Seven Point Eight (27 page)

Max didn’t look as surprised as I expected, maybe he suspected all along as he just nodded and looked thoughtful.

After that, he took me shopping. He bought me a new dress for the party and I took a lot of care over my hair and make up, finding it difficult to decide whether to pin it up or leave it down. I surveyed my reflection in the mirror, feeling unusually self conscious. While I stood there, Max walked up behind me and looked at my reflection with me.

“You look beautiful no matter,” he said, kissing my neck softly. I closed my eyes and savoured the feel of his lips on my skin.

 
“I have a little something for you, to go with the dress,” he continued.

He opened a box and draped a necklace around my neck, while meeting my gaze in the mirror. I couldn’t believe it, the gems looked like diamonds.

“They’re genuine,” he assured me. “Only the best for my Tahra.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I turned round and kissed him sweetly on the lips. He reciprocated with a more lingering kiss, appreciative of my gratitude. To be honest, he was a damn good kisser and in my loneliness, I missed his affection, but Max put a halt to any further proceedings.

“We have to go,” he said. “You don’t want to miss the party, do you?”

Marianne lived close to us, a few blocks away, so we walked the short distance. I felt like a million dollars and Max treated me like a movie star, holding open doors in a chivalrous manner and looking upon me with pride. Marianne lived on the 31
^st
floor, and we shared the lift with some other of her guests.

She had a sumptuous apartment with highly fashionable furniture, blending styles from different eras. I saw a huge brown sofa, lots of large cushions, and what looked like tapestries woven with a repeating leaf motif. It seemed typical of a sixties apartment, with some aspects of both the fifties and forties, evidence of furniture handed down from parents, perhaps.

In the kitchen, we helped ourselves to some punch, devastatingly alcoholic, and picked at the buffet. Music from both the fifties and sixties emanated from twin record players. A friend of Marianne’s took responsibility for selecting the tunes and he seemed very partial to Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, and early Motown. Everyone recognised Max, although few knew me so I felt a bit of an outsider, although they did make me feel welcome.

“So, Max,” said one man with collar length hair, “you’ve brought a date.” He spoke with some incredulity.

Max looked slightly disconcerted by the man’s astonishment.

“This is Tahra,” he said simply, and steered me over towards Marianne.

Her eyes clocked my necklace, then she gave Max a quizzical look.

“Nice rocks,” she said.

We mingled and the conversation varied from updates on family and friends, or something of a more political nature. I eavesdropped one such exchange.

“You know, Kennedy made a blooper in his ‘Ich Bin Ein Berliner’ speech,” one verbose man in his thirties said.

“How come?” asked his date, a pretty woman with blonde hair and big teeth.

“Well,” he began, puffing out his chest, “the indefinite article, and by that I mean the word ‘ein’, is omitted in the German language when speaking of a person’s residence. Although he was trying to show solidarity with
Berlin
’s citizens, they never actually call themselves Berliners. In fact, that term is used for a piece of confectionary, so in actual fact, Kennedy was telling
Berlin
‘I am a jelly-filled doughnut’.”

His companion laughed and I smiled to myself, looking for the next conversation.

Once I became more comfortable with the crowd, I noticed people smoked a lot and sometimes shared cigarettes with a strange smell. Later I realised these were joints. Somebody offered a drag to Max but he simply said ‘not tonight’, looking over at me, wondering what I’d think.

We drank plenty of punch instead, which loosened Max up, and me too. I saw a different, more relaxed side of him and we danced together to some recognisable tunes. He clutched me with a passion I rarely saw, which frightened me in a way because he normally had such a cool demeanour. But was it frightening because I feared giving in to him?

As the night progressed, he spent less time in conversation with friends, not that he ignored them but he regularly re-directed his attention towards me. We engaged in separate conversations to be sociable, discussing current affairs, family or music, but both of us frequently made eye contact across the room. Sometimes, I didn’t even concentrate on the conversation, I gazed at Max in realisation that the inevitable loomed. I was attracted to him.

The feeling in my stomach and between my legs became intensely distracting, and the sexual tension increased throughout the duration of the night. When we danced, he looked into my eyes with an intensity I’d never seen before. Would I be able to retain my virginity as planned and save it for my husband-to-be?

By the time we walked back home, about an hour or so after midnight, I felt the erotic tension in the air. I squeezed his hand and he quickened his pace. When we reached the door of our apartment, I noticed he fumbled a little with the key. Instead of letting me walk into the apartment, he suddenly picked me up.

“Max, what are you doing?”

He carried me into the main bedroom and placed me on the bed. I lay there, not knowing whether to halt the inevitable or to flow with it. I didn’t stop him, despite my principles about sex. There was no doubt in my mind that was what he wanted. Did I want it? Yes, at that point I didn’t want to resist anymore.

He threw off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. I saw that he had a muscular upper body, with a light covering of hair on his chest. I kneeled up on the bed, as I had to touch him and he enjoyed the feeling of my hands on his body, something he’d been denied for so long. We kissed, for a long time it seemed and I felt his hands on my breasts. Why had I stopped him before when it felt this good?

Before long, he began to undress me which didn’t take long. All I had on was a dress, and he slipped over my head. As he surveyed my naked body, I felt both vulnerable and exhilarated. I stretched out on the bed and as Max proceeded to stroke the skin on my stomach, I heard his breathing deepen. I found his touch hard to resist, no man as yet had caressed me like that, or seen me naked.

He kissed my breasts then worked his way down my stomach, and beyond… I’d never felt anything so exquisite. Deep down, I knew I should stop him but it was far too pleasurable. Max demonstrated an entirely different persona. He gave with humility, delivering such a sensuous experience that I soon became overwhelmed by an explosion that surged through my body, followed by a feeling of serenity.

As I lay there, contemplating what had happened, he threw himself on top of me and I felt the expectation and desire in his body. I saw the yearning and hungriness in his eyes and found it irresistible, then I realised what was about to happen. I wasn’t ready to give up my virginity. The orgasm I’d experienced had quietened my own erotic desire and because he’d just given me something incredibly beautiful, I felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…we’re not married.”

Max looked crestfallen.

“What?”

“The time isn’t right,” I said. “I can’t, not yet.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured. “I won’t hurt you.”

He was practically begging me and I felt so selfish, what could I do?

Looking me in the eye, he stroked my cheek.

“Tahra, I’m on fire here, I’ve waited for this for so long.”

What can you say to that? I wanted to please him, to return the pleasure he’d given me, then I realised what I could do.

“Max, do you trust me?”

He looked at me with a puzzled expression, although he nodded. I pushed him onto his back, which he didn’t expect and lay on top of him. Hopeful of physical satisfaction, he tried to gently push me downwards in expectation of reciprocation, but I shook my head. Disappointed, but not giving up, he took hold of my hand and moved it down in the hope of a little relief.

“I don’t need to touch you to make you feel the way I just did,” I said.

He didn’t say anything, but decided to let whatever was going to happen, occur.

I focused my gaze on his and dug deep into my memories. As a child, I could always affect the emotions of others, for better or worse. I knew I could find a way to pleasure Max in the same way. It’s hard to explain how I do it but I always visualise intense feelings as flames, flames that have their origin in the belly or at the base of the spine. I visualised this fire rising, curling up his spine and sending out intense waves of pleasure throughout his nervous system. Max seemed to respond, his breathing deepened and as the process progressed, he looked at me with an odd expression on his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Awakening the fire within,” I answered.

He looked puzzled, afraid and in retrospect, I don’t blame him for I don’t think he’d ever experienced such an intensity of emotion before, or even experienced emotion at all. Max clutched me tightly and he stayed with me all the way, frequently making eye contact. I intensified the fire within him and he began to tremble slightly, then his body stiffened and he cried out in a climax. We experienced a quiet moment when he looked into my eyes, fully connecting with me for a minute and then he pulled away, walking over to the window. For what seemed like a long time, he just stared out of the window and didn’t say a word.

***

Standing naked in front of the window, Max didn’t care if anyone saw him from the opposite apartment. He wondered what the fuck had just happened.
 
He’d tasted her for the first time and pleasured her, and then she’d changed her mind at the last minute. Only half an hour before, he’d been certain he’d finally win her over. Was she doing this on purpose? Did she know the extent to which she was fucking around with his head?

The climax he’d just shared with her both disturbed and blew his mind. It was like having the most intense sexual experience you could think of, without touching anyone. The arousal he’d felt in his groin had been intensified and dragged up through his body, into his head and his very soul. It had taken him from a level of sexual frustration to the heights of ecstasy, with nothing physical actually occurring. He’d begun confused and vulnerable but felt alive, satisfied in a completely new yet strangely familiar way. It was better than any drug. She was better than any drug.

For someone who avoided emotional involvement, he needed more of her magic. Was this a good thing or was he unwittingly opening Pandora’s Box? Tahra could teach him to feel again. She could also destroy him; there was the dilemma, the dichotomy. Now he knew he needed to hold onto her, she was too unique.

Tahra got out of bed and walked over to him, pressing her naked body against his and wrapping her arms around him.

“Come back to bed,” she said.

Silently, they stood like that for a few minutes and neither of them spoke. In the end, he let her take his hand and lead him back to bed. He lay on his back and she rested her head on his chest, unable to fall asleep, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. It was a truly perfect moment and nothing else mattered. Before too long, he spoke.

“Tahra, you know what I’m thinking?”

She didn’t answer, but rose up onto one elbow and looked at him, wondering what he was going to say.