by Martin, M.
“Exactly.”
“Ibiza is amazing,” Catherine says. “No wonder you love it so much. I can see why it’s always passed from one conqueror to the next. I think the Phoenicians were the first; they found a port here that was eventually controlled by Carthage and later the Romans who raped it of its minerals.” She tugs me closer and loses herself in the ruins, and one of those stories that enthralls her writer’s mind and me with it.
“How do you know all these things?”
“You know, I’m always reading something or other. It’s so nice to finally have someone who even cares about that kind of stuff,” she replies.
“I love all your stories. It sort of soothes me and makes my blood pressure drop. No one’s ever told me stories like you do.”
“The locals were almost constantly being attacked by pirates,” she says with a playful plundering of my stomach.
“Even with their city walls?”
“Even with their fortified city, so they built all those lookout towers that you see there on the hill.” She gestures to an abandoned stone structure that looks like a half-built lighthouse on the hill.
“The ones there,” I point, caressing her arm suspended in the air.
“What were they used for?”
My naked body holds her from behind in the sea, exploring her with my hands as her story continues.
“They were built so that when the guards were atop the tower, they could watch far into the horizon for phantom pirate ships making their way to the shore. Imagine being there in the middle of the night, all alone, and then seeing the ships approaching in the distance with only hours to save your family, your city … everything. The towers were built in a chain within sight of the next tower, which they would ignite one after another in a fiery circle around the island when trouble was nearing.”
“Do you know I’ve been on this island every year for the last two decades, and no one has ever told me what those were all about?”
“Well, now, you haven’t been here with me, have you?”
The moment lulls into a soothing silence. We hold each other in the sea until a group of strangers approach in the distance. Alas, we gather our clothes and scurry farther down the beach to join Alejandro and Chrissie. It’s been more than thirty minutes of walking, but neither of us notices as we continue to get lost in each other.
The rocky hill retreats down to the lower beach crowded with sunset revelers along a strip of sand dotted with a pure white beach club and a swath of sunbathers. Our walking increases in pace to a full run as we near the beach. We make our way to a row of loungers where we recognize Alejandro sitting in a sea of smoke.
“I thought maybe you guys had a change of heart and left us,” Alejandro says.
“Do you really think after all these years I would do that to you? Plus, I’m curious if she can even find it at this point,” I say.
The music is louder and the crowd far younger than at the other beach, more of a university crowd of surfer-type guys and party girls arranged along a long and wide strip of sand around the edge of the hill. Then Chrissie emerges from the crowd of people queued up at the bar. She’s walking with a lumbering, confident stride that’s no longer hurried.
“Guess who I found?” she says as she comes closer to us waving a small baggy in the air as if a child with forbidden candy.
“You didn’t?” Alejandro says with a cigarette in his mouth.
“I did. I told you I would find some, but I just didn’t think it would take so long. And I have to say, it looks like pretty good stuff to me,” she says with a childish excitement.
“And she’s like a horse whisperer of crack,” Alejandro says.
“Where did you get it from, my dear?” I ask.
“The dj had it, just like I was told. He was really nice and totally played great music. Now, who is going to come with me?”
“I will. I have to use the bathroom, anyway,” Catherine says, much to my surprise.
“I’ll join you, too, for the walk,” I say as we take the short hike to the two lone portable toilets that sit at the edge of the beach with a queue of about fifteen or so women standing outside.
“How are you going to do this, my dear?” I ask Chrissie.
“I’m just going to walk in and do my thing … won’t be long at all,” Catherine says, choosing to ignore the two cleaning ladies who stand guard outside each toilet cleaning between each use with the efficiency of Swiss guards.
“Here you go, and under no means drop it because we don’t have that much, and I won’t be sharing my baggie given the dire drug drought on the island,” Chrissie warns and hands a small plastic bag to Catherine. “And don’t forget to share it with my David. He’s trying to impress you, but back in the day, he was known as a real hoover.”
As we get down to two people, and then one remaining person in front of us, my stomach begins to get nervous. The sturdy-shaped maid takes her dripping brush inside the outhouse and does a quick once-over of the seat and floor as the previous occupant lingers with tip in hand until she is done before making her way back to the beach. The cleaning lady barks something off in Spanish as if to motion that it’s now available, and Chrissie eagerly steps forward.
“Thank you, Mom,” Chrissie says as she enters the portable toilet, handing the cleaning lady her hand as she takes the step up.
The process repeats itself in the neighboring loo. Catherine steps forward hesitantly with a smile and firm grip on the bag of cocaine that Chrissie gave her. She turns to look up at the line of now twenty people swelling behind us. Catherine quickly enters and locks the door loudly behind her. She’s no more than a minute before exiting and then motioning for me to take her spot. She quickly hands me the baggy and gives me a kiss. We linger in front of each other and the maid cleans away once more.
“Did you do some?” I ask Catherine.
“I was going to, but I just landed and don’t want to overdo it on my first day. Plus, you’re here and that’s enough of a high for me today.”
There’s stillness inside the toilet, and I stare at the small baggie with pink dwarfs running around its zip lock top. I imagine the immediate metallic rush that lingers in the back of my throat, instantly replacing any tiredness with an adrenaline rush that’s palatable in my teeth and fingertips. I imagine Catherine seeing me high for the first time, what she’ll feel, and how she’ll maybe think different of me, or see me in an altered, lesser light. Then I stuff the baggie back into the pouch of my inner shorts. I chose to stay present and focused on Catherine in lieu of a momentary rush that would have far too many consequences this day. Outside, I notice both maids knocking on the neighboring cubicle and rattling off something in noticeably agitated Spanish.
“Baby, Chrissie hasn’t come out yet, and they are getting very mad,” Catherine says as she grabs my hand.
“What? You mean she’s still in there?” I take Catherine to the back of the line now abuzz with heckling for Chrissie to emerge from the outhouse.
The knocking intensifies as the word cocaine is muttered from multiple, foreign tongues. Chrissie can be heard trying to fend off the masses without actually having to come out. As the maids bang on the door, Chrissie finally emerges unflustered by the complaints. She is perfectly composed and heads on through the angry crowd to rejoin us.
“What’s wrong, darlings? Are you all right?” she says to us, unknowing.
“We were just worried about you, my dear. Was everything okay?” I ask.
“Oh, you know those women, always barking at the English woman. I gave her a tip; what more does she want?”
We return to Alejandro, who’s enjoying his own buzz, too bothered with trying to hide his habit in an outhouse, claiming Spain is his native country, and everyone else can just go fuck off. Catherine acts as if enjoying her own high not to disappoint Chrissie. Catherine is more atte
ntive to me with the touch of her hand that lingers on my lower back and just inside the waistband of my pants. She’s fully into the music in a euphoria all her own and grabbing the moment in a way I’ve never seen in a woman.
Along the beach, the daytime laze has emerged into a full-on dance party surrounding the small dj booth where a cluster of maniac Spaniards does their own version of a mosh pit to pop-techno anthems. We watch in a party haze, pawing each other in blissful ecstasy. Catherine kisses my dry mouth forcing her tongue inside while grabbing my lip with her teeth and sending me into an immediate erection that I try to conceal under my thin shorts. We wander away from the dance floor to our own chaises. She straddles me on my back as I slip my fingers under her skirt and inside her panties to warm my hands still slick with suntan oil sheen.
Alejandro and Chrissie are in their own moment, Chrissie dancing around as Alejandro lingers on the ground in a plume of pot smoke. He is staring at her in awe and enjoying the middle of an early evening high that engulfs us all.
“Do you guys want a puff?” Alejandro turns and asks us.
“I don’t usually smoke, but thank you,” I say.
“I’ll take a hit,” Catherine says, turning and grabbing the rolled joint from Alejandro. She takes a deep inhalation as Chrissie lingers above waiting for her own puff.
“Come on, David, don’t be a stick in the mud,” Catherine says as she hands me the joint. I take a long hit that’s smoother and more abrupt than I remember. It also immediately makes me even hornier, as my fingers find their way back up inside Catherine’s skirt as she sits in my lap again.
“Let’s dance, you guys.” Chrissie says while making her way, high heels in hand, across the sand to the dance floor that’s been created since we arrived.
The sun lingers behind the clouds in its final stages of sunset, and a chill sets in as I get up and try to conceal my complete erection behind Catherine.
We are the youngest people dancing by at least a decade, jumping up and down as if it were the last night of our lives to tracks of Nirvana mixed with Rihanna and The Clash. I try to keep my distance from Catherine knowing I won’t easily conceal my excitement standing in this crowded group. Drinks come and go between plastic cup toasts; Chrissie and then Alejandro make their way back to the bathroom. The scene repeats itself through the onset of darkness as slowly, one by one, the beach empties of people and we are left on a barren strip of sand far away from our car, high as kites.
It takes a good hour before we’re sober enough to make our way back to the car; we have a long drive ahead of us back to Alejandro’s house and then to our hotel. With promises to meet up later in the night at Space, I was well aware neither of us intended to keep those plans. After dropping off Alejandro and Chrissie, we make our way away from their house just far enough that they could no longer see our car lights. Suddenly, I stop the car and make my way to the passenger side. I pull Catherine by the hand and into the dusty pasture under a perfect three-quarter moon that ignites the northern sky.
“Where are you taking me now?” she asks.
“You’ll see. Just come.”
We walk a good ten minutes in the dark before coming to an elevated clearing next to a wise old tree where I take off my shirt and lay it on the ground. I pull Catherine in front of me and slowly remove her blouse and bikini top that fall to the ground as her bare breasts sit in the moonlight. Then with a single pull, I remove her skirt and underwear leaving her completely nude in front of me.
“What are you doing? What if we get caught?”
“Then we get caught, my love.” I kneel in front of her, kissing her from her foot up, and every few seconds stealing glances at her perfect body that rises above my own as her eyes reflect the moonlight. There’s a gritty smell to the air as I pull off my clothes and parallel her from behind with my bare body. She shivers a moment as I bite her neck and attempt to find a decent resting place on the ground before my tongue finds its way inside her to a cricket chorus that fills the midnight sky.
She pulls away as if vying for control before standing above me. She dances in a playful, carefree delirium that I’ve never seen from her before. Gone are all the inhibitions and shyness that plagued her in Rio and kept her from fully falling into these incredibly passionate moments. She gives me a seductive show that has me begging for her, hovering above me with glimpses of all that I desire in the backdrop of a perfect night sky. She drops to her knees and allows her body to gently glide against mine, sending me into a shiver of raging delight as I get harder and harder. In this instant, her mind has muted and her body has taken over.
I try everything to make the moment last as long as possible. I flip her under me onto the ground as I find my erotic home back inside her. I pace myself with a melodic movement, savoring every incredible moment inside her as she stares into my eyes. She moans louder and louder before erupting into the most angelic sound of desire my ears have ever heard. The mere sound sends me into my own exquisite eruption inside her as that poetic motion slows to stillness, and she collapses on top of me as I linger as long as I can inside her.
“I almost don’t want to speak because I worry I might wake up,” she says with a whisper in my ear.
“Are you cold? Let me put my shirt over you.”
I cover her exposed body with a swathe of my white shirt and we linger in total darkness. I’m taken aback by the intensity of our sex; it seems to become only more powerful even though we’ve past the time in a relationship when it would normally become more familiar and routine between us.
“David, I feel as if the entire world goes away when I’m near you. I just can’t get enough of you; you’re like my own version of Charlie.” She laughs.
“I’m not going anywhere, so enjoy it.”
“I know. This place is like nowhere I’ve ever been. It’s nothing I imagined it would be. It’s like a hedonist’s garden of Eden.”
“But that’s only because you are here in it,” I say as the sweat on my body chills in the night air.
She’s able to take a place I already love and make me feel even closer to it by just being herself. It’s like there’s this entire new dimension to life when she’s near.
“I wish we could just stay here forever. Let our worlds simply go on without us and stake out our future on this land. I’ll cook and you can just sit there and let me take care of you day after day.”
“The real world wouldn’t be so bad either, you know, maybe learning what real life would be like together.” The very words shock me, as it’s typically been the last thing I want at this point with a woman.
“Who wants the real world when there’s this though?”
“But you know maybe a weekend in New York every so often or you in London. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
A silence ensues with Catherine as her breath lingers on my neck. I can feel her heart beat against my bare chest.
“Would it?” I say again. She looks up and the green of her eyes strokes my heart.
“How could New York ever compete with this?”
Some ten hours later, I find myself lying in the hotel room I had so judged just two days previous, immersed in a sea of creamy linen, laying so close to Catherine’s face I can feel each warm exhale drift away from her. She lies in stillness like a woman adrift in the world having found her perfect place to spend a lifetime. Her hairs lie like cut stone, molded perfectly over her arm with an open palm under her face. This grandmotherly room has segued into a cocoon of passion, like the boudoir of an experienced concubine camouflaged as a floral lair.
The room sits with windows wide open and the bright, sunny island alive in full bloom outside. Although the owner brought the breakfast almost an hour ago, I don’t dare wake Catherine from this most perfect state as birds chirp, and the sun strikes her bare body just perfectly. In a time when I’m normally strung out from the previous day of p
artying, at this moment, I’m so enamored that I don’t want it to end.
This is what I want life to be—no more Jamila’s, no more Russian party girls, no more flyby relationships. I desire Catherine, and I am ready to do what it takes to be with her. I dream of what is yet to come of the morning as I wake her with a soft caress or deep penetration that enters her right from sleep as we begin all over again in this perfect morning with a day still fully in front of us in this summer heaven.
CHAPTER 7
LONDON
I HAVE TEETERED past the point of no return. I have crossed the line and beyond the point of knowing my limits, holding my ground, or knowing anything other than my own unquenchable desire for more and more, and then more of this fantasy. I have with full meditation, compromised the vows I have sworn to uphold, denied the very existence of my own child, and now metamorphosed into a third person who is unrecognizable even to myself most of the time.
This compulsion to see, feel, and touch him leads me away again, head-on, and to London, camouflaged in work that I seek out in order to see him once more. With two days reviewing a hotel in London and a weekend in the countryside for a wedding he’s asked me to attend, I contemplated telling him about Billy. I could plead from my heart explaining that he meant so much to me that I didn’t want to risk these special times with him for fear he would run like so many other men at the thought of dating a woman with a child. I’ll explain that I love him more than anything imaginable, and that I am separating from my husband.
Then reality crashes on me that David won’t want what I have to offer, he would never love the real me. Even if he got past the lies and betrayal, he’s not the type to settle into a life where passion and adventure are second to obligation and responsibility. I confuse his desire for our relationship with his ability to commit to something far more serious and long-term. It’s these thoughts that put me back at square one, trying to squeeze as much time out of this delirious euphoria before the truths of our worlds realign us back away from each other and where it is we both belong.
