Dare to Love

by Penny Dixon

  I would like to stay longer especially as we agreed not to have sex tonight because she going home to her husband tomorrow, but she want to dance and it’s getting late. The beach bar not saying much – shutting before we even finish a drink – so we end up at the Gap in Reggae Lounge. The usual extroverts hold the floor and move to the Bob Marley tribute band. I’m happy to just hold a corner with Josi, don’t want any drama tonight. I’m feeling everything about her but my mind’s all over the place.

  How can I fit into her world? I wish she’d let me spend more time with her and her friends, move in her circles. I feel unsure of myself. All our meetings was on the beach, in my car or in my house. I thought I was showing her style at the Crane but to hear them talk, they used to that kind of life. I can’t afford to stay at the Crane. Celia and Kenny did. I have to step my game up to be with her.

  I want this to be a good night. Tonight I’m going to stop thinking about Marcie and her pain, about Mel and the question marks in her eyes, about Sammy and black parcels and focus it on her. The first time I dance with her she fire me up. I didn’t know anything about her, thought it could be a nice little holiday thing. Now I’m wondering how I’m going to manage without her. It’s not just the sex thing, though God knows that’s out of this world. It’s how at ease I feel with her, like I don’t even have to talk and she know what I’m thinking. It’s the way it is when we silent, when we don’t need words. I like her ambition, the way she talk about her children, the easy relationship she describe. I wish one day I can have the same with mine. I like the way she know what she want. I like her honesty. I try to tell her all that in the dance with every dip, every slide.

  I want her badly but I have to keep my promise. I don’t want to be with all these people any more. At least I can have her to myself in the car, can kiss her and play with her. As if she read my mind, she ask, ‘Do you want me?’

  I don’t need asking twice.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  I hold myself together while we walk back to the car. I want to rip her clothes off, to feel her skin against mine. Feel her nipples in my mouth but most of all I want to feel her warm wetness round my cock one last time.

  When we get to the car she offer herself to me.

  ‘I want to make love to you.’

  I don’t know how we get in the car so fast or how our clothes come off so quick. But before I know it I’m licking her hot, salty juice. I cover my lips in it, suck her clit to encourage more to come out. Then I’m inside her and I never want to leave. Moving with her, rising and falling, touching the top of her channel. I need to know she love me.

  ‘You love me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me you love me.’

  ‘I love you Grant.’

  She making a lot of noise, we sweating bad and the window open. We can’t stay here. We need to go somewhere quiet. I pull out slowly and jump in the driver’s seat. I just want to get to Dover Beach as quick as possible so I can get back inside her.

  She touching me and asking me what will happen if the police stop us.

  ‘Tell them you kidnapping me,’ I joke but part of me wish she would take me back with her. I’ve never felt so insecure with anybody. I feel I’m running out of time to convince her I’m the man for her. If she was only here a little longer and not going back to a husband. I don’t even want to think about him, about her with him, about her with anybody but me. I need her to leave me with something to hold on to.

  ‘Tell me you love me.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Do you love it?’

  ‘I love it, I love you. Fuck me Grant!’

  My head spinning, I love it when she talk dirty. I want to talk dirty too but the only thing that come out of my mouth is ‘I love you.’ I have a repeat button that just keep going.

  ‘I love you Josi.’

  I need to know I’m the best she ever have. I need to hear her say it so I can play it back when she gone.

  She wash over me three or maybe four times. Then I can’t hold it any longer.

  ‘Stay with me, come with me.’ I’m talking rubbish. Then I let go. Let go of Marcie, of Jeanette, of Roxy, of Sophia, of Darron, of Sammy, let them wash right into her. I feel her let go of whatever she’s carrying. Our worries meet in one big swirling whirlpool that pull us closer together, take us deep, spinning and blending and merging; and I know this is worth fighting for.

  Josi

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin our descent into Gatwick Airport,’ the captain begins. My seat belt is already fastened and I’m wide awake, despite local time being five-thirty in the morning. Adrenaline and anxiety put paid to any ambitions I had of catching up on sleep during the flight. My mind kept flicking from Grant to Richard, like a movie over reliant on flashbacks.

  I ring to let Richard know I’ve landed and will be home in about four hours. The happiness in his voice hangs like a lead weight round my neck, like shackles around my feet making my case feel heavy. What am I going to tell him?

  ‘Don’t meet me off the coach. I’ll get a taxi.’ It’ll buy me a little more time. Time to take in the grey cold blanket of Britain’s winter. Gatwick’s a greyscale village; buildings, bus stops, roads. Tentacles of bare branches reach out their accusing fingers. Already I’m missing the smiles of hibiscus and crotons, the red lips, purples blushes, magenta lids. Missing the endless blue of sky and sea. Already I’m missing Grant. I try to picture him in this grey, in his white pedal pushers and orange T-shirt. He’s a misplaced cartoon character; Barney Flintstone in Thunderbirds. I sleep fitfully between stops, still wondering what I’m going to tell Richard.

  He bounds across the drive to the taxi as it pulls up outside our house, lifts my bag out of the boot while I pay the driver and, as I turn to face him, drops the case and lifts me off my feet, swinging me around as the driver looks on. He winds his window down. ‘Looks like somebody’s glad to see you.’ He chuckles to himself and drives back to the airport and the next stranger into whose story he’ll intrude for a few minutes.

  I’m so far off the ground my breasts are level with his head. He buries his face in my chest and draws a deep breath.

  ‘You smell so good. I’ve missed you so much. Welcome home Josi.’

  I’m stunned by his welcome. Open demonstration of affection is not Richard’s style, and certainly not in full view of the neighbours. He lets me slide down slowly till my face is level with his and his tongue explodes in my mouth, his lips hot and hard against mine. I catch my breath and, against my will, feel stirrings of desire. I kiss him back and feel the smile spread across his lips, feel his penis flex in his pants.

  ‘Let’s go in.’ He picks up my case in one hand. Hand in hand we walk to the door, where he drops the case, sweeps his hand under the back of my thighs and carries me across the threshold.

  ‘Welcome home Mrs Meyers. I love you Mrs Meyers. I never want to be without you Mrs Meyers.’ He declares as he puts me down. He holds me at arms length, scrutinises me from head to toe.

  ‘You look fantastic. Radiant. Beautiful. I’ve missed you so much.’

  I gawk at him too, wondering where the beige and grey Richard’s gone, when did he change to red? Where did he get this exuberance? He’s always been complementary but usually with quiet reserve. He’s not a man of words, not prone to animation.

  ‘Are you going to leave my bag out there?’ I chuckle.

  Keeping hold of one of my hands, he drags the bag in with the other, like I might disappear if he let me go.

  ‘Drink?’ he invites.

  ‘Coffee.’

  He leads me to the kitchen and watches my face intently as I take in the blaze of colour. Pink, red and white carnations, orange lilies, roses in my favourite yellow, bouquets with brightly coloured ribbons, arrangements with broad green leaves and gracefully thin grasses arched like ballerinas and gymnasts. Not just in the kitchen but through the hatch into
the dining room the garden extends onto the table where a huge arrangement sits with a small card.

  As my eyes swivel from one vase to the next, he flicks the switch on the kettle.

  ‘Instant OK or do you want me to make fresh?’

  ‘Richard, this is…’ I can’t find the word. He waits. ‘Why?’ I ask eventually.

  ‘Because I know how much you hate the grey, I knew how you’d be missing the colour. Because I want you to stay.’

  Something in me shifts, like a train changing tracks. I feel myself going down a different path. The speed of this train shatters the glacier that’s stood between us, tiny tinkling pieces lie melting on the kitchen tiles. My heart reaches out to him, no words are needed. I stretch up, put my arms around his neck, he bends to reach me. ‘Thank you.’

  His kiss is gentle. His ardour tamed by the familiarity, the domesticity of the kitchen, but his desire’s real and pressing hard against me.

  ‘I’d do anything for you Josi, you know that,’ he gushes.

  He’s excited, eager. The flame Grant ignited is still glowing. My blood’s still hot. It doesn’t take much for the coals to burst into flames.

  ‘I know.’

  I want to make everything right, feel safe in his arms again.

  ‘Missed me?’ I taunt.

  ‘You know I missed you.’

  ‘Want me?’

  ‘More than anything.’

  ‘Then take me to your bed.’ I nibble his ear. Feel him shiver.

  ‘Our bed. What about your coffee?’

  ‘It can wait.’

  He holds my hand and we mount the stairs like Hansel and Gretel, him in front, me following. When we reach the bedroom door he lifts me over the threshold.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he affirms as he lays me on the bed.

  It feels odd being back in our bed after so many months in the spare room. Like rediscovering a dress after losing weight. It feels new and exciting, while being strangely familiar. He closes the blinds, shutting out the grey, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. I watch as he uncovers his lean white chest. There’s something reassuringly well-known about this scene. He’ll throw his shirt on the chair in the corner, followed by his jeans. He’ll leave his boxers on, I take those off. He’ll undress me, not with the urgency and impatience of a small boy unwrapping a new toy, more like a gentleman unwrapping a Havana cigar. When my wrapper is fully removed, he looks at me with a mixture of wonder and pride.

  ‘You’re beautiful.’

  ‘Don’t keep a girl waiting too long.’

  I push his boxers over his slim hips, he adjusts his knees so I can roll them off. He straddles me, kisses me. I grip his pulsating pole with both hands and slide down to take it into my mouth. He pulls back.

  ‘No Josi. I’m not ready for that yet.’

  ‘OK darling, in your own time.’

  He falters a little. I massage him back to rigidity. I feel my desire slipping like a wave that’s broken too soon, it retreats before it’s reached its crescendo. I do the thing I never thought I would. I think of Grant. Close my eyes and imagine it’s his hands cupping my breasts, his tongue sucking and licking my nipples, and I’m hot and ready again. When I moan, I moan for him. ‘Oh my love I want you so much,’ I cry to him. I spread my legs wide for him, pull him eagerly to me and guide him to my waiting wetness. When he slides in smooth and effortlessly, he does not question his ease of admission. He only needs to relish the swelling tide beneath him, only needs to be the rock against which my water flows. We have the rhythm of the tide, the whispered endearments of the winds to the waves. When our waters meet it’s with the certainty of two people who know the course, who’ve sailed it countless times and understand its intricate twists and turns.

  He hands me tissues from the bedside table, no need for condoms. ‘Do you want that coffee now?’ he asks as I clean up.

  ‘Make that a hot chocolate. I’m feeling a little sleepy.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Did you sleep on the plane?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Didn’t sleep much myself either. Couldn’t wait for you to get back. I’d hoped for this but… Darling you’re amazing.’ He traces a heart on my face, forehead to chin and back again. He looks happy, happier than I’ve seen him since our wedding.

  ‘You’re pretty special too, Mr Meyers.’ I take his hand and kiss his palm. ‘Now go get me that drink while I finish cleaning up.’

  ‘Don’t move, I’ll be right back.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  By the time he returns, I’m asleep, and I don’t wake for fourteen hours.

  Josi

  Richard’s snoring gently beside me, one arm resting on my chest. I ease myself out without waking him and pad to the bathroom. My mouth’s parched and there are a small school of Garra Rufas gnawing at my stomach. Street light filters in through the open blinds on the landing, enough for me to find my way to the kitchen. Wrapping my gown around me, I flick the switch on the kettle and open the fridge. I half expect to find paw paws and watermelons but Richard’s stocked it with my favourites – yoghurts, cheeses and cold meats. Chorizo sausage, stilton, mature cheddar, parma ham, honey roast turkey. There’s a small corn fed chicken from the farm store and a bottle of champagne. He was planning a celebration and I fell asleep. I check the clock on the wall. Half past midnight.

  GRANT! His memory’s a thunderclap in my head. I said I’d text when I got home. He’ll be worried. I retrieve my handbag from the lounge and check my phone. Two missed calls; five new messages. One call’s from him and three of the messages.

  ‘Call me please,’ is all he says in case Richard intercepts. His texts are equally vague to the uninitiated. Did u land safe? I hear Virgin is very reliable. Call me when u can.

  I check the time again: twelve forty. It’ll be eight forty their time. He must be frantic by now. I shut the kitchen door and call him. He picks up on the first ring.

  ‘Babes, are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I answer in hushed tones.

  ‘You had me so worried. I’ve been going out of…’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I fell asleep almost as soon as I got home. I’ve just woken up. Didn’t realise how tired I was.’ No need to share the real reason I was asleep so quickly. He wouldn’t understand. I don’t quite understand what kind of switch I flicked to go from one to the other so easily.

  ‘You slept on the plane?’

  ‘No, kept thinking about you, about last night, I mean the night before, about what we said yesterday.’

  ‘Babes, I hardly sleep a wink since you left. I’m missing you so bad and you just leave. Don’t know how I going to manage the next week.’

  ‘I’m missing you too.’ I’m missing him too but not in the same way. It’s always the same; the person who leaves initially misses the person who stays less. They have all the activity of travelling to focus on; and when they reach their destination, there are things to do, clothes to wash, post to open, family and friends to re-connect with. Only when these are done do they begin to feel the loss in the same way as the person who stayed.

  ‘I can’t talk too much now. Richard’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m a bit more with it.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, I’ll have to see how things work out.’

  ‘But you’ll call?’

  ‘Of course. If I say I’ll call, I’ll call.’

  ‘Love me?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I love you babes. Don’t forget to call.’ He sounds a little anxious.

  ‘I won’t forget. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ He sounds disappointed.

  I make a mug of hot chocolate and a turkey sandwich and eat it while watching the TV with the sound down. The pictures tells stories of devastation, of famine and political unrest that’s not erupted into full scale war y
et but which, by the look on the reporter’s face, he hopes soon will. It will give him something meatier to report, may even get him an award. Journalists, TV channels and arms manufacturers aren’t interested in peace. There’s nothing exciting to report about peace – or love.

  There’s an itinerant fog meandering through my head. Nothing’s clear. I’ve just slept with Richard, and I’m going to get back into bed with him. I don’t know enough to know if it’s going to last, there are still things we need to talk about. Whatever work he did with the counsellor hasn’t helped him to relax with fellatio. It’s early days but I had to think about Grant. What’s that about? I didn’t believe him when he told me that’s what he does when he makes love to Mel – think about me. Thought he was just saying that to make me feel better, not feel jealous. He’s so pragmatic about that side of things.

  ‘I want you for myself Josi, but if I have to share you with your husband for a while till we sort everything out I can bare it, if I know you’re thinking about me.’ Making love with Richard was the furthest thing from my mind then – less than forty eight hours ago.

  I don’t want to think about this now. I crawl back into bed with Richard and lie staring at the silhouettes of the furniture. I can slide back into this life as easily as I slid back into this bed. Richard won’t ask me any questions, he’ll just be grateful to have me back. I think about all Grant’s cons. He has so many complications. His children – I’ve raised mine; it would be like having ready-made grandchildren. And all those mothers to contend with. No job, we’d be reliant on my earnings unless he pulls something out of the bag soon. There’s no guarantee of that happening any time soon. He’s rooted in the Caribbean, I’d have to move.

  ‘It won’t work,’ I say to the dark, hoping for confirmation, like it’s listened to my thoughts and formed an opinion.