By the time I secure the first taxi in line, Carla is waiting behind the car to load her bags into the trunk. We don’t speak on the short ride to the villa, and I wish she had stayed in town – wish for solitude in my homecoming. After I take her to her room without a word, she knows I don’t want to talk.
In the kitchen, the bottle of wine I had stowed in my bag opens with ease, and I pour two glasses. I take mine and the bottle, and head off. I don’t care if she finds the wine and follows me or goes to bed. The bars locking the doors to the grand veranda take a little more muscle than normal, having not moved in over four months, but finally lift away from their encasements and let me outside. It only takes a moment to untie the tarp from the daybed and remove the captain’s chairs. I open one and set it in my usual spot, lift my feet to the marble table, and look out over the moonlit sea. I am home.
~
The sun is barely over the eastern mountains when I wake. It’s funny how easily I slip into my old routine – don my flimsy robe, start a pot of coffee, and head down the dirt path through the orchard to the beach. I think my morning swim is what I miss most when I’m away. This time of day, the water is so calm and glassy. I drop my robe to the sand and run at the water, my dive propelling me out, into the cove – no suit to slow me down. As my momentum slows and I reach the surface, I turn to glide on my back. At first, I squint against the sun, but then I turn and swim farther out. My heart fills with joy as I swim my laps, stopping occasionally to dive under and look for unsuspecting creatures, sometimes, to do an underwater flip. The salt water burns my eyes and blurs my vision, but swimming with a mask is cumbersome.
On my second dive under, I spy an octopus scurrying under a rock. Natural instinct makes me want to give chase, surprise him in his hideaway and harvest him from the sea, but I don’t want to be bothered with beating and scrubbing him against the rocks to tenderize him. Maybe tomorrow. Now that I know where he lives, his days are numbered. No, today I just want to enjoy my homecoming, even if it includes taking Carla into town.
When my muscles tingle from the exercise, I leave the crisp water behind and rinse away the salt residue under the makeshift shower my father and I built years ago. Hot days have warmed the tank, so I bathe in leisure. I close my eyes and allow my hands to travel over my body, to remember the thrill of the stranger’s touch. It was like a feather, so tenderly did he caress my skin. With one hand, I tweak the nipple he gently sucked, and with the other, I reach for my sex, my clit already throbbing with the memory. I run my finger along my slit, back and forth, until I’m sloppy wet. Remembering how he came at me from behind with his hands and knew exactly how and where to touch has me gasping for air. My pussy seeps lubricating juices – they give me heightened sensation and allow me to manipulate my clit just so, and when I finally spear myself, my g-spot too. There is no wall to lean against as my body becomes weak from my approaching climax, so I widen my stance and brace my foot against the short enclosure of the shower. I am so close, but I need more, and I let one hand take over clit duties so the other can add fingers to pound into my flesh. A fog of pleasure closes around my mind. I briefly open my eyes. There, just behind the rock wall, Carla’s head dips out of sight. I am too far gone at this point. I can almost feel his hips thrusting against me as his cock rips through my tender flesh. Even though she watches, the fantasy of my stranger fucking me brings my orgasm crashing down.
After the very satisfying shower, I lie on another stretch of wall to dry in the sun and give Carla time to make her escape. The sun bakes into my skin, and through closed lids, red spots dance across my vision. I think about Carla’s voyeurism. While it seems I should feel embarrassed to be caught red-handed, so to speak, I don’t really care. Somehow, entering my mid twenties has left me less self conscious, less likely to give a rat’s ass about what anyone thinks. Except my stranger. I wonder what he thinks of me – the way I deserted him, left him wanting more, the way I let him fondle my flesh and my fantasy, but wouldn’t give him my name. Will he think of me affectionately in the years to come? Will he be angry and think me a whore? Will he remember me at all, or will the tryst fade away, like a tan come winter?
What if I had stayed on the ferry and followed him to his island? We could have found a secluded spot and made love until the ship’s horn blew again, I am sure. Days we could have spent as carefree lovers, vacationing in the summer sun, dancing the nights away in a fancy club … fucking each other’s brains out every night, until the sun came up and we could no longer walk straight.
But what if he is meeting friends? What then? Or, maybe he is on a working vacation, and I would be left to my own devices for hours on end, too tired from waiting when he finally arrives back at our room to wake for him. Then I start to wonder, what if he came with me, to my home, and there was no Carla? A smile plays on my lips as I imagine us swimming naked and making love anywhere the mood strikes us. He playfully slaps my bare ass as I cook for him, in the nude. Pretty much everything I imagine us doing, we do in the nude.
The sun is beginning to burn my skin, so I rise and fetch my robe from the sand. I look up and down the beach and see empty bottles and trash left behind by intruders. While I call it my private beach, it really isn’t. The cove is small, and when I am home, I can usually scare off unwanted visitors, but when I’m away I can’t keep them out. Later, I will return with a bag and clean up the litter of the trespassers.
On my way back to the house, I stop in the orchard and pick some Valencia oranges for breakfast. My farmer neighbor tends the trees when I am out of the country, and in return, I let him pick and sell the harvest in town. I will stop by his house later and let him know he can begin bringing eggs and milk again.
Carla is in the shower when I return to the villa. She has put a good dent in the coffee, but several cups remain. I pour one and head to my studio. Though it is dark and damp, but the problem is easily remedied when I open the shutters and windows, and the light Mediterranean breeze blows through the room. I unpack the art supplies I purchased on my trip. My pulse is racing. For months, I’ve waited to get back to work. Sketching and doodling through the long stretches of art shows and gallery openings can never sate my hunger to create. It is a necessary evil, but by the time I get home from every journey, I can barely contain my giddiness to get started. However, it will have to wait.
“So can we go into town now?” Carla asks from the door. I nod. We need supplies, and I know she’ll never handle it on her own.
“Yeah. Give me a few minutes to get ready.” After a deep breath and a quick look around my haven, I follow her out the door. “There are fresh oranges in the kitchen if you want some.”
Part II
Ginny was still pissed at me. Showing up on her doorstep late at night, and a week sooner than planned at first had her squealing with glee, but after some sleep, anger set in.
“I don’t have your room ready, the house is a pit, I was going to whitewash the patio,” she whined the next morning as we sat drinking coffee on said patio, even after I bestowed her with two cartons of American cigarettes and several bottles of maple syrup.
“I can go to a hotel for a week if it’ll make you happy,” I grinned and pulled my shades down to the end of my nose.
“Of course I don’t want you to go to a hotel,” she flicked my arm. “I just don’t understand why you’re here. You said you’d go to Rhodes first, spend a week with Mom and Dad, then come here.”
“By the way, I should probably give them a call and –”
“You didn’t tell them you changed your plans either?”
“No. I told you last night – it was a spur of the moment decision.” I drained my cup, the nasty NesCafe leaving a bitter aftertaste. Anything instant is not coffee, and unless you went to a café, instant is all you would find. Ginny turned her head and peered at me through narrowed eyes. My sister has always had an uncanny ability to read me.
“Just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “for no reason at a
ll, you upend everyone’s plans.”
“You know I don’t like schedules,” I said, and reached over to pluck a dying leaf from her failing geranium plant. I rolled my eyes as soon as I said it.
“Ha! Don’t like schedules my ass. The only reason it’s taken so long to get you over here for a visit is because it would strain your schedule.” She snapped her lighter and lit one of my gifts with a flourish. “You never do anything without a reason, so spill it, Matt.”
The air rushed out of my lungs as she deflated me. I’ll never understand some people’s need to get to the bottom of every situation. As anal as I am about keeping my life on track, Ginny is just as obsessive about knowing everyone’s business. “I met a girl on the boat.”
Instead of the ‘Ah ha!’ I was expecting, Ginny seemed to deflate as well. “You’re here early because of a girl you met on the boat?”
“Did I stutter?” Sibling-crushing – a force of habit. I probably shouldn’t have been so mean to her. Where I expected her to give me some lecture about settling down instead of chasing tail, she seemed pensive. “Don’t worry. I lost her.”
“Lost her how?” she looked up at me, the light back in her eyes.
“I looked all around the port and up and down the waterfront last night, but she disappeared.”
“Did she tell you how long she was staying, or what her plans were?”
“No. Though I did ask her to stay on the boat and come to Rhodes.”
“Ha!”
There it was finally. “Why does it bum you out that I met someone on the boat?”
Ginny gazed down at the flagstone patio and shook her head. “I have a friend…”
“Oh no you don’t.” I couldn’t stay in my seat. Too many times Ginny had done this to me – set me up with some crazy ass friend of hers. It always ended in disaster. I was on my feet, ready to pull my hair out.
“No, really Matt. She’s nice. I know you two would hit it off.” She grasped my hand between her own, pulling me toward her when I wanted to walk – no, run – away. I couldn’t stop my toes from tapping the ground – another force of habit. Ginny sat up straight to face me when I sat back down, my hand still between hers.
“You can’t keep doing this. You know that. Right?”
She shook her head again. “I just want you to be happy, Matt. You’re older than me, and I’ve been married for two years already.”
“Ginny, I am happy. We aren’t all using the same game plan, yeah? If and when I’m ready, I’ll find my own someone.”
Her hands dropped to her sides in defeat. “And what about Miss ‘Oh, I’m a hottie on a boat’?”
The dorky smile came to my lips unbidden. “Who knows? Miss hottie on a boat could be the one.”
Niko stepped from behind the door and fly-curtain, his own cup of instant crap steaming in his hands. “Good morning, my love,” he said, planting a loud kiss on my sister’s forehead.
Ginny reached up and ran her hand down his cheek. “Good morning, agapi mou.”
“Matt,” he tipped his head to me.
“Good morning.”
“Matt has just been telling me about a woman he met on the boat last night.”
“Yes? Is she –” Niko cupped his hands away from his chest to indicate breasts and a well built woman.
“Very,” I nodded.
“Ba’ravo.”
“Why bravo?” Ginny asked. “He shouldn’t be hunting trophies.”
“Ti?”
“Never mind. He should be looking for a good woman. Thinking about starting a family.”
“Matt should do what makes him happy, yes?” He held his hand out to me and I shook it.
“That’s right.”
“So, where is she?”
“He lost her.”
“No.” Niko looked as devastated as I felt.
“I did, but I will find her again. It’s a small town, right?”
“A small town, yes, but overrun with tourists. Good luck,” Ginny said, blushing and grabbing Niko’s hand to stop its progress down the front of her dress. I looked away. They may have been married, but I didn’t need to see my brother-in-law feeling up my sister.
“So, does Miss Hottie have a name?” Ginny asked.
When I looked back, their clasped hands sat atop her shoulder. “I would imagine she does.”
“You don’t know her name?” Ginny’s eyes widened.
I shook my head and ignored her incredulous look. Even I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact I let her get away before I got a name. Baby girl. My heart sped up as the encounter once again flashed through my mind. The taste and feel of her drifted across my senses with the memory, like a ghost. I rose and excused myself before I started my own perverted show – just thinking of her brought my cock to life.
The bathroom, my first impulse, did not appeal. After two sessions last night and again this morning with Mr. Rosy Palm and my imaginary date, I ran the risk of rubbing myself raw, so I headed to the kitchen for another cup of flavored mud, instead. Ginny was about thirty seconds behind me.
“So what should we do today? Do you want to take a bus around the island, or walk up to the monastery? We could hit the beaches if you want.”
I lit the burner under the kettle and waved the match in the air to kill the flame. “No. I don’t need a tour guide. You and Niko have work to do – getting the restaurant ready for the big opening – and I’m here early, so you go about your business. I know this place like the back of my hand.”
“You’d be surprised how much has changed since you were a kid,” she said, dumping a teaspoon of the instant in both our cups. “The town is at least twice as big as it used to be.”
“Then it will be an adventure. Just tell me where the hot spots are so I can track down my hottie.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Matt. Who the hell knows where she could be, or what she could have planned? She might even be in a different village.”
“No, I don’t think so. I have a feeling she’s here, somewhere.”
“Well, you’re just wasting your time if you ask me. She might be jumping to another island today.”
“No. She has that funny way of talking – you know, the way Americans who’ve lived overseas too long enunciate carefully, and don’t use much slang. I don’t know if she’s local, but I don’t think she’s far, and I know she’s not a tourist.”
“Come with me instead, and I’ll introduce you to Jennifer. I’m telling you, Matt,” she smacked the edge of the counter with the spoon. “You’ll really like her.”
“Jennifer? Ginny and Jenny?” I cracked up.
“She doesn’t go by Jenny. It’s Jennifer. You might remember her. She moved here when she was thirteen, about three months before we left that first time.”
Ginny now had my undivided attention. “No way. You mean little Jenny… Shit, I can’t remember her last name. Lived over near Dimitri’s café.”
“You do remember! That’s her. But don’t call her Jenny. She hates that.”
I remembered. She and Ginny hung out sometimes, but mostly she just followed me around. I’d be down at the dock, diving with the other boys, and she’d show up, just to watch. She had a huge crush on me, but Jesus, she was only thirteen, and I was sixteen, nearly a man, or so it seemed. Obnoxious little kid, that’s what she was.
“Thanks, but no.” An icy chill went through me, remembering how strange it was. My girlfriend Anna teased me about her constantly and called her my shadow.
“You are so weird. Just because you’re hanging on to some adolescent prejudice, you refuse to even consider one of the coolest women I know.”
“I only go for the un-cool nerds these days.” The kettle began its low whistle and I turned off the gas. Ginny brought the cups over for me to fill.
“You do not,” she nudged me with her shoulder, moving the cup slightly so that I missed and poured the water on my toes.
“Fuck, Ginny!” I slammed the kettle down and danced arou
nd, trying to shake the scalding torment. “Son of a bitch, that hurt.”
“Shut up and rub some dirt on it,” Ginny said, suddenly channeling our dad.
I waved my fist at her. “Why I oughta…”
She giggled and finished filling our cups. “Want some aloe?”
“Na. I’ll be fine. When it cools down,” I nodded at the cups, “I’ll rub some of that mud on it.”
~
After a couple of days spent combing the waterfront, the beaches, and the shops of the Agora, I set up base camp at the port café. Anyone spending time on the island had to come through the port eventually. While it wasn’t in the center of town, it was definitely the hub. Buses, taxis, boats – they all came and left from the port.
I wasn’t worried she might no longer be on the island, or even be in another town, because I saw her one day in the Agora. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her. Though she was far ahead of me in the market and disappeared almost immediately, the way she moved, her graceful sidestep away from the vegetable man and his donkey, struck my heart, just as she had on the ship. She faded from view under a pink, bougainvillea covered archway. I ran, but couldn’t overtake her. The shops closed for the afternoon before I finally gave up the search.
My second chance nearly came and went the third day at the café because I was so mesmerized by the setting sun. Sunsets are amazing anywhere, but there’s something about the sun setting over the deep blue of the Aegean Sea, casting colors above the horizon you just can’t find outside of that place in time. I had my camera out, trying to capture the moment to savor months from now when inner peace would be elusive. Just when the purples, pinks, and oranges of the sky met in an explosion of color, I pressed down and heard the shutter click, and the friend walked across the frame. I chased her through the lens until my brain caught up with my vision. I lowered my camera and found her again. She walked alone, my girl nowhere to be seen. After the camera was secured in my backpack, I ran after her.
She was nearly to the Agora when she looked around and saw me. I swear she sped up when she did, but my longer legs quickly caught up.
To Kiss You Again Page 2