Come Back to Me

by Scarlett Rush

  You said that there was no part of me that you didn’t love and you could never even think to blame me for my down days. Nature gave them to me, you said, just as nature gave me my smile, my infectious laugh and mischievous spirit on my good days. Words like this would bring tears of joy to my eyes and I would hold you tight and think that what we had might be impregnable after all. Those girls though, they had other ideas. They couldn’t have made it more obvious. That Kensa - she used to fall over you pissed and then try to grab a kiss or a handful of your nuts as you helped her up. And Megan, with her bright red lips and that big bum of hers squeezed into them tight jeans, always wiggling it in your direction, and you liked my bum and hers is bigger than mine, and she wore them lacy G-strings that came on show whenever she leant forward. Jacqui was probably the worst of the lot, always clinging onto you and saying those saucy things to make you blush, and because she was my best friend she had every reason to be near you. I saw that she had a hold.

  It was simply inevitable, that’s what I used to think. I could spend hours awake on those nights you weren’t with me, wondering how I might surrender some ground and yet still come out of it with the better part of you. And those girls used to make out that they knew you so well, that there was a whole history there that I didn’t know the half of. But what they didn’t know was what it was like to have you get up and leave, going off into the night to God knows where. They didn’t know what it was to be all alone in the darkness with the wind blowing wild outside and all those doubts and jealousies creeping in.

  You were seen as the Big Fish round here anyway, and being on the lifeboats just made you like a pop star, like you had just won X Factor thanks to their votes - and it only got worse when your dad turned fifty and decided to call it a day, and you got the call to step up from reservist to full crew member. Those girls don’t know what it was to have you distracted and putting our closeness on standby, ready to drop me at a moment’s notice, even on those precious times when we got to be alone at night.

  They also don’t realise how it tied you to this place. There was me with over an hour’s round trip Monday to Friday - worse in the busy season - going inland to work just to get enough to pay the loan for the car and the petrol that I needed to get to work. There was still the student loan hanging over me, not to mention the loan for your boat. When the fishing trips weren’t paying their way you’d do work back at the boatyard, or up at Sweeney’s place, or even window cleaning with all them bored housewives waiting for your call - anything that was flexible and let you drop everything at a moment’s notice; nothing that allowed us something solid and the chance to save towards getting a place of our own.

  We’d talked about engagements and so forth but you wanted to do it right. You wanted to have a place for us and stability first, but this wasn’t going to happen if you were tied to the harbour and the lifeboats. Being on the crew could seem like the perfect excuse: adoration and the chance to stay fancy free. If one of them girls did succeed in switching your inner polarity then you could be off, heading for the exit door with nothing to stop your hasty tracks other than the shards of my shattered heart.

  ‘Come on now, Miss Miniver,’ you used to say to me with mock scorn if ever I talked bad about you being on the crew, ‘you know someone has to do it.’

  Like there wasn’t dozens of them queuing up to be a wannabe hero and get themselves a shot at Megan’s curvy backside.

  ‘It’s you being on the crew that’s going to keep me a Miniver,’ I said back, ‘and maybe I have hopes of taking someone else’s name.’

  You managed to make light of this with your usual ease.

  ‘Ah, you’ll still always be my Minnie,’ you said, but it was a lie; that “always” is already over.

  ‘What is it you can see in this place that I can’t?’ I asked you another time. ‘Is it all them rude day-trippers, or the gulls poo-bombing you day on day, or those Westerlies that blow your face round the back of your head every time you step out the front door?’

  ‘I like the gulls,’ you replied, pulling me in and kissing my hair. ‘They might be loud but their cry is like a laugh of joy. When you’ve been out and you approach this place from the sea it’s like nothing else. The gulls are all slow gliding and cackling away. You aim for the gap in the harbour wall and beyond you see the flat calm turning to beautiful turquoise and it’s all brightness and colour, enough to make any tired heart soar. You’ve got the sun on the water, the boats on the beach and the chains and ropes and buoys there to moor them. There’s the tractor to pull them ashore and the stacks of lobster pots next to it. You’ve got the hills up there on both sides, either smooth green or golden and swaying with corn, and the road running away from you, right from the beach, right beside the stream. The cottages go all the way up the narrow slope, all huddled and higgledy-piggledy and it’s like the whole place was once washed ashore. When you’re coming home after being out there, I promise you, there is nowhere on this earth that could make you feel safer and more welcome.’

  I even let you persuade me to see for myself, even though I’m allergic to boats of any kind.

  ‘What’s the best cure for sea-sickness?’ I said.

  ‘Dry land,’ you replied, and chugged us out onto the open water. Of course I loved it out there - who couldn’t? The swell was light and kind of hypnotic. The surface was sparkling and the sky was clear blue. It almost compelled you to throw caution to the wind and your clothes to the floor and leap overboard for a spot of skinny-dipping - except that, as inviting as it so often looks, the sea is still heart-stop cold and full of slimy fishes. There was a sense of emptiness and freedom, of optimism that made the happiness swell to bursting inside. You dropped anchor and then threw out a single line: a length of barbs and glistening silver protrusions. A minute later you were hauling it in and there were six fish already hooked. I thought it was some kind of magic trick but you, modest as always, said that any idiot could do it, if they knew the right spot.

  You lit the two disposable barbecues and showed me how to prepare our catch.

  ‘Aye, aye, Missus,’ you said with a big smile, ‘you gut them mackerel most deftly.’

  Most deftly - who else of your peers would say that? It’s that jokey way you spoke that had the blood shooting round my veins and had my belly fluttering. It was gentle when so much around here is so coarse. It was sunny and sort of sing-song, like you spoke not in words but in lyrics. Which other of those girls could see the beauty in it? Not thicko Megan for sure - sexy arse or otherwise. Jacqui did, obviously, what with her studying English Lit and all - as much good as that’s doing her now. It was almost like poetry - a mild form, perhaps, but proof nevertheless that anything that came out of your mouth was inherently interesting, despite your claims that I robbed your head of any sense and tied your tongue. I never saw that. Sometimes I thought you just said it to convince me I had some hold on you after all, though it could never be anything like the one you had over me.

  ‘You need to get the barbecue really hot,’ you said, whacking our lunch on the grill, ‘and don’t move the fish about too soon or the skin will stick.’

  You served it with crusty bread and butter, along with a tomato and chilli salsa that you had prepared earlier. It was every bit as fresh and delicious as you had proclaimed it would be. You reckoned you could eat it every day with the same enthusiasm because some things were just too gorgeous to ever tire of. I spotted the roundabout compliment and gave you a smile. You said next time you would do it with a gooseberry sauce, which might be an even better accompaniment than the salsa. The word “gooseberry” had me thinking of Jacqui and I got that instant belly twinge and pulse-race of gathering panic.

  ‘Just as well it’s delicious because it’s going to be repeating on me all day,’ I remarked. You didn’t let my sarcasm dampen the mood. You never did.

  ‘The key is to get the skin really crisp
y and to use lime juice, not lemon,’ you said.

  Tricks of the trade, I thought, and decided it was high time I showed you a few tricks of my own. You were perched on one of those little slatted wooden bench seats outside of the cabin - or “driver’s room” as I liked to wind you up by calling it. I decided to straddle you, never an easy task with your big thighs, and slipped my arms round behind your neck. It made a nice change to be looking down on you for once. You had on one of your check shirts with pockets at the breasts and epaulettes at the shoulders. The short sleeves with the little turn-ups were tight around your biceps. The fabric might also have strained across your chest if not for the two or three buttons you had left undone at the top - which, being a swarthy type, you could get away with and not look too much like a ship-borne Bee Gee.

  It seemed pointless to leave those other few buttons done up so I undid them for you and slid my hands in onto the smooth warm skin at your sides. You always were so warm. I leant in to touch my forehead to yours, almost too near to bring those angelic eyes, which the likes of Jacqui found so irresistible, into focus. What was behind them back then? I’ll never know. I mean, you had already told me enough things that should have shelved any doubts and had me warbling my rapture from the rafters. However, looks and words can be deceiving. You cannot make someone tell you the truth over matters of the heart. There are too many ulterior motives for that. That butter-wouldn’t-melt expression need only slip towards solemnity or harshness to change everything in a moment. You wouldn’t need poetry or lyrics. It would take only a few short, out of the blue words to blast what I thought we had into nothingness.

  ‘What do you want of me?’ I asked, closing my eyes and brushing my lips across yours.

  ‘Do you mean now or forever?’

  ‘Forever,’ I said, tempting fate.

  ‘Just you.’

  You always kissed with softness, almost like you were holding back. It got me every time. I’ve known men who were all open crushing mouth and snaking tongue, as if passion was measured by how much drool was produced. I’d once had you down as being precisely one of those types, perhaps because I assumed all hormone-frenzied men of your age were like that, but then you always did seem way more mature than your years. You know, you were strong and tall and adored, so I thought it obvious that your modus operandi would be to deal out quick, hard shaggings to all and sundry, getting what you wanted without feeling the need to expend much thought or feeling on these brief partnerships. I imagined you the type to be giving it to me from all angles, pushing me forward and prising me open down dark alleys; the type that fell for girls who unashamedly rubbed your crotch for you during a first kiss by the harbour wall.

  It’s actually quite difficult to have one of those swing-from-the-chandelier, ravenous fucks with someone who kisses with your tenderness. The hunger doesn’t boil over. It’s like you wanted to show me too much respect, like it had to be patient and every bit about me as it was for you. Whilst I certainly got loads out of it and felt relieved that you didn’t apparently think me just there for the fucking, a part of me knew you must be hiding ruder intentions. I knew you must be dirtier than this or why did you fall for no-warning, cock-grabbing me? Yes you could give it to me hard sometimes, putting all your weight behind your thrusts, once or twice even whilst you were grasping a handful of my hair, but you never wanted to do me with the disdainful kinkiness with which you must have used those other girls. Why weren’t you the selfish, insatiable beast with me that I imagined you to be with them? I knew that if I couldn’t entice you with ruder things, if we went on with our tender lovemaking just because it gave me such bliss, then you would tire of me and that would be that.

  It was certainly this that shaped my next moves. There were a couple of boats around but not near enough to stop me. As you know I’m not one for public stripping but off came my top. I had on my navy bra with the white polka dots, which I thought suitably seafaring. I remember your growing smile, that unique mix of eagerness and shyness that only you had perfected. When it came to naughty business you always had this air of bashfulness, like each time was your first, but during the act you were always so assured, so strong. I used to go into it thinking I was in charge and come out the other end thinking I just got a free lesson in lovemaking from the Grand Master. I found it endlessly endearing, this mix of shyness and confidence, the total lack of arrogance. The shy part made me think it was me doing it - that you were so happy to be with me it briefly lost you control of your senses.

  I guess it was your confidence that prevented me ever talking to you about the nitty-gritty of sex. You always seemed to know what you were doing and where you were going, so why butt in? I used to think there was something more you must want but I never thought to ask you. There never seemed a right time. You were too much the gentleman with me. I used to imagine you must be some Hollywood heart-throb, here to research the role of brawny, cider-drinking fisherman, but never quite managing to truly nail the character, being unable to shake off their own inherent grace. I reckoned if I made any suggestions about kinkier adventures it would seem like I was asking purely for my own benefit, and you were already doing enough for me as it was. My strategy became to try a few things without asking and hope I hit the right spot.

  So if there were a few boats around then that would have to be as it may. It was hardly dogging on the high seas. We kissed and as always to start with I felt like I was taking the lead. I resolved to keep it like this. I freed my breasts and leant forward so you had no option but to gorge on them, one first and then the other, using those tentative kisses and flicks of the tongue, making your lips soft around them before applying that sudden strong suction which always had them swelling to bursting point with the rush of blood. Already it seemed like I had lost control, the weakness melting me and clouding my focus, but I was determined to stay on top this time.

  I came off you, my nipples wet and hard and wanting more, the greedy things! I hunched before you, tugging at your shorts to get them down, seizing the chance whilst you lifted to help me to get your boxers off too. So there you were, ankles bound by your clothes so that you couldn’t escape, not that you had anywhere to go. I had on my sauciest smile. Your balls were huddled upon your closed thighs, all smooth and tight, almost asking for the light grazing from my nails. Above my fingers you moved, already thickened by the warmth of the day and what you had just done to me, but still too heavy to rise.

  I wanted you in my mouth - you had made me such a dirty girl in this respect. Before you the thought had never made me salivate. It was a struggle not to but I couldn’t have brought myself to do such a lewd act out there in the open, even if it was just what you needed, even though the captains of those other boats would have needed a telescope as long as their masts to see from their decks what I was doing. Instead I rose to me feet, that saucy smile still on, despite my nerves. Then I stripped for you. I wanted to do it seductively but I’m afraid it was a little hurried. Down went those little denim shorts and almost without a breath my polka dot knickers too - you don’t know how much of a boost it was simply to have decided to wear a matching set. It almost had me feeling like a pro!

  I stepped out of my clothes carefully so that I wouldn’t lose balance from the gentle rock of the boat; I had in mind looking like a sultry lap-dancer rather than a drunkard. The sun was warm on my skin and somehow this gave me confidence. I was able to run my hands over my body and sway my hips as if exotic dancing was my second nature. There was the frisson from knowing it was outside and potentially viewable, even though the risk was minimal. It still felt like I was doing something special for you, something dirty. And with delight I watched you swell and twitch and then rise in that most incontrovertible of compliments.

  I leant forward, my hands going to your thighs and I kissed you. I reached down and took you into my hand, feeling your pulsing excitement, the stretch against my fingers. I put on my best Amity Isl
and accent.

  ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat,’ I said.

  As I straddled you we were forehead to forehead, breath to breath. I held you and guided you in. I wanted to slide down upon you with scintillating slowness but it’s hard to stay patient when the pleasure is coursing through you. I never could tire of the feel of you inside me. You were such a perfect fit. I was already quaking, eyes closed and muscles molten. I didn’t move for a long time, enough just to have you in me, only the gentle rock of the boat to drive us harder together.

  My hands were behind your neck and I drew you in. Your kisses were soft although you must have wanted me to ride you, must have wanted me slamming down with my tits bouncing everywhere and me screaming out what a great fuck you were. You stroked me down my sides and the outside of my thighs and I remember wriggling breathless from just this gentle teasing - almost enough to finish me. You had rough hands, darling. The tears are coming just thinking about it. The ropes and the salt over all those years gave them a little rasp that used to send the shivers sweeping over me. Your touch was so light too, like you knew you had this gift of electric friction at your fingertips.

  Your hands went to my behind, squeezing gently. You resisted forcing me into action but I knew you must have wanted it so I seized the initiative. I began to buck and writhe, determined to stay in control. Your hands stayed where they were but you were patient and allowed me to set the tempo. I was full of you and pooling in your lap. Your mouth kept my nipples hard when I thrust them out towards you. Somehow I allowed my sighs to become gasps and moans although I was scared of the noise of our passion carrying. I even had a vision of those boats drawing near, under the pretence of coming to the aid of my cries, of me performing undaunted whilst strangers watched. It might even have been this thought that had me coming.