Sweet Convictions (23 page)

I barge
out the front door, trip over the step, instantly hurting my ankle before stopping momentarily still to recover. Already injured and in slight agony, I watch over at the taxi and limply scuttle down the two flights of stairs to greet him. I step outside and wait impatiently on the dark cement pathway that leads up to my building. He’s paying the driver. I still can’t see him properly.
When the hell are these council bastards going to sort the outside lighting?! Oh god what if we don’t click physically? What if his photos are better than the real thing? Worse! What if I’m just better off as a still image? This entire trip could be a waste of his time and money. Shit, fuck, bollocks!
My heart pounds like a bass drum. I’m overcome by fear and even more so by guilt.

I feel as if I’m blindfolded driving a speed boat across the open seas
, almost positively sure I won’t go hurtling into anything in such a vast space but still there’s that niggling doubt that something could appear from nowhere and I’ll crash to my death. Fear of the unknown.

Finally, I see a
shadow of a head briefly appear from the other side of the car.
For fuck sake, turn around and face me.
He shuts his door then opens the back one. His head disappears again as he leans in to collect his bag from the rear seat. I close my eyes in anticipation and when I open them next, he’s standing at the edge of the path looking and smiling in my direction. He’s beautiful. His eyes are glistening and his grin is friendly and enchanting. I can tell he’s really made an effort and just had a new hair cut. Bless him. I melt in his presence and return the smile.

He drops his bags onto the ground and we simul
taneously meet in the middle immediately enfolding ourselves in each other’s arms. He’s well built and towers over me. I feel safe. Butterflies are fluttering frantically inside my belly.

My
heart is triggered into a gallop and feels as if it’s about to burst into flames. In fact, both our hearts are racing so hard they beat into one another’s chests. He promptly pulls back, looks deeply into my eyes and kisses me. I literally have never been kissed with such meaning, such passion and such want before. It’s as if a violently beautiful ballet is being performed in my tummy – theatrical, dazzling, breathtaking, exhilarating, enchanting, complex, dexterous and yet ferociously mellifluous. Everything around us is spinning and yet we’re as still as death. Every second of every moment is absolutely magical. It’s as though we’re the only two people in the universe, never mind just in my street. Everything decelerates and it feels as if we’re moving in slow motion. Right there and then feels like the past, present and future all rolled into one. It’s euphoric and everything becomes so clear.

“
Hi,” I finally manage as I take his hand and lead him upstairs into the flat. We walk straight into the flickering fairy-lit kitchen and he places his bag onto the counter before looking over at me. I watch him as I lean my bum against the dishwasher, arms crossed.

“Puzzle,” I tease
softly.

“Oh shit, really?” he asks scared stiff. His
eyes widen and his face becomes an ashen white, like water mixed into flour.

“Ah
hun I’m only joking. No not at all. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I can be very evil sometimes.”

“Fuck, are you sure?”

“I’m 100% sure. I’m extremely happy with the man standing in front of me. I’m so excited and I’m so sorry. It’s just the wine that makes me become vindictively playful.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he says thankfully
before turning to scrounge around the bottom of his bag pulling out a blue box.

“I’ve brought you a little gift.
Just something small and silly.”

“Really?
You really didn’t have to do that. But oh my god I love surprises!”

I
lift the lid. It’s filled to the brim with soft shredded paper. Purple, my favourite colour.
Ah bless him he remembered.
Inside there’s a cute fluffy teddy bear and a gorgeous poem in the most beautiful handwriting I have ever seen. The writing alone is artistic never mind the poem which equally is beautifully angelic and sentimentally heart-rending. I read it as I hug the teddy.

It kind of feels like floating on a still and calm sea

A soft summer breeze carrying me to complete uncertainty

It’s a voyage of total peace; there is no doubt or apprehension

Drifting me on a plotted course where my soul has found ascension

A fortune teller once told of things that were yet to come

With scepticism and doubt, I thought it superstition

I h
oped but never thought that this premonition would become

An accurate portrayal of pure and true fruition

My heart has been taken over, I feel like it has wings

There is no more hurt or fear, my faith has been restored

My heart has stopped its weeping and now instead it sings

I feel I’ve found my soul mate of whom I completely adore

I thank the heavens above for a creation of such perfection

To have a heart so pure and true through divine intervention

It’s simply now, my heart and should have found the true connection

My faith is back; I value life and know my new direction

I feel the corners of my eyes crinkle and tears
of sentiment and relief that I have finally found someone so unbelievably lovely, unexpectedly sting through and stubbornly begin to stream down my cheek.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
I discreetly dab the moisture away and continue reading.

I should really stop being soppy and writing total mush

I’ve been waiting at the start line and now have that driving push

These aren’t just words to say how much I care on this momentous day

I hope that when you read this I will get to see you smile

I think finally life has dealt me the best cards of the pile

But if you turn out psycho, I would probably run a mile

I never really wanted to be a guest on Jeremy Kyle

I
chuckle softly at the end but the warm salty droplets are still overpowering.

“
Oh my god did you really write this?”

“
Yep,” he smiles proudly yet shyly.

“You made it up and you physically wrote these words onto this piece of paper?
You? Yourself?” I question.

“I promise, it’s all me.
Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? Hun, the poem is so beautiful and I love my new little fluffy. Thank you so much, and sorry for being so stupid with the tears and all. I just wasn’t expecting anything as beautiful as this.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you like it. I was starting to regret that I was being a bit cheesy and overly
brazen.”

“Not at all
, it’s perfect,” I assure him.

“And I
reeeally love my teddy.”

“Well, then
hopefully you’ll like this too.” He pulls out a frame with a picture that he himself has drawn. It’s a portrait of me; well, a caricature.

“Oh my g
od, it’s me. It’s absolutely stunning,” I squeal in a somewhat high octave. He actually went out and bought a frame to bring with him on his trip and then drawn it all just from memory of my photograph whilst on the coach down to me. Bleeding hell, I mean I’ve seen some of his art on the network we share but didn’t realise just how brilliant he really is. His work is exquisite; so precise and imaginative. I’m instantly inspired into wanting to restart my sketches.

“Your enthusiasm is so endearing. I love how you get excitable over small things.”

I bet really he’s thinking
calm down you nut-case.

I thank him and hug him
, his entire body still trembling. We kiss some more. Then I pour him some wine and we make our way into the seductive comfort of the living room. It’s heated with vanilla scented candles disbursed around the room burning and flickering on every surface I could fit them onto – book shelves, floating shelves, the TV unit, tables, window sills. You name it! Actually, on looking at it again, it’s as if we’ve just walked into a Catholic church. I quickly blow out a few. Too warm. Too bright. Far too holy.

I sniff in the
rich smoke as I take in the sweet bouquet of deadened flames, burnt wicks and melted wax.
God, I love that smell. There’s nothing better than the sharp spicy scent of blown out candles. Okay, well maybe the smell of fresh coffee, or newly baked bread, or smoky bacon. Ooh and fried onions. And garlic mushrooms. Oh stop!

My stomach grumbles
; probably a concoction of nerves and an immediate hunger for a crispy bacon and caramelised onion and cranberry sauce sandwich. Toasted.

I snap out of my food
trance and place my drink down on the one and only candle-free area of the coffee table.

“Here, let me move some of these away. I know, I know, I tend to overdo things sometimes. It’s the overexcited
little girl in me who didn’t have much when I was a kid,” I say blushing at how over the top I’ve gone.

“No not at all. It’s
lovely. Thank you for going all out. It’s very much appreciated, honestly.”

“Okay then.”

Three hours of non-stop blabbering, a load of wine and laughing, two wee runs and many avid kisses later, we agree to move into the bedroom. I neutralise the remaining flames before collecting another bottle of Malbec from the kitchen and we make our way into the softly lit room. No candles, just a few twig lights in the corner and some dusky bamboo rattan lights strung across the headboard of the bed.

The cats scatter from the black satin duvet
and I brush away their loose fur before turning on the CD player to the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye. Who wouldn’t like a bit of Marv-romance in this sort of circumstance? First meeting, first sexual encounter. I have a few sexy get-us-in-the-mood tunes lined up, opening with the slightly slower, more romantic, less frantic fuck-me-senseless ones like Feel Like Making Love, Slow Hand, Do That To Me One More Time, All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You. Later they speed up to songs like Pour Some Sugar on Me, then easing into hard rock and metal, Seether’s Fuck Me Like You Hate me to comprising my all time favourite fuck-song Tainted Love, the racier Marilyn Manson version, successively followed by The Dope Show and Sweet Dreams, also Manson style.

He
obviously can’t wait anymore and approaches me from behind as I fiddle with the sound levels on the stereo. Don’t wanna piss off my neighbours. I feel his hard on probing at the top of my thigh as he presses it firmly against me.
Holy ball-bags, it feels the size of a large leg of lamb
! He draws my hair away from my neck and kisses and sucks at the side as my neck hairs stand on edge.

I feel goose bumps
pop up all over my body. I try to steady my legs from caving in. His touch sends shock waves through my entire body. I feel weak and limp yet still somehow extremely energized. I stretch my arms to behind his ass and I run my hands along his firm buttocks as I uncomfortably turn my neck to meet his lips. I squeeze his tensed ass cheeks and I feel him flex his rock hard butt even more. Still facing forward, I manoeuvre my hands to behind my back and place them on his front. With slight initial difficulty I begin to unbuckle his thick leather belt. He moves in to assist but I decline and push his arms to his sides.
I will do this damn it.

Using both hands
I undo each of the four buttons on his jeans with a hard sideward swoop and a yank. I feel his taut erection behind the uncomfortably tight confines of his cotton shorts. I relax my left arm to my side as I twist my right wrist and stroke up and down against his hard on as he groans, still kissing and nipping at my neck.

Briskly and tremendously, he
swivels me around to face him and kisses me forcefully, relentlessly. Our tongues swirling frantically around one another’s mouths.

Our lips still pressed against the other’s
and I inhale deeply to absorb a fusion of cigarette and aftershave. I become drunk on his scent. The influence of sharp blends of citrus and woody spice evokes in me a sense of tranquillity and timeless freedom. Eyes still shut tight and still kissing passionately, I flare my nostrils to take in even more of him as I become lost in his trenchant aroma.

Seconds later, I r
eawaken from my spellbound interlude and I lift his jumper over his head, giving my lips a second’s rest before he comes back in for more. I unbutton his shirt as he pulls mine over my head. I tug the long sleeves down his arms pushing it backwards and let it fall to the floor.
Oh friggin heck, another layer.
A black and white picture of Johnny Cash holding out his middle finger at me pops out and I laugh as I start to hoist up his v-neck.