Authors: Elisabeth Rose
‘Everyone, meet Marianne,’ cried Fiorella.
‘Hello Marianne,’ they chorused obediently.
‘Hello,’ she murmured and raised a smile contorted and strangled by nerves.
‘I’m Domenic.’
A confident young man with a shock of curly black hair stepped forward to offer his hand. His wide jaw housed large horse-like teeth which his average sized lips barely managed to cover. He held her fingers a fraction too long.
‘Josie,’ said a rotund redhead who should not have worn hipster anything but had, and topped her jeans with a cropped t-shirt. ‘This is Wanda.’
Wanda was slim and pretty with a nose ring and an eyebrow piercing. What if her tongue was pierced? Ultra cool. Black jeans and singlet top. A tattoo coiled around her bicep but Tiffany couldn’t make out what it was. Barbed wire?
‘Andrew,’ said the man with the sleeping bag and gave her a wave. He was almost handsome, but missed out in some indefinable way.
‘And Rosemary,’ said Fiorella who stood beaming at her clients as they interacted. She placed her hand on the arm of a waif-like woman with wispy white-blonde hair and the big eyes of a Dickensian orphan. Rosemary flushed pink and muttered something inaudible directed at the floor. ‘We just have a couple more men to join us. Typical, isn’t it, girls?’
Fiorella gave a great shout of laughter and went out. Tiffany put her armful of bedding down against a wall. Opposite was an eye-catching pink blanket and a large pink cushion. She glanced around the room; cream coloured carpet, big windows with Venetian blinds, open at the moment to reveal some gum trees and a stretch of grass outside. At the wall by the door stood a table covered in a white lace cloth, on it a range of small coloured bottles, two wooden bowls, a pile of neatly folded handtowels and two squat, red candles — undoubtedly perfumed. At the far end of the room was a small kitchen area.
Moments later Fiorella burst in with the latecomers, a very large, moon-faced young man smiling happily and, bringing up the rear with an entrance that could only be termed reluctant, the surf shop guy.
He scanned the room quickly until his gaze alighted on Tiffany. Her neck grew hot, then her chin and her cheeks, right on up to her forehead. A veritable radiator. Perspiration ran down under the collar of her blouse. He smiled, his eyes twinkling with some sort of private glee.
Tiffany studied the floor. Fiorella said, ‘Meet Nathan and Boris.’
Boris? Neither of them looked Russian. Tiffany looked up but not fast enough to see who was who. The two men nodded and said hello as Fiorella ran quickly through the introductions. Boris/Nathan strolled across to her side.
‘Hello Marianne,’ he said. He dumped a tartan picnic rug on the floor against the wall behind her. ‘Headache gone?’
Tiffany managed a stiff-necked nod.
‘As we’re all here, let’s get started. Don’t worry if you didn’t catch everyone’s name, by the end of the day you’ll know each other intimately.’ Fiorella paused to let the nervous titter of laughter ripple around the group. ‘I applaud you for doing something positive towards a greater understanding of your inner self, nurturing your love child.’
Beside her, Boris/Nathan exuded a gigantic magnetic attraction, dragging Tiffany’s eyes towards him. She fought the temptation and kept her attention on Fiorella.
‘A reminder of the rules. No offensive remarks, no sexual innuendos either verbally or through gestures, no touching other than where the exercise requires. Respect for your partner at all times. Try to do each exercise to the best of your ability. Relax. Have fun. Release the inner you. We’ll start with a short meditation to remove ourselves from the everyday world and increase awareness of our body and our spiritual being. Please spread out your nesting material.’
‘May I make my nest next to yours?’ asked Nathan/Boris.
Tiffany nodded.
‘Why are you here?’ she muttered as people arranged their blankets and pillows.
‘You’re not supposed to ask that,’ he said calmly. ‘But I’ll tell you anyway. Fiorella was short a man so she asked me to fill in.’
That explained his reluctance. But, and her heart leapt, it meant he was single. It also meant he didn’t think he was in need of remedial kissing classes, but meant, mortifyingly, he knew she thought she was.
‘Have you filled in before?’ Even worse if he had, he’d be an expert amongst novices.
‘Yes.’ He flapped his tartan rug about and a few pieces of dry grass flew onto the floor. ‘Whoops.’ He swished the grass under his rug with his foot.
Heart thudding, Tiffany studiously turned her attention to her own nest. He was too gorgeous. What would be worse? Kissing horse-toothed Domenic or kissing Nathan/Boris the surf shop guy who already regarded her as a joke and was only here as a favour to Fiorella.
It was always the same. The type of guy she thought was sexy looked straight through her. Now this one knew she had a kissing deficiency as well as a tendency to spill tea and sugar over herself. He probably thought she was a secret drinker with a morning hangover.
‘Everybody ready? Remove your shoes and lie down comfortably.’ Fiorella darted about pulling blinds as she spoke, reducing the light to cool, dim shadows. Gentle, tinkling music interspersed with birdsong and wind in treetops trickled into the room. ‘Close your eyes and allow yourself to relax. Give yourself permission to be here in this moment, calm and peaceful.’
Tiffany lay on her back and closed her eyes. Put him out of her mind
.
She was here for her own benefit. After this weekend she’d be gone from Birrigai and never see him or any of these people again.
Concentrate.
Fiorella’s voice was soporific. Tiffany’s mind absorbed the gentle directions. She floated. Perfect peace. A tingling warmth began flowing through her fingers and toes. Wonderful sensation. The music flowed around and about caressing her with sound. She was heavy, she was light, she was soaring...
‘Slowly open your eyes.’
Tiffany’s eyes reluctantly flickered open. She sat up and rubbed her hands and face. Next to her Nathan/Boris did the same. His mouth curved lazily and she couldn’t help but smile back. She’d never felt such a marvellous sense of peace and well-being in her life.
‘We’ll begin our first exercise with partners,’ said Fiorella quietly. ‘This is where we learn to give our partner pleasure with our touch in a non-erotic way and we learn to receive that gift from another. If you would like to be partnered with someone for the whole day that is your choice. But as I know you’re all strangers to each other, I’ll draw names for each exercise.’ She indicated the two small polished wood bowls on the table.
‘Andrew and Wanda.’
Wanda crawled across to Andrew and sat on his sleeping bag.
‘Boris and Rosemary.’
Surf shop guy was Boris. Rosemary flushed brick red. A pang of disappointment knifed through Tiffany as Boris got up and strolled across to Rosemary’s pink arrangement.
‘Domenic and Marianne. And that leaves Josie with Nathan.’
Domenic scooted over to perch on the edge of Tiffany’s blanket before Fiorella had finished speaking and before Tiffany had time to rearrange her features from dismay to neutral.
‘Marianne,’ he said. ‘I knew we were meant to be. I can save time and tell Fiorella we’ll stay together all day.’
‘Better not, Domenic.’ Tiffany made herself smile. ‘The other girls might be disappointed.’
‘We’ll start by giving each other a foot massage,’ announced Fiorella. ‘Come and collect a bottle of perfumed oil.’
Tiffany jumped up before Domenic could move. ‘Boris’ was already taking his bottle from the table. He paused while Tiffany chose rose-scented oil and said softly, ‘Fiorella says who you are paired with is destiny. Sometimes, quite by chance, people are partnered with the same person at each draw for the whole day.’
Tiffany glanced at Domenic sitting smugly waiting in her nest. ‘Do you believe that?’
He shrugged and smirked. ‘We’ll have to wait and see. Domenic may be your destiny.’
Miles turned his attention to poor bewildered Rosemary.
‘Just relax,’ he murmured. Rosemary’s leg twitched involuntarily each time he rubbed her toes.
‘It tickles,’ she said, just like a four-year-old.
Miles grinned and continued but his attention wandered to where Domenic was vigorously rubbing Marianne’s foot as though he were polishing his car. She’d have no skin left the rate he was going and despite the smile plastered on her lips he knew she wasn’t enjoying it at all. What if Fiorella’s prediction was correct and some names did come up together each time? How could he rig the draw? They should be paired at least once in this small group but they could as easily not be. The whole day could be an incredibly frustrating waste of time. And she’d leave tomorrow.
Fiorella, who was wandering about observing progress, said, ‘Remember, you’re giving pleasure to your partner. Ask them are they enjoying it? Giving pleasure is receiving pleasure. Concentrate on your partner.’ She was standing right in front of Miles.
‘You’re really good at this,’ said Rosemary loudly.
From the corner of his eye he saw Marianne look across. Her lips tightened and she turned her head.
‘Change places,’ said Fiorella.
Rosemary began gouging energetically at his foot. Miles glanced over to where Marianne was doing the same to Domenic. She was concentrating hard but looked as though she had a dead fish in her hands. Her lovely brow wore a slight frown.
‘Marianne’s pretty, isn’t she?’ said Rosemary softly. Miles jerked his attention back. She was watching him with a sad little smile on her face, her fingers still massaging his toes. ‘I can’t imagine why she’s here. She must have lots of men wanting to kiss her.’
Miles leaned closer. ‘You’re pretty too,’ he whispered. ‘And you do a great foot massage.’
Her pale cheeks flushed pink.
‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’
Oh Lord!
Rosemary was gazing at him with puppy-like adoration.
‘How do we feel?’ asked Fiorella. ‘Massaging your partner is very intimate. It says,
I care about you, I want to make you feel good
. A massage need not be a sexual thing, it can be a loving, caring gift between friends.’
In the changed atmosphere in the room Fiorella beamed at her clients. The tension had eased. People were smiling and giggling together. Even Marianne and Domenic looked more relaxed.
Damn him.
‘Our next exercise is more intimate. New partners.’
Miles watched intently as Fiorella chose the first slips of paper.
‘As I call your names go and wash your hands thoroughly at the sink.’ She waved a hand towards the other end of the room. ‘Nathan and Rosemary. Boris and Marianne.’
Yes! Marianne had turned pink. Domenic looked annoyed. She leapt to her feet and almost ran to wash her hands.
‘Domenic and Wanda. Josie and Andrew.’
Marianne sat on her blanket waiting. Miles couldn’t tell from her expression if she was pleased or not.
‘Shall we combine our nests?’ he asked.
‘Might as well,’ she said stiffly.
‘This exercise involves fruit,’ said Fiorella with excessive enthusiasm. ‘It can get a little messy so I’ve provided towels and we’ll have a short break afterwards for a cup of tea and a wash. Jen will hand around bowls of sliced pineapple, mango and crushed strawberries and you’ll feed each other. Any drips are to be gently kissed away. Superficial contact at this stage, please. Cheeks, chin, fingers — sucked clean.’
Miles took the bowl of fruit from Jen.
‘Hi there,
Boris
,’ she said, leaning on the name. She laughed.
Miles glanced at Marianne’s face in profile. She was rigid, her fingers entwined, white knuckled. Shiny, blonde hair fell across her cheek hiding her down-turned face.
‘I shouldn’t have come.’ She whispered so softly he only just caught the words. ‘I can’t do this.’
Miles put the bowl down and moved onto her blanket. He knelt in front of her and said gently, ‘Of course you can. It’ll be fun. You like fruit, you said so.’
She peeked up at him. Her lips moved and he thought she might be going to smile, or cry.
‘But you think it’s a joke. I’m a joke,’ she said and looked him directly in the eye. ‘You and that woman...’
‘I know her, that’s all. Jen doesn’t think it’s a joke. She’s devoted to this place. I don’t think it’s a joke, I think it’s fun and that’s completely different.’ His voice dropped as he saw the indecision in her lovely eyes. The vulnerability of a girl he’d thought so self-assured, so beautiful, took him aback, ‘I don’t think you’re a joke.’
Marianne bit her lip, and he wished this was the afternoon exercise where they really did get to kiss, properly. He picked up a slippery piece of mango.
‘Open wide.’
Marianne obeyed and when she chewed, juice ran down her chin. He caught her wrist as she instinctively went to wipe it away. ‘No, I do that.’
He leaned forward and gently ran his mouth over her chin, kissing the sweetness from her smooth skin. She tasted like mango but the warmth of her body gave it a depth of flavour that made his breath catch in his throat. He felt her trembling beneath his mouth, hesitated with his lips, caressing softly and moved his mouth to her moist, sweet lower lip and the corners of her mouth.
He wanted to plunge deep inside her slightly parted lips, to taste with his tongue every miniscule portion of her. But he forced himself to graze lightly, superficially, brushing across the softness and resisting the irresistible. He wanted to stay forever with his lips against her skin. When he finally stopped she exhaled loudly but didn’t say a word, stared at him with big, surprised eyes.
‘Now you clean my fingers,’ he murmured, stunned by the force of the tenderness welling inside him. He held up sticky fingers. She placed her warm hand on his and slowly closed her mouth around his index finger. His breath shuddered as she withdrew her lips. Her tongue gently wrapped around his finger savouring the luscious taste of mango, then she sucked his thumb and each of his other fingers, slowly, in turn. When she finished he lowered his hand but couldn’t drag his gaze from hers.