by Grace, K D
‘You are married?’
‘No. It was my wedding day, but I didn’t turn up.’
‘You stand up at the altar?’
‘I left my groom standing at the altar, yes,’ I corrected him with a grimace.
‘Ó Istenem,’ he said. He frowned and contemplated the bubbles shooting up from between his thighs. ‘I think you explain?’
‘There’s not much to say. I realised … well, I should have said something earlier. Called it off earlier. But, you know, with weddings everything gains this insane momentum.’
I looked at him to check he was following me. He shrugged, indicating that I should continue.
‘You get overwhelmed. Your parents are so excited for you, his parents invite you everywhere, you get buried in flower arrangements, bridesmaid’s dresses, cake decorations, favours, menus, bands …’ I stopped to draw breath.
‘I know this,’ he said gently. ‘But your man? You don’t love him?’
I gestured helplessly, looking up at János with a whole heap of trouble behind my eyes. ‘I don’t. I didn’t. Never did.’
‘Then why you say yes to marry him?’
‘Because on paper we were the perfect match.’
‘On paper? What are you, a ticket or something?’
‘I know it sounds stupid. But we met at university, did the same subject, went into the same career, he’s stable, sensible, solvent, we share the same beliefs, the same view of the world, we like the same TV shows, the same music, we even agreed on children’s names before we got married. You see? It seemed wrong not to marry him. It seemed ungrateful. And if I said no, if I held out for someone who made me feel something, what if that person never came? What if I gave up the chance of a lovely life with a lovely man for … nothing?’
‘You never feel something for no-one?’ János asked after a pause. ‘Perhaps you can’t. Perhaps you are – what they say – a cold fish.’
‘No.’ I shook my head with vigour, so that a spray of drops landed on his face. ‘I know what I’m missing. I knew all along. That’s why I couldn’t go through with the wedding. There was someone once … but I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘You want this man again?’
‘No, I don’t want him either. I can’t really cope with passion – the fear of it ending is too much. It’s why Dave seemed so right for me. There was nothing frightening, nothing demanding. It was easy and I didn’t have to deal with any feelings.’
‘You don’t want to feel nothing? That’s crazy, Ruby. That’s not a life.’
He put a hand on my shoulder. I sucked in a breath, trying to work up some indignation, or at least strength.
‘I’ve made up my mind, János. Relationships aren’t for me.’
‘You don’t want to love? That’s sad. What about sex?’
Danger, danger, attractive man asking you your views on no-strings sex at 45 degrees.
‘No,’ I said, as firmly as I could. ‘No sex.’
‘Why not?’
‘It complicates things. Emotions creep in.’
‘Fun creeps in.’ János appeared to struggle to take my avowal seriously. ‘This can’t be right. I just don’t understand. You are religious?’
‘No! Just because I’m not interested in sex, it doesn’t make me a nun! I’ve just decided to live a quiet life, that’s all.’ The vehemence of my tone caused some of the spa patrons to look over at us. I hoped they didn’t speak English.
‘You can’t never have sex again,’ declared János, as if he were the authority on the subject of my private life. ‘It’s not right.’
‘Why not?’
‘If you don’t want it, must be because nobody did it good enough. It’s incredible. Try it with a man who is good lover. You will see.’
I snorted at his temerity. ‘I’ve had plenty of good sex actually.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
I swallowed the temptation to argue. There was no way I could prove it, after all. Plus, I had the horrible sneaking suspicion that he might be right. ‘Let’s change the subject. Do you come here often?’
‘I come more often than you, no matter where.’
‘Oh, stop it!’ I splashed water over him. ‘The subject of my sex life is closed.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, splashing me back. ‘And you are going to change your mind. I promise it.’
‘I promise you I won’t.’
‘The challenge is spoke! Let the games begin.’
‘János, there is no game, no challenge. Just forget it. I need a friend here, and you’re the only person I’ve met. Don’t spoil it by making everything about sex.’
‘You make everything about sex when you say you will never have it again. But OK. I leave it now. Just for now. You want to get dressed?’
I was perfectly comfortable in the spa, but suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of my flesh that was visible to János. Obviously sitting next to a near-naked woman in a sunlit pool was going to make him think about sex.
‘Yes, yes,’ I said in a hurry. ‘And maybe get a coffee or something.’
I bade an annoyingly regretful farewell to his rangy, dripping body and perspiration-sheened face. If I ever crossed my own sex strike picket line, it would be for a man like him. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever. Quiet life, Ruby, quiet life.
Fully-clothed again, we sat at a café in the park drinking something called Traubi – fizzy grape juice, I gathered.
‘This is an amazing park,’ I sighed. ‘Why doesn’t every city have a place like this?’
János shrugged. ‘I don’t know another city.’
‘Really? You’ve never left Hungary?’
‘I went to Czech Republic once. It was OK. I came back.’
‘Don’t you want to travel?’
‘Yes, I want to travel. But I never can afford it. What is your work, in England?’
‘I’m an accountant.’
‘Accountant? Now I can use one of these. Always my mathematicals go wrong and my plans fail.’
‘Well, I can do the mathematicals. I sometimes wish I was in a more creative line of work. Maybe I’ll start a business one day, like you.’
He gave his glass of soda a twisted smile. ‘Yeah, I am good at start the business. Better at finish the business.’
‘Seems we both have skills that the other could use. Perhaps if you came to England, or I moved to Hungary …’ I tailed off. This was a pointless line of conversation. Neither of these things was ever going to happen, and I didn’t even want them to.
‘Then we can do a partnership,’ he said with the wickedest smile I’d ever seen. Winded, I looked away. The way he said partnership made me giddy. ‘Except you don’t want that.’ His hand crept closer to mine. ‘Do you?’
‘Oi. That’s enough of that.’
He sighed and finished the soda. ‘So he is an accountant? Dave?’
‘Yes.’
‘You like numbers. What else do you like?’
‘Oh, lots of things.’ Actually, what else did I like? ‘Um, cinema. Good food. Music.’
‘What music?’
‘Uh, you know. The good stuff. Some pop, some classical, some jazz.’
‘You like gypsy violins?’
‘I’m sure I do. We don’t really have them in England but …’
‘We have them in Budapest. Many, many gypsy violins. You like, I take you to hear them.’
‘Oh – yes. That would be nice. Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
There was the most incredible tension behind the polite conversation, as if János wanted to kick the table aside and sweep me off my feet the whole time he was talking in clipped tones about gypsy violins. Even though there was no possible innuendo to be derived from our words, they all felt laden with intensity and ambiguity. Or was I imagining it? Probably. The whole sex conversation had thrown me off kilter and I was reading heady passion into everything. Silly. Get a grip.
He took
out his mobile phone and spoke incomprehensibly into it for about ten minutes while I finished my drink.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to speak Hungarian,’ I remarked, once he had put it away.
‘Is not easy language to learn,’ he conceded. ‘Hello and thank you is always useful.’
‘How do you say them then?’
‘Hello is jó napot. There is other ways to say too, but this is the best for strangers. Say it.’
I repeated the sounds, hoping he wasn’t tricking me into learning the Hungarian for something very rude. It seemed like the kind of joke he’d play.
‘Goodbye also is useful. You can say viszontlátásra.’
‘That’s a bit of a mouthful.’
‘Well, we like long words. If you want you can say shorter version – viszlát.’
‘Viszlát. And thank you?’
‘Köszönöm.’ He stretched an arm across the table and took my hand, shaking it vigorously. ‘Thank you for company today, most charming. Now I must go, I have business.’
‘Oh.’ My face must have fallen. He brushed a thumb across my wrist, caressing it, as if he sensed my disappointment. I tried to gather myself. ‘Of course. Sorry. You must be busy.’
‘You will miss me?’
‘I’ll miss the company.’
‘No, you will miss me.’ He winked and dropped my hand. ‘Go and be a tourist now. Enjoy. But you can be back at my apartment for seven, yes?’
My heart skipped, for some reason. ‘Oh, yes. Seven. I’ll be there.’
‘Good.’ He stood and nodded formally, laying down some coins to pay for the drinks.
Wandering around Pest’s most exclusive shopping streets, gawping through the gleaming windows, I took my first opportunity to think about this strange introduction to the city and its people.
I’d known the man a matter of hours, yet I was missing János. If it weren’t for him, would I be missing Dave? Because I most certainly wasn’t. I’d only thought of him twice since touchdown, when János had asked about him. I imagined what it would be like to have Dave by my side. He’d be mentally converting forints to sterling, and then to dollars and Euros, every time he saw a price label in a shop window. He’d bypass anything cultural in favour of mooching around estate agents, comparing the size and quality of the housing on offer with that in the UK. Over coffee and cake we’d discuss the economic downturn and the prospects for Hungarian recovery. Our progress around town would take place at a reassuring plod.
If János were with me, though … I didn’t know. Anything could happen. Laughter, madness, risk, excitement. Attraction. Sex.
I had to stop thinking about it. Even if I hadn’t vowed to keep clear of his expressive hands…and his lean hard body … and his electrifying eyes … oh no. A crush. Fucking marvellous. Even if I hadn’t vowed to steer clear of him, men like János were never good long-term prospects. He’d admitted himself that he couldn’t maintain a successful business. He struck me as a butterfly, settling on things that looked bright and shiny for a few moments, then flitting off when he’d had his fill of them. He was a man for a fling. A good time but an ephemeral one. Bet he’d be amazing in bed though …
On the tram back to the apartment, I couldn’t stop myself imagining how he’d be. He would wrap me tight, lift me up, put me on a table while his fingers worked on shifting my skirt up my thighs. He would growl and laugh and say perverted, delicious things. Oh, I longed to hear perverted, delicious things. Dave had been silent, bar the odd self-conscious remark. ‘How d’you get these off then?’ János would pour vampire-accented filth into my ears while his fingers spoke their language between my pussy lips. Oh God, he would bend me backwards and have me, trousers around his knees, hands on my hips, driving into me while the glasses rattled on the shelves behind. He would make sure I came first, and often, before filling me up with his hot Magyar seed, making me his, showing me that I needed sex and couldn’t live without it …
Shit, was this my stop?
I hurried off the tram and hobbled along the cobbles, uncomfortably damp between the legs until I found the apartment and was able to hide myself, panting with relief, from anyone who might have guessed what I’d been thinking.
I lay down on the bed, still unmade, still bearing the traces of János in the rumpled sheets and indented pillows, and threw myself into the only kind of sex still available to me. My skin felt tender, softened by the spa waters, as my fingernails grazed up my thighs and burrowed under my knickers-elastic. I lifted and spread my knees, all the better to stroke myself, turning my head to the side and picturing my new companion as he had been last night, asleep and dreaming beside me.
His eyelids fluttered and he stretched out an arm, perhaps seeking comfort from a nightmare. His hand landed heavily on my hip. He yawned and I snuggled closer, realising my mistake as soon as his arm stiffened and he pulled me against him, growling like a bear.
‘Got you,’ he said with a dark chuckle. His erection pressed painfully into my thigh.
I giggled and wriggled, feigning escape only because I wanted to cross that line where resistance becomes futile. He obliged me, clamping me tight and rolling over so that I was on my back, sandwiched breathlessly between him and the mattress.
‘You want it,’ he said in a voice as rich and fruity as that pálinka we drank. ‘You’re going to get it.’ His cock snaked up between my thighs, the tip nestling neatly at the shallow basin of my vagina. He rotated it slowly, teasingly, his abdominal muscles rolling over my flattened belly, pelvis rocking. ‘But first,’ he whispered, ‘you’re going to admit it.’
Dab, dab, dab, dipping his cockhead into my juices, almost moving forward, never quite breaching the willing flesh. He teased me until I moaned, until I nipped urgently at his ear, until I braced my spine and tried to force him in. No mercy from him, though, just the dip of his mouth to my ear and a hiss of, ‘Say it.’
It had to be obvious anyway, just from the slickness of my cunt. He must know that he could glide in without resistance, any time he wanted. But willing surrender was what he wanted, and my full consciousness of it. Until the words were spoken, I would suffer frustration.
The only way was to yield.
‘I want it,’ I admitted. ‘Please give it to me.’
He shifted his hips, freeing my thighs so that I could part them and push myself up, but he drew back as well, keeping his cock at a tantalising distance. ‘Give you what?’
‘Fuck me, János, fuck me, please.’
He roared and surged forward, and I exulted in the swift and easy seating of his cock inside me, clamping it tight and holding it there for a long moment of satisfaction. He braced himself on strong arms, his chest rising up above me, gold chains around his neck, tattoos on his biceps, an expression of almost holy ecstasy on his face. The stillness stretched out while we adjusted to the feeling of being joined, a new and amazing sensation.
‘Oh yeah, I’ll fuck you,’ he said. ‘Hold on.’
A blistering onslaught, rattling the headboard, bruising my wrists, stretching me wide and splitting me came next. He banged me into the next street, until my cunt was raw and my thighs begged for mercy, drowning me in sex until there was nothing else in my world, nothing to know except that I was getting the seeing-to of my life and it was what I wanted, what I needed, over and over again …
I came, panting hard, spending on to my busy fingers, János’ imaginary face a blur above mine. The sensation ebbed, slowly, piece by piece until the unbearable reality of my solitude caused me to wrap the sheet around myself and hide inside it. From the peak of orgasm, I fell straight away off a precipice of desolation. I was alone. All I could ever expect to be was alone. Stupid crushes on men who could never be part of my life weren’t going to change that.
Chapter Three
I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew was that somebody in a nearby apartment was playing their music too loud. I unwound myself from the sheet and grimaced d
own at my tacky, crumpled sundress and sticky knickers still halfway down my legs. It was fucking violins too, really high-pitched and intrusive, with some accordions and clarinets thrown in. The tune was in a minor key, somewhat mournful and yet with a spirit that the sad phrasings couldn’t quite crush. Perhaps it was that gypsy violin music János had mentioned …
János. He was coming here. At … I checked my watch. Fuck. Seven. It was ten past.
I leapt out of bed and ran hither and thither, wanting to shower, change, open a bottle of wine, maybe do some food, make the bed, brush my hair, put on make-up … The excessive number of things I wanted to do meant that I did none of them, simply rushed about pointlessly all the more until, drawing close to the balcony doors, I suddenly realised that the music wasn’t coming from a neighbouring apartment. It was coming from the street.
I made sure I had at least yanked up my knickers before opening the balcony doors just a fraction and peeping outside, down to the cobbles below.
Half a dozen men in white shirts and black waistcoats played their instruments in front of a small but growing crowd. As soon as I poked my head around the door, there was a shout and all eyes were raised to me.
I slammed the doors and pressed myself against the wall, heart thumping.
Was this for me?
Surely it was just a coincidence. A weird coincidence that they all happened to be looking up at my balcony and somebody had shouted when the door opened because … of something else. Right? That must be it. There was no way I was going back out there in my scrunched-up, post-wank state.
Something hit the balcony door and I leapt into the air. It wasn’t a stone, or anything heavy. Whatever it was had made a mild, floppy thudding sound.
I crept to the balcony and reached over to turn the key in the lock, keeping my body flat against the wall. I let the door open a crack. There were cheers from below. Something prevented the door opening any further, so I dropped to my knees to investigate. My hand edged around the side of the door and fumbled until I gasped with pain. Ouch! A prickle!
The object that had hit the door was a red rose.
