Original Stories by Juanne-Pierre de Abreu
It was once referred to as ’bikini beach’. In a time when wearing bikinis were risqué, and flaunting skin so carelessly was taboo for a normal beach. This is a beach surrounded by a rocky mountain whose face shimmers light rays of soft pink with a green foot, which suddenly turns into a stretch of pearly white sand just before the vast openness of the Atlantic Ocean begins. The perfect location for naughty lovers in love to run about and chase their lovers over the sand and into the water; a girl giggles so happily in her teeny-tiny yellow polka dot bikini. The pink backdrop acts as a shield, hiding the beach from the entire world. And the lovers feel alone. Kissing so carelessly in the water, rolling in the sand, and drinking champagne on the rocks. A time for drunk little kisses on the neck and silly giggles in each others’ mouths.
Much has changed for the visitors to the very same beach, I think to myself, feeling the oceans cool kiss rush over my naked body as I lie at the waters edge, staring up at the clear blue sky. So much has changed, and the water slides over my tanned legs, its cool caress tickling my twig and berries pushing them up to my stomach. The water pulls back with such force and, like an egg in an egg holder - such a comfortable fit -my scrotum returns to its holder between my crossed legs. I feel so free, so open, and so vulnerable. The warmth of my sexy desires. I am like sex, like sex just lying on a hot beach waiting to be taken, or waiting to pounce. I was out on the prowl, and any man might just be good enough to be my prey; might just be good enough to eat. It was my second time on the beach after a week of living in a new city. The city was my party house while the beach was my garden. Twenty-four years old, and ready to explore, to exploit, to explode. The frustrating build-up of homosexual angst was like filling a balloon with water and with every extra drip of water, I was getting closer to eruption.
This is where I first met him. I was just chilling on ‘bikini beach’, lathered in some coco-butter-oiling-tanning-gel, smelling like Malibu and Sprite, and shining like an overlubed cock, I noticed him. Out the corner of my eye, his hairy legs moved effortlessly past me. He ran straight past me towards the ocean, the ocean with its inviting mash of turquoise and blue, swirling together as the waves roll and crash, roll and crash. His back was toned and hard and seemed to grow with every step he took forward. With one amazing leap into the air, his body disappeared into a wave and suddenly he reappeared and stood up to look back at the beach. All I could see was the water dripping down his face, draining through his hairy chest, sliding down his flat stomach and covering his cock muscle. Cock muscle? It’s the Ken Doll muscle, the one that cuts the legs off from the waist, but in my mind’s eye, it’s the muscle that holds the cock. He is so beautiful, just the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life. If he were bread, I would want to be his butter, and spread thick all over him.
He looked straight at me! Even with sunglasses on my face, providing me with a little shield, I am nervous and totally excited. Then, runs out of the water towards me. I am mesmerised, and feel a little out of breath. He smiles at me and I nervously grin back. He slows down next to me and says, “Hello, my name is Jerry.” You are?”
I start to giggle and I can see he can see something broke the ice.
“My name is Tom”. He starts to giggle too: “Tom and Jerry. That’s cute.”
We fell in love that day. To be in love felt like living. I was a mindless zombie before then, gaily marching forward, until when my heart started to beat. He made my heart start beating. He was a doctor calling out Clear!, his lips a defibrillator - and he shocked my body, my heart, till I gasped for air as the electrical power of Jerry powered me from within and the surge of adrenaline was screaming at me, “Live, Goddamit, live!”
Soon the trees went from green to brown, and back to green. It was a year of a cat and mouse love affair. Like the cartoon, I chased Jerry every day and got hurt every time. In my last attempt to bring the spark back - I guess, for myself - I refused to accept that is was over, so I sent him a message asking him to meet at our beach to try get back to the carefree young men we were when we first met.
With a bottle of champagne in a bag on my shirtless back, I started the twenty minute walk through the bush and over rocks to get to the sliver of white beach. I thought about how we would chase each other around these rocks wearing nothing. The laughter and the sex were bountiful. So happy, deliriously happy. I wanted a taste of that happiness again. I’m over the rocks and just a moment from our spot, when I see two men. I see it’s Jerry, he is bent down on the sand and another man is pounding him on his knees. My soul cracks open, and a thick vomitous black fluid seeps into my veins and filled my heart. It begins to set, like thick concrete, my heart becoming cold and hard.
I turned and walked back. I walked over the rocks and through the bush. I started my car. I went home. I packed my bag. I locked up my home. I sat in the car and had a cigarette. I started the car. I stared at the blank basement parking wall. I drove out of the parking. I put some petrol in my car. I drove to the airport. I flew back north. I waited for my bag at the airport. I rented a car. I drove for two hours to the farm. I arrived at night. I greeted my parents. I went to bed . . .
Two days later I woke from my emotionally induced coma. After a healthy, hearty mamma’s breakfast, I dived straight into the herb garden. My parents neglected it for a while, and I was so desperate to make things grow, to keep things alive and to make something beautiful.
It was not long before the garden flourished with an array of different herbs, any cook’s dream garden. And my parents loved to cook. I want to be able to cook with someone for years, the way my parents have cooked together. Often they argued, so utensils were flung about, but in the end they always remained in the kitchen, together.
I returned home six months later. The weather had changed, it was now full into Winter. After a few days of cleaning up my apartment I had carelessly abandoned, I returned to our, or rather, my beach. The beach was empty, except for one man playing a guitar on the rocks. I sat not too far away, to maybe just hear the music. The background music might set the tone for whatever I came here to do.
I look different from those lover romp days with Jerry. My skin is slightly pale and my softer, plump body is now covered in winter’s gear. The setting has not changed much. Well, the season has, but the mountain still shields the beach, it still has a pink face; the sand is still white and the water is just as inviting.
The wind is constantly beating against my body and as I get closer to the edge of the rocks, the wind blasts fine sprays of ice-cold water against my face. I begin to sob at the idea of what I have lost, when the man playing the guitar is suddenly standing next to me.
“Hey, do you mind if I sit here and play, it’s far better than sitting alone?”
I was pleasantly surprised.
“Please, be my guest.”
Before I had time to dry my eyes, he immediately starts playing, singing a familiar song:
“. . . Because, sooner or later in life, the things you love you lose
But you got the love you need to see it through
You got the love…
You got the love you need to see it through . . .”
My life is in my own hands. Nobody does something to me that I do not allow them to do. I must have more respect for myself, and in turn, people will respect me too. Even though falling in love made my heart beat fast for the first time, nothing has made me feel more real than the numbing feeling of heartbreak and realisation that I have to move on, if I want to ever feel alive again.
Joanne and Jeremy Get Away
Joanne is standing on the corner of the road with a little backpack, filled to maximum capacity, waiting for him. Joanne is very slender and toned, tall and statuesque with a slight androgynous sexual appeal. As she began tying up her long brown hair with the only elastic band she remembered to bring she notices Jeremy’s rough little Jeep coming down the street. Her eyes grew twice the size, to match the smile she refused to tame back. Joanne is madly in love, for the first time in her young life, like an effervescent in cold champagne, someone has come along to make her heart melt and bubble. She adored him and she is adored.
They met while they were at the University of Cape Town. They met in the only class they shared together, English Poetry - he, a young car enthusiast with the heart of a true romantic and she, a strong independent highly self-motivating humanist - and they instantly connected with their love for poetry. Finished their degrees and after many failed attempts at finding any real work besides bar work, they decided to hit the road and see where they land.
She opens the car door and stares at her lover, a strong young man with a golden skin, pitch black hair and the softest mesh of light brown coloured eyes that sparkled, golden yellow in the sunshine. She throws her bag in the back and hops into her seat. She feels a slight pop but pays no attention to the seam on the seat that she just broke free. But when you are in love there are no seams, no debt, and no other people, only two lovers so happy that they finally found one another. Who lets that go? Who looks away? Who stops to check the seam?
It’s a scorcher of a day and the topless Jeep allows the sun to beat down the two runaway lovers. They head north. She wants to go to the driest possible spot in South Africa. He wants to drive. They need to be together. And the road is the time line for their runaway love affair.
“I want to see the place with all the little white houses, babe”, she says to him. “That beautiful little village you told me about, where we can sleep on the beach. Please take me there”, she asks him while getting up on her knees to look at his eyes closer. Her knees are piercing the seat while she bounces up and down with glee, and splitting the seam further.
She is so bright eyed, and those bright green eyes captivate him, she is like a child at a theme park for the very first time, her excitement is palpable, and he is that theme park. “Anything for you my love”, he gently replies, touching her face as he says so and sealing it with a gentle kiss on her soft lips.
They arrive in Paternoster a few hours before the sun is about to set. Down the long dirt road to a secluded part of a game reserve they stop the car and take in the view together. The sky’s colours change with every minute that passes. Its soft blue hues fade to an orange point and by the time the sun is just touching the oceans tip in the horizon, the sky is on fire with shades of pink, orange with slashes of purple. As the sun starts to sink into the water, Joanne rolls a joint. They smoke it and lie there watching the day turn to night. He starts to run his fingers down the side of her body, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them off her body. Soon they are lying on the bonnet of the car, naked. The moonlight shines off of their soft brown skin and the two young lovers make love with a blanket of stars over them.
He wakes up in the middle of the night. A cool mist starts to flow in from the ocean. A pleasant welcome for such a warm evening but he gets off the front of the car and takes the bags out the back and puts them on the front seat. He opens up the rear door and adjusts the mattress that is already spread out. He goes to collect her from the front of the car to bring her to the back and put her on the mattress. Gently, nudging his fingertips under her body, he rolls her onto his hands and into his arms in one smooth move. He pulls her up and grips her tightly in his strong arms, and glides to the back of the car, whispering to her as he goes,
“The man in loves wave,
Rolls up and down on its gentle swell.
And my soul I can save
Because this is love, and I fell”
With the utmost benevolence, he places her on the mattress, curls up next to her, never letting her go, and he falls asleep, his naked body clutching hers.
The mist builds up as the sun starts to rise but they continue to sleep and the weight of the bags on the passenger seat pulls the seam more apart, gradually, throughout the night. Once they wake up it’s not long before they are back in their seats and ready to drive.
After a few hours they see a large mountain in front of them, “Should we go up the pass or keep heading north?” he asks her. “I want to see the view from the top, my love. I want to know what is on the other side. What do you think?” she replies. He slows down. Turns and looks at her, “I want to make you happy, so as long as we are together, I will take you wherever you want to go, my darling”.
He turns off the road and heads up the pass towards the town of Calvinia.
At the top of the hill he looked her in her eyes once again, and says, “I know I am in love because I look into your eyes and I see the world, and when I look out at this great world below us, I see you”. She is so blown away by all his kind words that she is left speechless, all there is to do is pull him closer, and kiss him. In minutes they are making love again, as she lies back on the car, skirt raised to her waist and his pants are around his ankles.
Just before they reach Calvinia, a sign says ‘Ceres’ pointing to the right. He looks at her and she immediately knows what he is thinking. “Take me to the valley of the fruit my honey”, she yells out into the air that gushes so relentlessly above her head. One simple movement and the lovers are making their new path towards the south but stopping at the first petrol garage.
He tells her that he is going to get some snacks for them, if she will just wait by the Jeep while they fill it with diesel. Before he leaves he pops the bonnet so that the attendant can check the oil and water. He also fills two canisters with some extra diesel, for good measure, and places them under the seats.
While she is waiting patiently next to the car stretching her legs, two dirty and rough looking locals approach her. “What’s a pritty little gil doin alone”, they ask her with their broken English accent. She tries not to humour them and chooses to ignore their presence. “Don’t be like that, now, I just want to find out the name to such a pritty face”, they continue to harass her as the one guy speaking gets closer to her face and the other guy comes around the car to block her from the other side. Joanne is not a girl one can walk over, and soon they have gone too far, “What makes you think I would even talk to someone like you? What makes you think that you can come here with your oily hair and greasy belly that’s poking out the bottom of your already too tight shirt, and expect me to respond? Respond to what? What do you expect… that I’ll quickly fuck you in this pit stop bathroom… why don’t’ you go fuck each other!”
Suddenly Jeremy comes running out the shop to find out what is happening. The men immediately retreat with his presence but not before the man in the front of the car breaks a pipe without anyone noticing. The couple gets back in the car and drive off as quickly as possible. She is still very upset, so he tries to calm her down, “Baby, you can’t let people like that get to you”, she immediately interrupts him angrily, “No, babe, I am sorry but as soon as I am left alone, all these scrap men start crawling out from the cracks trying to stick it in. It disgusts me. You know what they want? They don’t even know who I am. They need to put in their place as soon as it gets to a certain point or they will do something worse. Trust me, I know”. He could hear her sincerity and decided not to push a very sensitive topic any further.
Joanne and Jeremy drove in silence for a while at the beginning of the longest dirt road in South Africa, unbeknownst to them. The road seems to go on forever, and with every hilltop they reach, what lay out in front of them, is just another long stretch of sun scorched, dusty, dirt road, totally devoid of any real vegetation. The sun is beating down on them and their water supply is minimum.
Jeremy notices the fuel gauge going down far too quickly, and he starts smelling diesel fumes. For a while he ignores the warnings, thinking he is just stoned and paranoid about something going wrong, so he continues to drive. Eventually the smell gets too strong, so he pulls over. He pops the bonnet and a gush of smoke bellows up. “This pipe is cracked babe. I can fix it, but I need to wait for the engine to cool”. She stands up and screams, “Fuck”, as she sits back down the seats seam splits and the and gives into her weight. She gets out the car in a huff and walks into the semi-arid land.
Instead of getting back on track when he finally fixes the crack, they decide they would camp out there. Day went to night without even noticing the change. The dark came quick and the blue roof that turned black was soon lit up by millions of bright shining stars that covered the Karoo sky. It mesmerized them as they lay on the back of the Jeep, gazing up. It looks like a ravine of light that cuts the sky open. She breaks the silence eventually, “Do you think love is like a mountain? Hard to climb, but the view from the top is amazing. I am so in love with you Jeremy”.
In the middle of the night, Joanne gets up to go take a much-needed pee.
Jeremy wakes up in the early morning, while it is still dark, and to his surprise, Joanne is not next to him. He gets out of the back of the car and calls out her name. Jeremy begins to panic, as Joanne does not respond. He begins to call out her name louder and louder, and still no reply. He runs back to the car to try find his phone, maybe she has hers on her. He calls her and she answers but the connection is so bad that eventually it cuts out.
Jeremy doesn’t know what to do, should he wait for her or leave to go find her, but where? Moments later he gets a message. It’s from Joanne and it reads, “I’m in the bush. I’m lost. Start the car and put the music loud.” He does as he is told. Moments later, Joanne emerges from the dry bushes. Her body is covered in blood. He immediately reacts, “Oh my God. Joanne. Are you bleeding? You are covered in blood! Baby, is it yours”. She is speechless. She opens her door, reaches into her bag and pulls out a box of cigarettes, lights one up, and sits on the side of the road.
After a few drags she starts to talk, “Those guys came. They took me into the desert. Ripped off my skirt and found out. They had a knife. My dick distracted them. I grabbed the knife. I stabbed them both to death…”
They sat in silence for a while. Then she just fell asleep. He picked her up and put her in the back of the Jeep and went off into the desert. He starts looking for the bodies, and finds them. Lifeless. Without thinking a thing, numb, he starts digging a hole big enough to cover the two bodies in a shallow grave. Pushing the bodies in and returning to the car. He didn’t want to wake her so he starts to stitch up her seat. Once he is done he decides it is time to go and he starts to drive.
She wakes up eventually while the sun is rising just to the left. He reaches over and holds her hand. She grips his back tightly. They say nothing to each other and just drive together, following the road, on their getaway
“In the Car”
Debra has not been in the house long, mainly dating Roberts father long distance for many years before they just decided to get married. She was young, naïve but very in love with her new husband.
She stumbles onto something rather unpleasant and has to confront Robert immediately, “Robert, please tell me you didn’t bump the new car?”
“Because how would you bump it unless you were driving it?”
“I did take…”
“I mean why would a 16-year-old boy be so silly as to take a new car out for a spin?”
“I did drive th…”, she interrupts him again.
“Please, please, enlighten me as to the logical steps you made that made you think that the outcome of this little adventure would end in any other way besides disaster?”
“Well. I got back from hockey practice and you just left to go to the salon…right?”
“Well, you see I went into the kitchen and made some lunch when Brad from two houses down game by to have a look at the new car. You know Brad?” he tries to distract her with details, and it works.
“Ummmm, Sheila’s oldest? “
“Yes! The one with all the muscles, so I was like totally. I let him in and we went to the garage. He is really into cars and when he suggested we sit in the seats I started to think that maybe this was going to be a bad idea. But I wanted to be cool so I went to get the keys. He climbed in the drivers seat and I sat in the passenger seat. He then told me to get a CD so we could test the sound. I ran inside to try find something a little metal to maybe impress him with the music I listen to but the slipknot CD was hard to find. Eventually I found it in the CD player, stupid me, and I went back to the car. There he was, in the driveway, he pulled the car out the garage and told me to get in. I was shocked but I still got in. He put the CD in and started to drive. He just went around the block and back again. Then pulled safely into the garage again.”
She starts getting irritated, “OK, Robert, OK, when exactly did the bump happen now, you are kind of starting to work on my last nerve?”
“Just relax… stepmom. As soon as the garage door closed behind us I just took off my shirt and kissed him, surprisingly he kissed me back and when we stopped kissing he let go of the clutch and the car jolted forward and bumped the cupboard and a paint tin fell onto the bonnet.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you allow your friends to do what they want in our home, or that you are attracted to boys or that you are a little easy…? Cause I can tell you that neither of them seem to have a sugar coating here… stepson?”
“Well that was a sugar coating.”
“What do you mean?”
“Its not the first boy and we didn’t just kiss.”
His stepmother notices his odd silence and proud sexual demur. “Oh my word. Sweet Jesus. If I had my pearls on I would be clutching them. Jesus, Robert, get me some water. What will your father say? Oh my God. Will he be pissed… he is going to be pissed? He might flip out. I think he’ll flip out”
“Here you go” passing her the glass.
“No, no, darling, I said wine, bring me some wine honey.” Lights flash through the curtains as Roberts’s dad arrives home in the coupe, only used for work. “My dear sweet Mary mother of Jesus… its your father… he’s home. Act normal. Just act normal. Sit down…no, no, stand up. No. Sit down. Just act natural…”
Dad slowly gets out of his car. Opens the garage and walks round the new car.
“Holly shit. You must be joking. Debra! Debra! Get out here, Debra, you need to see this.”
Debra walks outside with fear in her eyes and the soft skin around the eye trembles, which makes the sweat beads glistening in the dull light seem like wrinkles. She looks 10 years older. Roberts’s dad notices it but pays no attention rather allowing her the time to explain the truth of the dent that she clearly has some information on. Remaining very calm he asks her, “Did you see this dent on the bonnet and the scratch on the bumper…? Well, did you notice it or not…?”
She starts to panic and her heart palpitates. She suddenly blurts out, “Oh my god…Robert is a Mary, a fairy, a milkmaid at a men’s dairy er …you know …er… milking men at a dairy…er…ummmm … he fancies a boy two houses down…an athlete, beautiful boy…er…I don’t know why I said that, it doesn’t matter that he is an athlete… it matters that he is a he … “she begins to sob.
He places his hand on her shoulder and with a very condescending pat on the back, he tries to comfort her, “Yes. Yes Debra, he is gay. But the car…what about the car Debra? Do you know about the dent?”
“I just went to get my nails done. And when I came in I asked him what he thought and he said that criii…mson red was totally fier….cccceeeee.” wailing as she speaks. “I should have known, it was as clear as day. Do you think he has kissed many boys before? Do you think he has sucked….oh my…he did take his shirt off in the car real easily…”
“…is it me? Am I a bad stepmom…? Well he never takes me serious… oh my god, I don’t give him a chance, do I…? ”
“Wait!” Getting a little stern tone in his voice. “He was in the car? At what part of the day did this happen? Did he drive it?”
She immediately stops the crying and starts explaining in a very detailed story telling manner, “I had to go get my nails done, right?” she stares at him for a response.
“Yes, yes, we covered this already, your nails, great…but what about the car?”
“Sssso,” rolling her eyes at him, “when Robert got home from hockey practice I left for the salon. I thought he was going to do his homework but apparently he went to make a sandwich, I think it was a ham sandwich…”
“Hells bells…the car, not the damn sandwich…” getting very frustrated.
”AND” Debra getting irritated at being interrupted, “there was a knock at the door. It was the kid from down the street…what is his name? ahh, yes, Andrew… Andrew, the oldest one is called Andrew”
Robert over hears the name, comes into the room they are standing in and quickly interrupts his stepmother, “Wait. I can’t let you tell him.” He takes a few steps further towards his dad and looks at him straight in the eyes. “Look, dad, it’s not the first sexual experience I have ever had but it is the first with a boy…”
“but you told me it was not the first?” his step mother unwittingly blurts out to him.
“Thanks Debra. Yes.” Muttering under his breath… ”Sugar coating…remember” and then he continues talking directly to his dad, “So he was not the first and he wont be the last. It all was, just right, kissing a man feels right. Kissing him feels more right than anything I have ever done. It feels more right than kissing a girl. I just want to do it again. I am sorry if I disappoint you but this is who I am. This is the man who I am going to be. I hope you can accept it.”
“Umm, Robert, really. Like I know you are gay but can you seriously please explain about the car. The dent. Why is there a dent? Do you know anything about this? And the scratch?” his dad becoming so frustrated in not getting the answer he wants he is practically in tears.
Robert breaths out a sigh of relief and gives a little chuckle, “I have been so nervous about telling you” totally ignoring his dad’s obvious annoyance. “I have played the idea over and over in my head. I thought the day I knew for sure you should know. This is much better than I could ever have imagined. I am so super stoked at this right now.”
Looking at his son he knew it was one of those father-son-life-talk moments and so answered as a father first, “Robert, there is a reason I never let you come along with me to work, to the cement plant. I know it will not interest you so I rather force your brothers to take part in the work I do. You are my special son, the one that tells me what to get Debra for her birthday and reminds me when her birthday is. You are the son I take fishing and never actually fish with because you are much more interested in cooking a warm meal for your dad when he gets back and you are the first to clean and prepare the days catch. You are the son that cleans my clothes when Debra is out of town and the son that keeps the swimming pool pristine. You are the son that helps me pick out the good suit and the best fragrance and the finest shoes. You are my son and I love you. I will always be proud of you, of how courage’s you are and talented. How loving you can be and the amazing ability you have to forgive and see the good in all people. I love you son…” starting to get stern toned again, “but will one of you, please, tell me what the fuck happened to my God damn brand new fucking car? “
In the Middle of the Night by JP De Abreu
There it was again. The scratching, rustling sound in the darkness, just outside the window. And it definitely wasn’t a branch this time. Dan had cut that back last week. From his purr of a snore it was clear he is not going to budge. Stubbing a toe and bumping the nightstand spilling some kind of liquid, all while pulling back the curtain, couldn’t distract me from the man outside in the garden.
He stands there moving the jasmine bushes, beating them slightly with a stick. The smell bursts through the cracked open window. A familiar smell and the comfort of memories rush through the soul, in the blink of an eye. Frosty tipped shivers dance up and down my skin thinking back to times when he was not just a dark figure in the garden. It’s fairly dark outside yet his eyes are clearly staring up towards me. The emptiness of the dark blue ocean drowns out everything but a shark attacking a whale is so luminous even when surrounded with so much blue water. His eyes are luminous surrounded with the dark emptiness of the night. Who is the hunter and who the hunted? I cannot let him inside!
I cannot let him inside. I have to get rid of him quickly. He is not welcome here…he has this burly chest covered in soft hair? And strong arms? He is a total Adonis! Maybe I’ll just go outside and hear what he wants.
It’s been six years since the first time we met. The first flirtatious bump into each other on the dance floor and the first “Can I buy you a drink?” Few words were uttered that night. The music vibrated my veins and he swayed his hips into mine. Staring into the colours of a fire, with its blend of red and orange, white and blue, is staring into his eyes, the colours flicker and blend so effortlessly. Nothing else exists except the amazing blue colour pallet. The rare love at first sight happened that night and it just gave us a silly fright to think that we might end up together, forever. And our fear doomed us.
But he knows not to come here. He knows never to contact me. With a cigarette in his mouth he lights it and the bright flash of fire confirms it’s him. Its old-school-50’s chic, rebel-without-a-cause, I want you, blow the smoke out, stare constantly routine. It’s his routine. He knows it makes my knees go weak. With the classic side swept hair his eyes peek through his heavy fringe. Is it resistible? So in old school fashion… gliding down the stairs and gracefully turning the key, a slight pant as the door swings open, I am a mosquito and he is the purple light of death, flutter closer and closer and closer. Closing the door and stepping out onto the wet grass, barefoot, “You can’t come in”. Staring into the eyes of an old lover is like returning to an old swimming spot as a child, the only thing you feel has changed is you. It still looks the same and the water still feels just as cool as the first time you jumped in and that’s all you want to do, jump right back in, in the deep end.
As though he were handling delicate phyllo pastry, he touches my face and kisses my lips, soft, smooth, melting warm butter lips. “Don’t touch me” From pastry chef to meat tenderizer, he lifts me up and rips off my tiny underwear. Planting me against a rough tree, the bark… “Oh, jesus”… the bark, grating my back with every thumping thrust, pounding away, pounding hard, like a beefy butcher tenderizing a sweet piece of vvvveal! Sweaty. Sweaty veal. “Fuck me on the ground”… and the dew cools the rising temperature. My knees and toes digging into the moist soil as his hard and round chest is pressed up against my back. Hands wrapped round my face and his fingers pushed lightly into my plush mouth. The taste of tobacco and his engulfing smell of Dolce & Gabana mixed with smoky jasmine, envelops me from within. He is intoxicating. He is heroin. He is my fix. And I am mainlining.
The door swings open and bangs as it comes to a stop. Not realizing the bedroom light went on, Dan is staring out at two bodies mating on the ground, in the mud, like two wild animals on heat. Half expecting a bulldozer that is Dan to run straight over us, mauling whatever got in his way. He takes a few steps forward, standing above the two sweaty, muddy, naked bodies, he rips off his tight white vest, pulls me to my feet and gorges on my neck. Still on the ground he touches my legs and runs his fingers to my ass and slides his tongue up my spine till the back of my neck. Pulled from my thighs into the air, my shoulders flop back into another set of firm arms. Lifted high in the sky by two strong men, whose lips and tongues are wrapping my body, lapping up every inch of skin, giving in to whatever they want. Rolling in the mud, a man on top, a man underneath, roll in the mud and a man on his knees and a man on his feet, roll in the mud, two men on their backs, roll in the mud, two men on their feet…three sweaty bodies roll in the mud.
It’s a loerie, the same one every morning, that chirps his now very obtuse chirp early in this morning. The scent of jasmine is rife in the air, joking my nose, suffocating me with sweet smells of pure innocence. The delightfully cheery sun peeks out, blinding me with rays of pure happiness. Everything is just so pure, but me. Lying naked and alone in a muddy patch of grass. Time to peel myself off the ground and make way for a bathroom.
The steam is fast as the shower hisses hot water out within minutes. Slowly, the layer of mud rinses down my body, across my skin making way down my legs to my frosted toes. The water burns them as it runs over them. Lathering up soap all over my body activates the hint of thyme, calms my nerves and clears my head. Patting my aching body dry with a fluffy white towel, I swipe across the mirror and gaze at the hairy man I am. Clippers on. ZZZZZZZ and the sound muffles as it cruises through the thick curly locks that grew over time like ivy in a cool place. My long mop of hair is the first to go before I start on my beard. The smooth cold blade scraps the first layer of skin. Hair fills the basin, but the double snoring attracts attention.
They are lying in the bedroom, together, on the bed but not holding each other rather at other ends of the bed. When did they come to bed? There is just enough space for me to squeeze in between them. Why did they leave me outside? They want me to squeeze in between them. Why are they not holding each other? Everything I think I want is maybe in between these two men but it’s a tight squeeze to get it.
The light brown leather satchel that my father bought me, is lying at the door. It was back in the early nineties and he got this really beautiful bag for me which at the time I thought it was just an old mans bag, funny how twenty years later its still around and looking great. When he gave it to me he said that sometimes we will find ourselves at a cross road when neither road seems appealing. When both roads seem like a dead end and the journey traveled would be a waste of life. Then go down the middle. Take what you need and go through the bush and through the trees, across rivers and through ravines until you find your road. Pay attention to the journey and not just the end of the road.
I reached for my bag and filled it with everything I need, and walked out the door, down the drive way and across the street. On the pavement on the other side of the road, a line is painted with thick and bright yellow paint warning cyclists not to cross. Following this line takes me to the end of the road, the edge of the suburb.