by Poppet
"Anyone home? You haven't answered me."
Dragging my eyes back up his torso to his face, I catch his worried expression. Forcing myself to swallow, I hope my voice doesn't come out as a squeak. "Affirmative." I joke, "Work out much?"
He's in a serious mood. "No, not much."
Liar!
"Oh really? You just look like you fell off your cloud, and you say not much?"
Aw! How cute is he? He's going a deep magenta in the bottom half of his cheeks, getting all shy and trying to peek at me behind eyelashes.
"If you call rock climbing working out, then yes, whenever I can."
Yes I've cuddled him, and yes he felt lean and toned, but nothing prepared me for this. I feel unworthy. How can he feel threatened by the goon squad when he looks like this? I don't understand men. If anyone has a reason to be vain and prone to flashing muscles, it should be Richard.
Silently I'm thanking my angels for giving me a man who could vaporise a volcano, but is so shy and unaware of it that he'd never use it as bait. My eyes are melting. He just removed his jeans. What is his definition of cuddling exactly? And thank you very much, but would you please observe specimen A and notice the fabulous CK underwear. Holy cow. He really does rock climb. I have never seen a man with legs that defined and perfectly in proportion. He should be in a museum. They need to put him in Madame Taussards as the most perfect male specimen in living history.
"You're making me feel self-conscious."
How do you think I feel? I'm wearing nothing more than a dress, sandals and knickers. When I take my clothes off, it's going to be – right – here it is. That will teach me to wear a strappy sun-dress that's tight enough to get away with not wearing a bra.
"Sorry." I drop my eyes, not knowing what the hell's really going on.
Then he flicks back the duvet, climbs in with his CK's on, and opens the duvet like a cave door, "Come on then."
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath for the grand opening moment. Here goes nothing.
I step out of my shoes, simultaneously pulling off my dress, and climb between his arms, laying down, hoping that was fast enough for me not to feel examined. I was hoping for romantic. A candlelit evening with seduction on the cards, working up to this moment. I wonder when he last had a girlfriend? Maybe he's just seriously out of practice.
I've been really good. I've been used to being led around by my collar for so long that I've pretty much lost the art of making the first move. Richard is so unlike everyone else I know. He hasn't been after sex. He really meant it when he said he wanted to get to know me first. Thus, despite finding him adorable and infinitely attractive, I've waited for this moment to arrive on his terms. Yep, and all we're doing is talking, and talking, and talking. It's very hard to think straight with a virtually naked god lying pressed up against me, and helloooo, he's turned on, I can feel it, but he's still not making a move.
When I eventually notice the time is three o'clock in the morning, I take the plunge.
"What are we doing?"
"Talking."
You don't say.
"Were you planning on having sex with me tonight or are we just cuddling?"
Silence.
I wait. Staring at a moonlit face next to me from the gap left in the curtain.
"Do you want to?"
DO I WANT TO? Understatement of the century. "Yes."
He really isn't confident, is he? Oh what the hell, here goes nothing, again. Rolling, I pull off my knickers, before excavating his body out of his. And like a porn star in her big moment I take the lead by sitting on top of him, staring down at the crevices created by the shadows over white-washed moonbeam skin. He's so warm and smooth. Tracing his chest with my fingertips I could have been transported to faery, the king of the Sidhe so ethereal and out of my league, laying at my mercy. Holy cow, I can't believe I got this lucky.
… Pause...
…Play …
Did I mention, "Holy cow, I can't believe I got this lucky?" How many times can I say that before you want to behead me? It's not possible, but I've found perfection. He's sweet, thoughtful, a gentleman, and a sex god! I've known him for exactly nine weeks and I want to marry him! I'd be brain dead to let this one get away.
He's so humble, completely contradicting the package he's in and his talent. He's a closet artist. His art is phenomenal. He also has a hidden passion, he's an adrenalin junkie. He sky-dives, rock climbs up sheer cliffs, skateboards down steep roads, and does the whole mountain biking thing with his two man-friends.
He cooks, he's got great dress sense; honestly, I can't wrap my head around this either. He's so opposite to everything I've known. On the bright side, if I hadn't met a jerk like Gary, I wouldn't appreciate Richard the way I do. He holds my hand in public, he kisses me in public too, opens doors, pulls out chairs, walks arm in arm, and he dances with me! I've bagged the only living Woman Whisperer. Who, by the way, tells me all the time how he can't believe how lucky he is, and that I'm the most gorgeous woman he's ever laid eyes on. Feel free to slap me if I'm wearing my silly-stupid grin again.
He's letting me watch him climb a cliff today. Just my delicious luck, (I now live on the wheel of fortune. Location, location, location!). Richard also owns a motorbike. I miss the motorbike experience I had with Gary, so I'm super-chuffed that Mr Smooshy has one too. His reason though is practical, unlike Gary's which was purely poser inspired. Richard says it reaches the obscure locations a lot easier than a car, which is essential when rock climbing. I now have my own helmet and biker's jacket. I'm living in bliss. My life is so awesome, I'm finally happy to be alive. I have a decent pay-cheque, I live with a guy who could snap Gary in half if he ever showed up, and I'm dating the best secret on planet Earth.
Four hours later, after watching him climb up the mountain, I'm now watching him abseil down it. And I now understand how he's so lean and carved. He manages to pull his entire body up with three fingers and two toes. Those muscles were straining; all of them! At times he lifts his body sideways the way a gymnast can, flexing his back and stomach, gripping with fingertips while he locates a new foot hold, over there next to his shoulder! If you have never witnessed such a sight you can't imagine how intoxicating it is. The next best kept secret in Cape Town, rock climbers, er, rock.
He's also balanced mentally. He likes quiet time. He's not brash, and he doesn't need outside validation encouraging him the way my ex did. He loves rock climbing because it's solitary, just him and nature. And I'm a living victim of heart-punch since that first succulent kiss.
You know that overpowering sensation when your heart feels like it's going to burst with love, and your chest aches? Every breath feels tight and my chest cavity feels too small, as if my heart has turned into a rapidly multiplying amoeba and is now pressing against my sternum, making it warp. The pressure is building, and I swear at any moment I'm going to have a heart attack. My breath is constantly shallow, hormones leaping like fleas, and every heartbeat throbs – yes THROBS!
Gahdoof, gahdoof, gahdoof – it's so powerful it steals my breath. Feeling dizzy as if it's cutting off the oxygen to my brain – the veins in my neck are pumping gallons a second. I can feel them taut and uncomfortable and stretching out my skin – whoosh, the blood hurtles through with more throbbing. And yet despite being in the process of death by heart-throb – my body feels light – my feet aren't touching the ground – I'm half human and half spectre – gliding over the earth with my chest hurting like someone bashed it with a Samurai punch.
It's so bruised my lungs can't even function normally and I'm forced to keep my lips parted just to draw enough breath to stay alive in this insane existence of encompassing love.
And when I'm not with him, my fingers itch to email – to dial – to text – to drive – to hold. I am overcome with a euphoric heartache, which I'm calling heart-punch. And that hottie, glistening from exercise, did this to me.
I think it's official, I am finally drowning in love. Not lust,
(okay, maybe both,) but this doesn't come anywhere near close to anything I thought was love before. This is quantum compared to a one dimensional ball of dung.
Hmmmm! See that? The first thing he does is smile his sensitive man smile at me, happy eyes caressing me, and he kisses me hello before saying a word. And that magic hand is trailing down my spine, which if this continues to be a daily occurrence is going to make me knocked kneed, it's the only way I can remain standing.
Then he kisses my neck, giving me a squeeze before saying, "Let's go home, shower, and then I'll take you out for a late lunch."
Thank you God!
Oh! I also finally discovered why he called me Marmalade. Because it was his dream to spread me. Men!
Chapter 43
Love
Whizzing up the road to Zeke's I feel lazy and happy, holding on to Mr Smooshy on the back of his bike. I wonder if Zeke's home? Crap! We just went past Selene's, and Zeke was filling the doorway leering at Gary! Gary looks mightily pissed off and he stops shouting just long enough to watch us go past. Casually I turn my head away, grateful that my hair's tied up and he can't see my face behind the visor. My heart just bottomed out of me, my insides are quivering with trepidation.
I manage to say goodbye to Richard, have a decent kiss, and make plans for later tonight. I watch him turn the bike, racing off back down the road. Ducking inside, I snatch off the jacket with shaking hands, lock the house, and sneak as fast as humanly possible to Selene's, down the back way. There's a narrow gap between the houses opposite her place where I should be able to hide to see what the hell is going on.
Running, I rush to the alley, whisper down it, and hide behind a roller-bin.
"Fuck you!"
I missed it all. He's just slammed his car door, nearly blowing the head when he forces it to screech to life, choking the gears into reverse to turn around. Changing his mind, he guns away up the road. I wait, to see if he'll come back down it.
He does, and I cling to the wall in the shadow of the bin, with fear throttling the strength out of me. My breath is coming in shaky gasps. From up here, you can see the car driving away. Finally satisfied that I'm safe I force my wobbly legs to Selene's door.
I am so grateful for Zeke now. He is just the right kind of man for Gary the coward to not want to confront. Zeke is fearless. I've seen him in confrontations and he's not afraid of anyone.
After knocking, Zeke opens the door.
"Hey babes. Everything okay?" he says.
He seems calm and normal, pulling me through the doorway with an arm around my shoulders.
"Yeah …" I nod.
Selene pops a worried head out from the kitchen, looking pale. "Hey Stef."
"Hey. Um, I just saw Gary here. What's going on?"
Zeke answers. "He was looking for you."
I feel like I just got fired. The doom I'm feeling is overwhelming. "Why?"
Selene answers this time. "Don't know. But he was insistent we tell him where you live."
I'm coming over faint. Using a last spurt of strength I get myself to a kitchen chair and sag into it, “What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. I told him to fuck off," Zeke says.
I feel like crying. Why won't he just leave me alone? I'm happy now. I have someone normal who loves me and who likes my friends.
An odd thought pops back into my head. He once threatened me via Neville, just because I was dating. Who told him? Is he going to follow through on that threat now and have me taken out?
Zeke rubs my back just as Selene pushes a Brutal Fruit at me. He tells me, "Don't worry. We won't let him near you."
And I believe him too. Can I just say, I'm loving a life full of strong and sensitive men. I don't want to lose this.
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… Play …
I'm not going to bore you with all of the details. A lot happens to me. I go sky-diving, abseiling and get promoted. Richard is a go-slow man. He doesn't rush things.
I love him, but we're staying independent for as long as we can handle not living together. He knows the history and wants me to maintain my independence.
At one point he moved away and I fell apart. It was Marty all over again. But he came back, and proposed! Saying he didn't want to be anywhere where I wasn't. But I'll save that all for the next time we hook up for a good gossip.
I want to tell you the rest of the Gary story. Because, after all, we started with him, we should end with him.
Six months after the break-up, that fucking bastard phones me.
"Stefanie?"
My hand goes weak and my legs turn to jelly. "Yes?"
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"I never stop thinking about you."
"Go to hell, asshole."
"Aw come on baby, you can't still be angry?"
I answer with silence. He's lucky I'm at work or I'd be swearing at him like a gangster bitch off to prison.
"Can I buy you a drink? I'd love to see you."
Hmmm. Fascinating. "I don't think so."
"Stef, come on. For old time's sake."
Heavy sigh. Yeah, what the hell. Let him see the new Stef. Eat your arm off Hannibal. "Sure, okay ."
"RAD! Excellent. Friday good for you?"
"Fine."
"Where would you like to meet?"
"Under a Full Moon."
"That place?"
"Yes Gary, that place." I add, "Take it or leave it."
"I'll see you there at eight. I'm looking forward to seeing you babe."
"I'm not."
And I hang up. Shaking.
… Pause ...
… Play …
On Friday I walk into the den of iniquity with my heart in my throat. I have a nose ring now too. Selene, mad thing, had her tongue and her nipples pierced, and the best I could do was a nose-ring. Call me a wimp.
I'm dressed to go out because Richard is waiting across the road with Tom, Selene and Zeke, and we're going for dinner after I say hello to my ex-master. I scan the lounges with a sharp eye. He sees me as I spy him.
I walk purposefully toward him. He stands up and gives me a hug. "Good to see you, Woman."
God, he smells divine!
My hair is very long now. I can almost sit on it. I know I turned heads when I sauntered toward him in my long peasant skirt, white tank top, and raw linen waistcoat. He looks damn fine. But then this is Gary we're talking about. He will always look sinfully fabulous.
He's smiling, his blue eyes riveted to mine, "Baby, I miss you."
I sit down and scan for a waitress. If I'm going to do this I need a really strong drink.
To make conversation he says, "What happened to your tits?"
I feel like he just dumped me in a Norwegian ice pool. "I beg your pardon?"
He looks disconcerted, "Your boobs. They're gone."
"It wasn't nice seeing you again, Gary."
I stand and turn swiftly on my heel and start stalking away. He comes rushing after me. "Woman!"
This guy doesn't learn, does he? Despite his sexiness in blue jeans, thinsulate Caterpillars, and a black leather biker's jacket, he can't get away with this shit another day. I have a fucking name.
He catches me on the pavement outside. "Wait! I'm sorry! It was just such a shock. You always had such great tits."
I force a sarcastic smile, "Well you don't have to look at them, so what's the big deal?"
I wasn't even aware that they'd shrunk to be honest. How nice of him to point it out to me.
"Don't go. Come on. You just got here."
"We have nothing to say, Gary. You wanted to see me. Now you've seen me. I'm going out now, with my boyfriend and friends."
Yes, imagine that. I have friends. Miss Fucked-Up managed to procure friendship and acceptance.
"Stef, just wait!"
He grabs my arm again and I seriously flirt with the idea of playing a game of conkers with his nuts.
"If you need anything, ever, no matter what time of d
ay or night, I want you to know, I'd like to be that guy for you."
Oh puke! Oh how sweet. Where the hell were you when I needed you?
I'm feeling so insulted and repulsed. "Thanks. I've got to go." I scour him coldly, "Take care."
And I bolt. It must have looked sinful from his side of the street when both Tom and Richard stepped out of the coffee shop to walk with their arms around me back to where Zeke waited with Selene. He can think whatever the hell he wants. His opinion no longer matters.
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… Play …
It doesn't take long for Gary Fuchs to make me loathe him even further. A couple of days later I get a phone call at work.
"Stefanie speaking, how may I assist you?"
"We need to go for a drive baby."
What? "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, don't play coy. You and me, in the car, now. Hey, what do you say?"
"Who is this?"
"Stef, it's Neville. I've been fantasising about being alone in my car with you."
Gag. "Why?"
"Aw, don't pretend you don't know."
I don't know. What the hell is he talking about? "Neville, assume I'm ignorant and explain yourself."
"Gary told us what you used to do in the car. OH BABY."
The blood just drains out of my head and I get vertigo.
"This conversation is over."
Shaking, I wobble out of my chair, clutching a box of smokes. Going to get air and nicotine outside. Tears threaten to burn my eyes. He just hurt me again. Now he's bragging? It's been so long that I'd forgotten completely about that.
… Pause ...