It's Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake

by Claire Christian

  The others start to share their ideas for their own pleasure quests. The guy with three nose rings and good teeth says he’d cut off all communication with his family because that’d make him feel amazing. The Nordic girl wants to live in a cabin on her own. Adam wants to see all of his favourite musicians. Beau refuses to share and they all give him shit about it, but he doesn’t cave and I start to relax. Rounds of drinks are bought. Pints are drunk. I feel included. Eventually Beau leans in to speak in my ear again. ‘How’s your tattoo?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m fully aware it’s there.’

  ‘That’s normal.’ He’s speaking so close to my ear I can feel his breath on my neck.

  ‘And what do you think of Edinburgh, Noni?’ Adam asks.

  ‘I like that I feel very aware of history and Harry Potter,’ I say, drinking from my beer.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Beau asks.

  ‘I dunno, it feels like an old city, which makes me feel small, or minuscule, comparative to time. I never feel that way at home. And shit is magical here, maybe.’

  They all laugh and Beau says something that I don’t catch because the band starts back up, and then he scoots out of the booth and holds his hand out for me. ‘Come on. Let’s dance.’

  We are all dancing, jumping, laughing at each other’s stupid moves and singing loudly. Adam requests MC Hammer and jumps up on the stage to sing along and we cheer wildly. I feel drunk and light. Happy. Thankful for good conversation and for people who laugh at my jokes, who think I’m a little bit impressive. That something I’m doing is impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that other people have deemed impressive. Safe, sure. Helpful, of course. Impressive? Never.

  ‘I loooooooove this song,’ I announce to the whole room, closing my eyes and rolling my shoulders with the joy of it all. I open my eyes and Beau is standing at the side of the dance floor with another round. I rush over and take a large swig of beer and successfully pour it all over my chin and boobs. He laughs at me.

  ‘Hot, right?’ I say, grabbing a napkin.

  ‘You have no idea.’ He grins wide and I blush a little.

  The song changes and Beau whoops loudly, ‘Tune!’ He puts two hands on my shoulders, pushing me back onto the dance floor, where the others are already thrashing about wildly. Beau wraps one arm around my waist and takes my hand with his other hand and we shimmy from side to side. He spins me out and then back into his chest, singing at the top of his lungs. As he spins me back out a second time a voice very loudly, and very articulately, speaks inside me with such distinct clarity that it kind of overwhelms me. This is the kind of voice that knows things. Things you don’t ignore. That tells you not to walk up that street, or to lock your car doors at the intersection, or to never, ever wear white swimwear. The voice says it again, to make sure that I definitely hear it. This human. Pay attention to this human.

  He pulls at the bun on his head and his shoulder-length hair unravels around his face as he thrashes about, laughing with his friends. My eyes bulge joyously at the sight. I dance eagerly and at the peak of the chorus Beau turns and we sing to each other, laughing, and without a single beat of hesitation I grab his face with both my hands and kiss him. Because it makes sense. Because I want to. Because I think he wants to too. He does. There are bodies pulsing up and down around us, pushing us closer together. The song ends and we don’t stop kissing. The crowd goes nuts, cheering and clapping, and it feels like they’re applauding me and him. His tongue is in my mouth, his hand on my waist, my hands on his neck. We kiss and we kiss and we kiss. Until finally I pull back, smiling wide. He’s smiling too. My cheeks flush and I laugh with my whole body. Beau cheers loudly with the rest of the crowd, which makes me laugh more.

  Pleasure may not be a person. But what if it is a Viking?

  I scan his apartment. It’s neat, with lots of wood, art and plants. It’s on the ground floor in an old tenement building that has been renovated. I look at the framed photos on the dark wooden side table. There are only three: one of him and what I’m presuming are his mum and his grandma, an old wedding photo from the twenties, and one picture of a little boy. I kneel down to look through the impressive record collection underneath the TV when all of a sudden I’m nudged in the side of the face by something wet. It catches me off guard and I fall to my side. A big, black dog stares back at me, and I squeal in absolute delight. His huge eyes look at me, longing for me to pat him. I scratch him behind his ears with both my hands, and he looks deeply satisfied. I get how he feels. If only I could master that look.

  ‘Noni, meet Shaquille. Shaquille, meet Noni,’ the Viking says.

  I fall instantly and desperately in love with Shaquille. ‘This is not a dog. This is a horse.’ The Viking smiles. ‘I miss my dog so bad,’ I tell him.

  ‘Oh no. Where are they staying while you’re here?’

  ‘Well, my ex got him when we split. Carson. He’s the actual opposite of this dog.’

  ‘That’s rough.’

  ‘Tragic. Completely.’ I speak directly to Shaquille. ‘So I might just steal you and hide you in my suitcase and take you home with me, okay? Yeah?’ Home. God. I don’t live here. This isn’t my real life.

  ‘You haven’t even seen his tricks yet.’

  ‘He does tricks?’

  ‘Oi, Shaquille,’ Beau says and Shaquille immediately turns. Beau shapes his fingers like a gun and pretends to fire and Shaquille FALLS TO THE GROUND LIKE HE’S BEEN SHOT. OH MY FREAKING GOODNESS. I cannot withstand the cuteness and I do not care that I am a blathering, dog-slobber-covered, giggly, squealing mess, as I roll around with the giant dog on the floor for a very long time. Finally, I get up and wash my hands in the kitchen, then watch as Beau goes to the fridge and gets out two beers. His shirt lifts as he’s bent over and from what I can tell his entire back is covered in tattoos. He bumps the lids off the bottles on the edge of the bench and hands one to me.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Noni?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good, because I’m a bit confused about something.’

  ‘Okay. I’m worried.’

  He laughs. ‘I fancy you.’

  I stop and stare at him. Just like that. He just says it. And now it sits there in the space between us and my stomach does a loop-de-loop. I smile.

  ‘I fancy you,’ I say.

  ‘You do?’

  I nod in disbelief. How can he not know this? ‘Yes.’

  He closes the gap between us and kisses me softly and sweetly before he pulls back. ‘Cheers,’ he says, holding his bottle up to mine which I clink instantly.

  ‘Wait, what was your question?’

  ‘You just answered my question.’

  ‘You were confused about whether I liked you?’ I look at him all raised eyebrows and disbelief. ‘Have you ever looked in a mirror?’

  He blushes slightly. ‘I don’t know. I thought maybe you were—’ He stops, biting his lip. ‘I thought maybe men weren’t your thing, but then you kissed me and came home with me—’

  ‘Oh.’ I smile, and then I giggle.

  ‘Not that I presume anything is gonna—’

  ‘Is it my haircut?’ I joke.

  His cheeks flush. ‘Fuck! Do I sound like a dickhead?’

  I drink from my bottle. ‘Just so we’re clear, I like men too.’ I look him in the eye.

  ‘Got it,’ he says, holding my gaze. I can tell he’s embarrassed.

  ‘I mean, I like having sex with men,’ I say slowly, staring at him, my breath slowing down as my heart rate quickens. He takes the bottle out of my hand, places it on the bench, grabs my face with both his hands and kisses me again. Really kisses me. I moan loudly, I can’t help it.

  His kisses are passionate, but his hands are gentle as they glide over my body, from my lower back up over my hips, to my shoulders and down my arms. He kisses my neck. He makes frustrated, gruff moans as he tries to get to my skin amid the layers of clothes. Pulling off a cardigan, ripping open my dress and sli
ding it off my shoulders. He pulls the singlet over my head and throws it behind him so quickly that I inhale sharply at the speed of it, and the level of his wanting. He takes the briefest moment to look at my bare chest, and boobs billowing out of my bra, and I’m sure he looks impressed. He wants me. He growls into my neck, kissing me. And I can feel my eyes roll into my own head. I mean, this Viking of a man wants me. Really wants me. He puts two hands on the side of my tights and I push at his chest, breaking our connection, because rational Noni chimes in louder than any other voice. ‘Don’t rip these,’ I say.

  ‘What?’ He tries to come closer again but I hold him back with my hands pressed against his chest.

  ‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to get tights that stay up and fit ladies with bodies like mine?’

  He laughs hard, rolling his head back. ‘No, no I do not.’

  ‘It’s near fucking impossible.’ I push him back slightly so he’s an arm’s length away from me. ‘You stand there.’ But he instantly steps towards me, kissing my mouth. I give over to the kiss, but feel his hands on my hips again and I push him back, smiling.

  ‘Wait there,’ I tease. ‘No touching.’ He stands watching me as I try to do my best to roll down my tights as sexily as I can, but I very quickly realise that no one born into a human body could ever make the action of rolling thick woollen tights off a squidgy body sexy. It’s just not. Fact. Looking at his face, at the very obvious bulge in his trousers, I’d say he doesn’t agree with me at all.

  ‘Quickly,’ he says.

  ‘Why? You in a rush?’ I smile. Faking confidence. Faking sexiness. Faking control. Faking that I’m not completely aware of standing in this kitchen in just my bra and undies while he still has all his clothes on. Some of these feelings do feel real, although I think that’s the beer more than the actual feelings themselves. I start to fold the tights and he groans, taking them out of my hand and placing them gently on the bench.

  He kisses my mouth quickly before moving down my neck. I pull at his shirt to try to even this clothes-to-nakedness playing field, but he spins me around so he is standing behind me, his full body pressing into my body. He kisses down my spine and his hands move up under my bra and over one nipple. I inhale sharply and push back into him. His other hand glides across my décolletage, pushing my head gently to the side so he can kiss my neck to my shoulder and back again. I lean fully into him as his hand moves to the waistband of my knickers, shifting my hips, guiding him where to go. But he knows. His finger lands gently on me and starts moving back and forward and pulses of joy pummel my body as I reach behind me and grab the back of his neck, pulling him as close as possible. My weight drops into my knees and my head moves back, resting on his shoulder as he continues to kiss my neck and move his fingers with such expert precision that I think for a moment this is a fantasy and not actually happening in real life. He exhales breathy wanting into my skin. And I think of the women he’s been with before me, not in a comparative way, but in a deeply, deeply grateful way. Because this kind of teaching, this series of movements on my body right now, is bliss. Whoever you are, ladies of Viking past, I am grateful for you and your role in his life. Because HOOOLLLLYYYYY SSSHHHIIIIIITTTTT.

  As I get closer I grab the edge of the kitchen bench for support. I am so close. Ahh! Ahhhhh! Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Ohhhhhhh. But suddenly we’re nudged forward and he stops and he vanishes, shouting ‘Shaquille!’ I spin around and see that Beau has grabbed Shaquille’s collar and is dragging him back into the lounge room.

  I grab my face, embarrassed. When he comes back into the kitchen he is blushing. ‘I am so sorry,’ he says and I start laughing. I can’t say anything, so I just pick up my beer. ‘Cheers,’ I mutter, taking a swig. He looks at me and I look at him and in one second flat he strides towards me and kisses me keenly, ushering me backwards. We step together, and as we do, I pull his T-shirt up over his head and quickly glance at his chest. It’s covered in tattoos too. Good god.

  We trip and kiss and swiftly peel and tug and throw clothes recklessly, all tongues and panting, hands on bare skin, grabbing, smiling, grinding and trying desperately to be as close as humanly possible. I land sideways on his bed with his whole body above me. I can’t kiss him deep enough. Can’t touch him quick enough. He doesn’t say anything when he reaches to the side drawer, grabs a condom and puts it on. He’s confident. He looks at me and smiles, not awkwardly but presently, sexily, and I lose my mind a little, because I’ve not had sex like this the first time with someone ever. This is intimate sex. This is I know you sex. This is we drank just enough tequila to talk about our secret fantasies and try something new sex. We sync in a way that is easy. Connected. I am more turned on than I’ve felt in a long time. I stop thinking, just writhing and rolling my hips, throwing my head back, not worrying about making the right moves, or being impressive, or angles, or expectations, or belly fat, or even Beau. Just thinking about me. About pleasure. About Ohhhhhhheeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhh Ooooossssssshhhhh Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh Errrrrruuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. My body shudders as rapturous waves collide into my skin and I exhale loudly, falling into his chest. He cups my cheeks with both his hands, pulling my head up as he kisses my forehead, chuckling. I lean my chin on his chest and look at him, smiling wide.

  ‘High-five,’ he says.

  ‘High-five?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s the first thing that came to mind.’ He smirks. ‘It was either that or “shagging is fun”, so I went with the former.’

  I laugh so hard I snort, shifting my weight to lie on my side next to him as he stares at me.

  ‘Noni, that was like—’ he stops.

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod. Then lift my hand in the air for a high-five and he quickly claps my hand with his. Sometimes there aren’t words. Sometimes only your body knows what to do.

  20

  I’m feeling self-conscious and all kinds of hungover. Booze and vulnerability. I lie on the bed, pretending to still be asleep, which I know is dumb because Beau has seen, and touched, almost all the parts of this naked body already. I’m busting to wee. Right, Noni, don’t be a weirdo.

  I pretend to wake up, blinking my eyes like Bambi and stretching luxuriously, feigning complete comfort and pretending that I’m not thinking about exactly how to let my natural beauty shine. Act effortless. Beau is still asleep. I stand up and walk on my tiptoes to the ensuite, like I’m completely oblivious to the gorgeous man waking up and watching my jiggling arse as I go. I drink directly from the tap and give myself a brain freeze. Why is the tap water here so fucking glacial? I clean my teeth with my finger, wash the leftover makeup from my face, and do what I can with the short bits of hair spiking jaggedly all over my head. All the while my insides squirm with flashbacks from the night before. Bits of conversation. The dance-floor kiss. The kitchen bench. Beau saying ‘you’re so fucking gorgeous’ as he kissed me all over. I cover my eyes with my hands and feel the fire in my cheeks.

  I smile and stare at myself in the mirror. Who are you? I stare at my naked body and although it’s not wild praise I throw upon her, I nod in admiration at her efforts and feel some kind of weird pride. Like those sequences in movies where the master is proud of their subject but they can’t let on just how much, and so they fill the space with a wry look and a dumb comment like, You did good, kid. I am totally Mr Miyagi-ing my own body right now. Trying with all my might to not point out her flaws, or the bits she could improve. Go back to bed. Don’t let any of the things you feel on the inside be reflected on the outside. I am the very essence of faking-it-till-I-make-it right now.

  When I open the bathroom door I see that Beau is spooning Shaquille. ‘In bed with someone else already?’ I say and Beau laughs.

  I go to lean my shoulder on the wall next to the bed, crossing my legs one over the other for maximum sexiness, but my centre of balance is askew and I miss the wall completely. I stumble and have to quickly take three hops forward so I don’t fall flat on my face. Look at me not being weird.

  ‘Good morni
ng.’ Beau looks somewhat perplexed by my morning gymnastics. Worrying about that, however, is overridden by the thought of how unbelievably hot he looks lying in the bed.

  ‘Good morning. I’ve got a few things to do this morning so I’m going to—’ I start to say.

  Beau pushes Shaquille off the bed and pats it twice, indicating for me to join him again.

  ‘What things have you got to do?’

  ‘Just things. Important things.’

  ‘I only have one thing to do this morning before I go to work.’ He pats the empty spot next to him again and raises his eyebrows cheekily.

  ‘Is it me?’ I say as I slide under the doona next to him, unable to resist. He nods and a weird half-giggle, half-giddy-squeal exits my mouth. It isn’t even the slightest bit cool, but I don’t care as I grab Beau’s desperately handsome face and kiss him deep.

  ‘Do you know that I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.’ I can hear the smile in his voice. His voice is hotter in the morning. Deeper.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because you’re beautiful.’ His hand is on my hip, and I roll onto my side to face him. His head is cocked to the side, his hair flowing. ‘You were funny. Your accent. And you owned your nerves.’

  ‘I was petrified.’

  ‘I couldn’t tell.’ He pauses. ‘It was torture,’ he says, running his hand down my thigh. ‘Having to touch you, but not being able to touch you.’ I can’t talk. I just watch. ‘First you happily stand there in your bra.’ His fingers slowly trace up my other leg.

  ‘What else was I meant to do?’

  ‘I was not complaining.’ His fingertip traces one of my nipples lightly. ‘When I turned around and you were standing there in that scarf, the bottom of your boobs peeking out, I was like, instantly hard. Thank god for my apron.’

  I titter in disbelief. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. It was sexy as hell.’ I roll forward into his chest, blushing. ‘You’re sexy, Noni.’