experience they’ve had, they can still revert to being little boys at the drop of a hat. This doesn’t happen all the time, of course. If it did, they couldn’t have fought all those wars, built all those cities, and gone to the moon.

  To be fair, acting like a little boy can be endearing in the right circumstances. A fully grown male hunched over a half-finished model airplane with tongue stuck out in intense concentration as he tries to attach the wing to the fuselage is something you can take a great deal of pleasure in.

  Most of the time, though, the reversion back to childhood can be intensely irritating. Men can turn into emotionally unstable, petulant little idiots at the drop of a hat. In my experience of such matters, I’ve come to the conclusion that this tends to happen only when there is a vagina in close proximity to them. Usually mine, but I’m sure any vagina would have much the same effect on their fragile psyches.

  First case in point—my husband. He’s always had his moments in the past (the reaction he had when I told him about Mike when we first started dating springs to mind), but Jamie is one of the more levelheaded men I’ve met in my life.

  That was until we arrived in Australia and I became the main breadwinner of the family. Since then we’ve descended to the stage where I feel like I have to look after two three-year-olds instead of one.

  I’m convinced that things would be very different if I were a man. If Jamie lived with a male friend and he paid most of the bills, my husband probably wouldn’t give two hoots. Oh, he might feel a bit out of sorts, but not to the ridiculous extent I’m faced with each and every day, thanks to the fact that I am the proud owner of a neatly trimmed lady garden.