To Kiss You Again (7 page)

Seeing into the house didn’t work out as I’d hoped, so I fished my camera out of the pack at my feet. With the zoom, I saw her clearly. She seemed happy enough, though maybe a little nervous – but then, she didn’t know I wasn’t coming. For most of the afternoon, she painted, stopping every fifteen minutes or so to look out the window facing the front of the house. Guilt tugged at my conscience, but I reminded myself she was probably nuts, so I was doing the right thing. For once, I was glad for my old fashioned camera. No need to worry about a failed battery. It was kind of funny – the zoom lens and hours spent keeping an eye on her brought on some crazy déjà vu.

Back in the day with Anna, we spent a good deal of time looking for places to make out. One day she told me she found a new spot and gave me directions. We planned to meet there, since we couldn’t be seen together in public. If the wrong person saw us without a chaperone, Anna’s reputation was toast – people would assume the worst.

 It was about an hour before dark when I found the location and climbed the stairs to the old dovecote. Anna waited at the top, bundled tightly in her thin coat. The damp and chilliness of the day kept her from letting me inside the coat or her dress, but I was able to guide her hand into my pants. She left me before the job was done, saying her mother would wonder what kept her, and gave me explicit instructions to wait fifteen minutes before I left, so no one could make a connection between us should they see us on the same street in too short a time.

With time to kill, I peered out one of the small triangular openings of the dovecote. Below, the garden of the fruit and vegetable store’s owner stretched several acres wide. Edging the garden on one side was a block of attached homes – the back sides – no doors, only windows. In the coming darkness, one bright window stood out, open to the cool December breeze. Leaning out at a precarious angle, Jenny blew smoke from a cigarette into the wind. A Nirvana tune drifted along with the smoke, and Jenny chased it with her sweet voice, crying out the lyrics to Smells Like Teen Spirit – the perfect tune to accompany a thirteen year-old sneaking a cigarette outside her window.

I was giddy with excitement, and felt as though I’d hit the mother lode. Finally, I could keep an eye on her, would know when I was safe from her prying eyes. From high atop the dovecote, her room opened to my view, even more so when I returned the next evening with the camera my dad gave me for my birthday. Through the zoom lens, I could see everything she did, though I was careful to turn away if she undressed, or examined her budding form in the mirror.

Watching her now felt a little sinister, after all, I no longer needed to be wary of her following me, but I couldn’t help myself. Was it possible for her memory of me to deteriorate so much that she wouldn’t know me now? I thought of friends I had at thirteen. Would I know them if I saw them today? Time does funny things to our recollection of people, places, and events. If I was honest with myself, her following me didn’t bother at the time, except that it pissed Anna off. It wasn’t until after the kiss at the windmill – until she began to consume my daydreams – that I concluded it was creepy. It was the only way I could get her out of my head. The only way to free myself from her spell.

Just as she had all those years ago, she once again held me spellbound, and like the old days, I imagined myself in the room with her as I watched, talking, laughing…kissing. The bond we formed in my mind came rushing back. My love for Jenny –
baby girl
.

Part VII

The day drags, and I wait. My work helps occupy the time, but now, Eight Leg Aquarium looks as anxious as I feel. Way too much red and orange for a seascape. I remove what I can with the palette knife and a rag wetted with turpentine. In place of my octopus, I now have a large blotch. Perhaps this is not the time to paint, but I must occupy myself somehow. I can’t sit around twiddling my thumbs.

By late afternoon, I decide he must be waiting for evening. I expected him in the morning – lunchtime at the latest, and I wonder why he waits. Something in his manner before we parted makes me uneasy. It’s my own fault for mentioning Anna. I didn’t expect him to react with anything more than a passing interest, but obviously, his tie to her is stronger than any bond between us – real or imagined.

The day is warm, and a swim might clear my head. I have a few hours before evening falls, so I clean my brushes and walk down to the beach. Before I remove my clothes, I peer nervously up the path but there is no sign of him. As I remove my dress, I can’t help but imagine him watching me disrobe. Would he like what saw? My nipples snap to attention in the full sun and tingles run from the stiffened points to my… Fuck! Why does he make me wait?

Sudden modesty makes me wait to touch myself, even in just my own company. The shallow waves slow my pace as I run and dive into the bay, breaking against the tops of my feet, making me sluggish. The rush of cool water envelopes my body and heightens my senses. Once I slow and roll to my back, I reach for the dull ache between my legs. All day it has reminded me that Matt remained in town, refused to come with me and finish what started on the trip. Though I finger myself madly, my own desire mocks me and refuses to give me any satisfaction. My feet meet the sand and I stand, try harder, pinch my nipples, imagine his mouth there, his firm body under my touch.

“Come on, baby,” I growl. “Fuck me.”

Two fingers slide in and out of my channel and my thumb teases my clit, but I remain on a plateau, even when I redouble my efforts from soft and gentle to hard and fast. By the time it begins, my hand is numb and worn out, and the orgasm I chase fizzles out. There is no relief. Stressed and embarrassed by my own fervor, I check the path again. It remains deserted.

I attack an approaching wave, my arms leading the way, and as my head submerges, I think I see movement on the adjacent hill. When I poke my head back through the water and check the landscape, nothing is there but the stone wall, a tethered goat, and her two kids. Not even a bird moves in the quiet inlet. Again, I peer up the path.

Paranoia overtakes me, so I forgo my shower at the beach and opt to bathe at the house. I don my new blue dress and make a light supper. The red wine washes it down nicely. My raw nerves beg me for another glass, but I don’t want to be tipsy when Matt comes. After an hour, I don’t fight them.

A car door slamming on the main road brings my heart to my throat. I nearly skip from the veranda, down the stairs, through the kitchen to the front door. A thin layer of perspiration races to coat my skin and blood floods my cheeks. The thud of disappointment rings in my ears when Carla struts through the door.

“You look surprised to see me.”

I try to look disinterested. “I thought you were Matt.”

“Did he go into town?”

Obviously, she also assumed he would accompany me home. I don’t care to go into the complications, so I shrug. “He should be here soon.”

She passes me and rushes into her room.

“We need to talk,” I tell her. “Mom called today, and wants to know if you’ve made up your mind about Minnesota State. She says you need to answer your phone.”

“I’m not staying,” she calls back. “Tasos is waiting for me. He has his uncle’s car.”

“You need to call her. She has to know if she needs to make dorm arrangements.”

She bounces past me in a fresh set of clothes. “I’m going to Amsterdam with Tasos at the end of the summer,” she says without slowing down.

“Of course you are,” I mutter. “What will you do in Amsterdam? What about money?” I call, but she is gone.

At least she’ll be out of my hair, but I worry. At her age, I had my own offers to run off to more exotic European countries, but logic prevailed. Carla doesn’t have the common sense to stay out of trouble. When it comes, I will likely have to rescue her. My only hope is that Tasos moves on to another target before summer ends. With no marketable skills and no bankroll, will he take her on for anything beyond a summer fling?

Though it is brief, I’m glad for the diversion and the opportunity to ponder her possible missteps, but all too soon, my anxiety returns. What do I really know of Matt? Is he the kind of man to make such promises and then back out? Last night, he begged me for another chance – a worthless chance, by all indications. The trust he asked for is quickly disintegrating, and the pain he promised not to cause fills me as the hours drag by.

At midnight, I give up and walk down to the beach. The night is moonless, and I stumble a few times. Though I haven’t planned to swim, the luminous phosphorescence of the waves lapping the shore change my mind. Leaving my dress and underwear in a heap on the sand, I run at the water, kicking and splashing. My heart is lighter for the childlike fascination and display, and I lose myself to the magical glow of the water droplets. I spin and drag my hand in the water, and I’m surrounded by a glowing wave and neon bluish-green beads of water flying through the air. This phosphorescence occurrence is not common. At least, it’s not common for me. It might be if I visited at night more often.

Too soon, my attention wanes. The experience would be more fun if I had someone to share it with. In my youth, I spent many nights playing in the glowing water with Carla and our parents. Dad would take turns tossing my sister and I from his shoulders. Our squeals of delight would echo off the sounding hills.

In stark loneliness, my dashed hopes come creeping back, but then, I am no longer alone. I turn, and there is Matt, wading toward me. Before I have time to process any thoughts, his hands are on me, pulling me into his arms.

His lips brush across my cheek, to my ear. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. Please forgive me.”

Part VIII

The sight of her playing in the surf was more than I could stand. All day and all night, my head and my heart fought for control until they agreed – there was no way to ignore my feelings, or the past, where I kept those feelings bottled up for so long. I was the crazy one. But, I wouldn’t be the one to warn her away.

I abandoned my hiding spot and ran to her, not bothering to remove my clothes, or even to shed my cell phone and wallet. The decision and need to possess her hit me too unexpectedly. I didn’t offer any explanation. Instead, I showed her my remorse. If possible, I would have swallowed her whole, taken her within my own body, and never let go.

She allowed me to taste her salty-sweet lips –as I teased them with my own, tugging at their softness, my pulse pounded in my ears. When they parted, she inhaled sharply, and I chased the air with my tongue until I found hers. The power of her kiss, her nakedness beneath my touch, the cool water washing around us – all combined and left me light-headed. What kind of fool was I to think I could just let this slip away? Never in my life could I remember feeling so euphoric. No more would I play the fool, so terrified of my own emotions that I created a false reality, obsessed about meaningless details.

I needed her now. When I lifted her and aimed for the beach, the swirling sea made my steps clumsy, and we tumbled into the surf. Jenny’s head splashed into the water. The outline glowed light blue, giving her a halo. It fit. She was my angel.

Her chest heaved, out of breath, so I leaned on my elbow and released her lips. I trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and across her chest. When I cupped her breast, a peaked nipple strained toward me. I pulled it between my lips and attacked it with my tongue. The moan reverberated through her body as I circled the tip and gently suctioned.

It was the stuff of chick-flicks – romantic lovemaking on the beach. Only the moon was missing. My cock strained against the wet material of my shorts and Jenny’s hand as she grasped and stroked me. I ran my fingers over the splash of pubic hair above her pussy, and reached between her legs.

“No –” she cried, pushing against my chest.

It took a moment for my mind to pull out of its lustful haze. She was stopping me? It was something I had considered, but didn’t plan for.

“The sand. It will hurt,” she said.

“Yeah?” My tone relayed my relief.

“Yeah. It gets in places people shouldn’t have sand, and it scratches,” she giggled.

I rose to my knees and stood. She eagerly took my hand and came to a stand in front of me. Never letting go, she pulled me up the beach. “Let’s shower off over here,” she said. “Salt water isn’t much better than sand.”

“You really know how to kill a moment.”

She stopped and pulled me close. Looking into my eyes, she gave me a light kiss. “What I want to do to you will last much longer than a moment. It may take all night, and if we don’t take care, it could end up more painful than pleasurable.”

I followed her to the jury-rigged shower, anticipating a cold blast of water, but instead, a pleasant warm rush rained over us. Her hands trembled against my skin when she pulled at the hem of my shirt and lifted it over my head and off my arms. As she worked the closure of my shorts, I brushed the hair from her face, cupped her chin and kissed her again, soft and slow, allowing the pleasure to spread through every inch of my body. This was more than just a kiss – more than just sex. Taking this step, I knew, would catapult me into something that, until now, I didn’t know was missing in my life.

Her hands slid across my skin as she washed away the salt of the sea, down my chest, around to my ass, and finally, to the erection bouncing between us. It was all I could do not to come at her touch. The feel of her fingertips gliding along my cock brought every nerve to rigid attention, and the hairs of my chest stood on end as her nipples brushed them.

I cupped the globes of her ass and traced their curve until I reached the sweet spot between her legs. From behind, I worked a finger through her slit, brushing over the wet opening, between her inner lips. The low moan from her lips momentarily broke our kiss. Her grip on my cock clenched when I brushed her clit. From our ferry ride, I knew she liked a soft touch, and she responded beautifully. When her knees buckled, I grabbed her around the waist and held her close, but I didn’t slow my onslaught. The walls of her vagina sucked my fingers as I pushed and twisted them inside her. Bracing my forearms across her ass to keep her in place, I attacked her from behind with both hands – one to keep the friction on her clit and one to plunge inside her depths. She could no longer hold the kiss as her breath turned to frantic panting beneath my touch.