My heartbeat is way over my heart rate zone and if I had my monitor on it would’ve been beeping for like the past two hours. I am not a stranger to seduction it’s just that I’m used to being the seducee and not the seducer but I can do this I can show him what to do, so after I press on Seal of course I turn to him and say, “Have a seat, Winston,” and he sort of walks over to me all tall and everything and puts his arms on my bare shoulders and bends down and says—not whispers—in my ear, “You are really beautiful,” and before I can answer I feel something warm and heavenly land on my lips but this can’t be right this can’t be oh God what is he doing he is pressing his lips against mine so softly that I am feeling like one of those velvet paintings and oh no he’s not supposed to be able to make me feel like oh God he is kissing me like he has been wanting to do this for a long time but he is not frantic he is not pressing in hard and now his lips are whispering they are just barely brushing mine and please don’t stop Winston I have been waiting a long time for a man to kiss me like this like he means it and who taught you how to wait a minute hold it stop I say in my head and push him away for a minute.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I want to say don’t you get it? You are like kissing me like you know what you’re doing you are like kissing me like you know where my weak spots all are and your kisses are reducing them to nothing I am losing my strength but please kiss me again because you feel like what I need what’s been missing like I’ve been waiting years all my life to have your lips touch mine like this, but all I say is, “Winston, your kiss is. . .”
“What?” He looks worried and I realize I am overreacting.
“I didn’t expect this.”
“What?”
“For you to be such a good kisser.”
“You’re the good kisser.”
“No. You’re the good kisser and it’s making me weak. I wish I could but I can’t lie about it. Look at me,” I say and I feel like he must surely be able to see steam coming from my entire body or at least he can see how I’m disintegrating into a vapor.
“Feel my heart,” he says and places my hand over it and sure enough it’s pounding away. “It feels you,” he says.
“I want you to take advantage of me,” I hear myself say.
And he looks at me as if to say you’ve got this all wrong it is not about taking advantage of you and then he kisses me again and I am turning into mush inside and I haven’t felt this in a gazillion years since maybe college and I feel like I could cry because I’ve been waiting to feel this magic I’ve forgotten how the magic feels and I’ve been waiting for him I have read about the power of a kiss but when he puts his tongue in my mouth he is not frantic he is slow-dancing with mine he is sending me a message and I’m getting it he is telling me a story and I am loving every word and when he holds me tighter he is telling me he wants to be closer can I get closer and so I wrap my tongue around his as if I’m trying to protect it from something and I move in deeper and I want him to know that it is not just the kiss that is moving me it is you the kisser the man behind the kiss and I have no choice I shift my shoulder blade under his armpit so as to feel like we are inside each other but he already knows that I can’t get close enough to him and because he is helping me find a position where we will be able to blend once and for all and because it is impossible in what feels like slow motion we begin to search explore chins ears elbows eyebrows arms fingertips wrists but always back to our lips where something passes from him to me and me to him and we are spinning now and my lips feel like a hot peach between my legs feels like a hot peach and Winston please don’t stop because I don’t care that it’s a cliché but I feel like a butterfly and I don’t want you to stop making me flutter but he kisses me on my cheek and I kiss him on his cheek and he rubs his cheekbone against my cheekbone and he says, “Are you okay?” and it is difficult for me to answer that question because I am trembling now I mean really trembling and I can only nod and he says, “Are you sure?” and I say something stupid like, “Isn’t it hot in here to you?” and he takes those hands and brushes over my braids and holds me again until like three more Seal songs play and I swear I’m about ready to cry for real and if I knew him better I would and when I feel him unzip my dress I am scared but he does it so delicately so gently that I don’t even realize I’m standing there in my strapless bra and no panties and he holds me to him again and rubs his hands up and down the back of my body and he says, “You certainly don’t feel like I’d expect any forty-two-year-old woman to feel,” and I say, “But I am,” and he steps back and looks at me and I feel like Cinda-fucking-rella and he says, “And you don’t look like any forty-two-year-old woman I’ve ever seen,” and I say, “But I am,” and he says, “Well, you feel better than any twenty-year-old girl,” and I say, “But I’m not,” and he says, “I know and I’m glad and you are so sweet and so lovely and Stella if we just stand here for a while would that be okay with you because I love the way you feel like this and I just really want to take you in,” and I am really slipping away here by the second but I say in a little tiny voice, “Okay,” and he holds me even closer so that I feel a heartbeat in his belly I can feel the hair on his belly brush against sink into my belly if that’s possible until somehow it is minutes or it could be hours later and we are lying next to each other on the bed and somehow we have gotten his clothes off and he is kissing my nose and shoulders and he is still moving so very slowly and I’m so very glad that he’s not rushing and if I’m not mistaken it feels as if he knows exactly what he’s oh my God those lips are on my breasts oh God he’s kissing them the right way and somebody please help me where did he come from please don’t stop and oh please do stop before I scream but now his mouth is back against mine and I hear him unwrap his condom and he whispers in my ear, “Is it okay now?” and I’m thinking he is so polite he is certainly a considerate one and my answer is a light kiss and when he finds his way in he helps me glide and he guides me to his beat which is so slow and undulating and I feel him hold on to me until we are moving like those waves outside the balcony and I am lost at sea until I feel him squeeze me as if I’m falling overboard and he whispers, “Oh Stel-la,” in my ear and I find myself succumbing surrendering to him and I say, “Win-ston, what are you doing to me?” and he sighs and whispers, “Oh Stel-la, why are you doing this to me?” and I say, “What?” and he moans, “Stel-la,” and I am feeling like hot foam and I moan and sigh, “Win-ston,” and we both squeeze each other as if we have been looking for each other for a long time and when we rest our heads against each other’s wet skin the only thing I think we understand is that this is where we’ve always wanted to be and now we are here.
WHEN I WAKE up his aroma pervades not only my pillows but the whole room. He was definitely here, I think. It was not a dream. No. It was real. He was real. I shower in lukewarm water and decide on thick white running shorts and matching top which I put on in slow motion. The foam soles on my sneakers are a nice cushion as I jump two and three steps at a time and head toward the beach. This morning I seem to float along the shore, as if my feet don’t feel the sand at all. The sun has just barely risen and yet the sky is already royal blue and there are absolutely no clouds whatsoever. The ocean is serene, no waves. I can’t believe it as I walk into the water with my sneakers on and see a society of silver fish swimming around my ankles. They are so beautiful that I stand there watching them for a long time.
I can feel the heat from the sun on my shoulders as I walk back to the beach, take my sneakers and socks off and sit down on the sand. I am the only one out here. It is my beach. When I look out at the ocean where it drops off and disappears it feels as if I could run on top of the water to the very edge and what I would find would probably be a waterfall. This is how weightless I feel right now. As if somehow in the middle of the night my soul was visited by something divine something—I don’t know—but whatever it was and whatever happened I feel different today than I did yesterday. Lighter, as if a
breeze could go right through me. Amazing.
And then I think I smell him. I turn to look and he’s not there and I can only smile. And to think. I didn’t have to teach him anything. I told him so before he left. “I didn’t have to teach you anything, Winston,” and he sort of chuckled and said, “Oh yes you did,” and I said, “What?” and he said, “I’ve never felt such tenderness before, and boy,” he said with a sigh, and he was about to say something else but he just rolled me back over on top of him and I kissed him gently and said, “I could kiss you forever,” and he kissed me back and said, “You can, you should, I would like that,” and then I heard myself say, “Do you have a girlfriend?” and he said, “No,” and I found that a little hard to believe and so I said, “Why not?” and he said, “Because I haven’t met anyone I really like,” and I said, “Come on, Winston,” and he said, “What? I’m serious,” and since he sounded like he was I said, “Okay, so what qualities are you looking for in a girlfriend?” because I was just curious and I wanted to know if he’d really thought about this and he said, “Well, one thing I know for sure is that she’ll definitely be older,” and I sort of picked my head up and looked down at him and once again he was wearing that I’m-not-kidding-you look and I said, “But why does she have to be older?” and he said, “Because girls my age are silly. All they’re looking for is someone who has a nice car and lots of money and is willing to spend it all on them.”
“Well, that’s true of a lot of older women,” I said, laughing. “At least in America. But I’m not one of them.”
He laughed too. “In Jamaica money and status are everything.”
“How so?”
“Well, where you live and what kind of house you live in is very important. It matters. A great deal. And the women here? A lot of them don’t work. They stay at home and mind the children and cook. The husbands earn the living.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be in that position. I can and do pay my own bills,” I said.
“I know. You’re different,” he said and I found myself kissing him again and it wasn’t like I was even trying.
“So what else?”
“I don’t know.” It felt like he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, as if I was doing too much talking, but then he said, “But I hope she’ll be a lot like you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You. You’re outgoing and I would have to say very brave because you came to Jamaica all alone and you didn’t know anyone here. You seem smart and you don’t act as if you’re playing games because you came straight out and told me what you wanted to do and here we are and it’s kind of nice, you know, not to have to play any games.”
“What kind of games have you played before?”
“None really, but I’ve watched other people. Then again, there are some girls, you know, they pretend to like you but they really don’t.”
“You ever been in love, Winston?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“How would I know?”
A fabulous question. “Well.” I sighed, because I’d never actually told anyone what I thought being in love feels like and it required some thought. “I’d say it’s when you sort of crave being around a person because he makes you feel extraordinarily good and your adrenaline seems higher and everything moves at a faster rate and you can’t seem to get enough of that person.”
“Nooo, I’ve never felt like that.”
“Have you ever been hurt?”
“My feelings have been hurt. Yes. Sure.”
“You have any pets, Winston?”
“What?”
“Pets? You know. Animals that hang around your house and you give them a name and perhaps feed them in their very own dish.”
He laughed. “Yes. I’ve got two dogs of no special breed and four lovebirds.”
“Would you consider yourself an animal lover?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever lost a pet that you loved?”
The expression on his face changed. “Yes. I had a horse for six years and it got some kind of disease and had to be put to sleep. That kind of messed me up.”
“You had your own horse?”
“Yeah. My parents own ten of them, but Simeon was mine.”
“So you’re a good rider?”
“Used to be. I’m not as fond of horses as I once was. What about you? You look like an animal lover.”
“Well, my son and I have a dog, a cat and some fish.” There was now a sudden silence. “So,” I said.
“So,” he said. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“Parasailing,” I said.
He nodded and kissed me again. He could be habit-forming, I thought, as I looked at him. If only he weren’t so damn young.
“What about afterwards?” he asked.
“Why? What are you gettin’ at, darlin’?” I said in a southern accent, and he cracked up.
“Would you like to have dinner again?”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘dinner’?”
He looked confused. “I mean we could go into town. Get away from Castle Beach. I’d like to see you in another setting. Under different circumstances. This place is beginning to feel closed in, no?”
“Yes. But you know what, Winston?”
“What?”
“I think we should do this again. Don’t you?”
“Definitely,” he said with a smirk and then we both burst out laughing as he squeezed me tighter and I pushed my fingers through his hair over and over and over until the back of his head was resting in my palms.
“So let’s skip dinner.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes. You can be my dinner.”
He chuckled. “So does that mean you’ll be my dessert?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Absolutely.”
“All right,” he said and we lay there awhile longer, but because I was a guest at the hotel and if anyone saw him coming out of my room it could ruin his chances of working here, he got up in the middle of the night, put his clothes on and gave me another of those luscious please-don’t-go kisses and left quietly. I looked at the cold candles and giggled out loud because I was glad I hadn’t needed them after all. I then buried my face as deeply as I could in the pillows and sheets so I could smell him all over around and through that white cotton until I started feeling all marshmallowy inside and then it hit me that if I wasn’t mistaken I’d been turned out by a twenty-one-year-old boy!
And now, as I gather up my wet socks and sneakers and head back toward my room, I am shaking my head in total astonishment. And who do I pass? Old man Nate. He looks better, like he should always get up early and do something.
“Hey, good-looking,” he says.
“How goes it, Nate?”
“Not as good as you, I can see that. What—you been out here running and got your shoes wet?”
“Sort of.”
“Having a good time?”
“Oh yes, I’m having a great time.”
“Un-hun,” he says like he’s been a Peeping Tom or something.
“You going to Karaoke Night tonight in the piano bar?”
“I’m not sure. I hadn’t heard about it.”
“It’s always fun.”
“But I thought you just got here, Nate.”
He chuckles proudly and I can’t help but watch that fat gut of his writhe. “I told you, this is my eighth time down here in the last three years. I was one of their first guests after they built this place. I love it here.”
“I do too,” I say and begin walking. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” I say.
“Well, if you’re going to the beach today, better get out here early. It’s supposed to rain. Maybe even have a little thunderstorm today.”
I simply nod even though I’d love to say: Excuse me, Mr. Weather God, but this is Jamaica. Not America. It is early July. It is summertime here. Not the rainy season. Nate doesn’t know wha
t the hell he’s talking about.
• • • •
After my shower I change and go to the dining room and this place is beginning to feel like home. I see the familiar faces and some new ones as I stand in line to get my Belgian waffle which the young brother who cooks them seems instinctively or predictably to know I want as I approach the long table and pass right by an assortment of other foods which I totally ignore. I look around for an empty table and do not see Win-ston anywhere and then I chuckle because I’m thinking he’s sleeping in because he’s young and still growing.
I eat my breakfast alone which is kind of nice and then I gather up my towels and head for the beach. I find my chaise and put my tote with all my junk in it underneath and one of the workers says to me, “When are you gonna snorkel with us, mon? You look like you love the water every day, come on and snorkel with us today.”
“What time?”
“Nine-tirty and one-tirty.”
I look at my watch. It’s nine-twenty. “Maybe later, or tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be looking for you, mon. And wear that bathing suit.”
He laughs as he drags the boat out into the water. I lie there for the next hour or so and though it is so hot so early it’s hard to believe when I slide my suit down that I am again two shades darker. I turn over on my back and fall asleep. What wakes me is the volleyball game. It is eleven-fifteen. Ben the Canadian sees my head pop up and he yells, “Stella! Get over here! We need you!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” and I get up.
I play hard and well. The members of the other team, who weren’t here the last time I played, are automatically assuming that because I’m a woman I’m going to play like one is supposed to play and I guess a woman isn’t supposed to be strong or athletically inclined however athletic she may look, so they do not expect me to serve or hit the ball as consistently as I do. They probably thought the first couple of times were a fluke but when our team kicks their butt thanks to a few of my very own Monica Seles–like serves, a major statement is made and I think registers clearly on their little weenies.
How Stella Got Her Groove Back Page 11
