Yearning (12 page)

He wondered if she’d brag about it to her friends, tell them an unbelievable story about losing her cherry to her teacher, but she didn’t seem the type. He considered the likelihood of her being believed. A kid like her would be laughed at. No one would believe that he’d seduce this ordinary teenager when he could have any woman he chose.

Now that she’d had her fun, maybe she’d just slink back into her awkward teenage life. She might forget about him now, or go back to watching him from the safety of her window. But that was unlikely. She was no Tracey. She was obsessed with him. He knew she’d be back.

He sighed. He was really stuck this time. Why did this keep happening to him? Because he was weak, a sucker for fresh young skin. There was something so enticing about young girls who wanted him. They were innocent, open, tolerant. They wanted nothing more from him than just him. The adoration of a young girl was like straight scotch, unspoiled and intoxicating. When they grew into women they became different. Women always had ‘where’s and ‘why’s and ‘how’s. They had expectations.

In spite of himself, he began to feel anxious. This girl wasn’t just looking for a good time. She
would
have expectations of him, expectations he usually managed to avoid. While the prospect of having her again was tantalising, it was treacherous too. He’d been rash. He hadn’t thought it through.

Perhaps he could find a way of stopping it going any further – maybe become unavailable to her or explain he’d made a terrible mistake and apologise. But if he rejected her she’d be hurt and there’s no telling what a hurt teenage girl might do. He’d seen enough of that last time. Embarrassing confrontations, fingers pointed at him as if it were his fault. She’d begged him to sleep with her, then turned around and accused him of forcing her, something he’d never do.

This girl might make a fuss too. At the very least she’d pursue him. She’d watch him like she had for the last six
months or more, and write letters, maybe even sing him back into her arms again with those maddening words of hers.

No. She wouldn’t just go away or be talked out of her feelings. There would be no saying ‘no’ to her and no turning back.

The record had reached the end of the track, but he didn’t notice. He fingered the end of the joint, watching the blue smoke curl in the air. If she wished this ‘situation’ to continue – and who could blame her, her first sexual experience being what it was – then he must ensure her absolute discretion. If it was going to keep happening, he’d have to think about safeguards. For both of them.

As long as he could secure her promise of absolute secrecy, for this and any other passionate moments between them, he might save them both some consequences. He would have to tell her that it was her choice. She had wanted him, had chased him, pushed him, even, into giving her what she wanted. He couldn’t take all the blame.

But could he trust her? Would she be able to keep her mouth shut? No one else had noticed her watching him. Months of stalking and no one seemed to have caught on. And then there was what she’d seen between him and Tracey. He’d been worrying she’d expose him in a fit of jealousy, but it was clear she hadn’t said a word to anyone. She’d shown she was capable of the kind of behaviour a secret liaison would demand. He shouldn’t underestimate her.

He wondered if she was at her window now. It was late, she may be asleep. He ambled into his darkened study and
peered up. Her window stared like a blind eye into the night. He smiled at the thought of her indulging herself alone in bed as he stood there thinking about her. The power of it made him hard again. She had been delicious. Like a clean sheet of paper, she was spotless and fresh and ready to be written upon. He wanted to cover her with his body again, to shield her from the clumsy fumbling of adolescent boys.

He wandered back to his bedroom thinking about how many of his lovers had told him that, if they had the choice, they would’ve preferred to have learned about sex with a man who knew what he was doing; someone who cherished their bodies and treated them with reverence and respect; a man who could show them how to find the pleasures sheltered within their own bodies. Didn’t this young girl deserve that? Did she not deserve to be smoothed into her sexuality in a considerate and intelligent way by a sensitive, slow hand?

He knew he could do this for her. He could offer her that ultimate and ecstatic gift. Giving in to what seemed to be the inevitable, Solomon decided that if she approached him again he would welcome her. He’d befriend her, warn her of the consequences, extract a solemn promise of silence and become her mentor. He would show her, first-hand, the power and beauty that lay within the act of sex.

Solomon tuned in to the distant silence click silence click silence click of the record player. Pulling back the sheet he stood gazing at the daisy of drying blood, splashed like a talisman in the middle of his bed. He thought how elegant it was, a decorative, natural badge of honour.
He’d intended on stripping the sheets, but now he changed his mind. Shutting his eyes, he breathed deeply, centring and relaxing his body and mind. He stretched his arms over his head and commenced a series of yoga stretches, the Salute to the Sun, repeating them until he felt his awareness settle into the present. Then with mind, body and spirit relaxed and in tune, wandered into the kitchen looking for something to eat.

*

Resonance is what makes us work. In perfect resonance, like chiming bells, we harmonise. We send out ripples of energy that balance and heal the universe. We are perfection together when we are united as one. Only we and the angels could know such bliss.

‘Tea’s ready.’

She slammed her diary shut at her mother’s voice. The sound of her parents made her jumpy these days. They always interrupted her when she was thinking about him – which was all the time. She’d been doing her best to act normally and stop herself from rushing back to Solomon’s house, but walking around in a half-daze and constantly writing in her diary probably wasn’t helping.

She buried the diary under her mattress and wandered down the stairs, imagining it was Solomon waiting for her at the dinner table instead of her parents. He’d smile, reach out to her, draw her to her chair, kiss her cheek, pour a drink, talk to her. As she entered the kitchen her mother was tidying at the sink and her father was grumbling.

‘ . . . thinks she having an affair. With
him
.’ He jerked his head over his shoulder.

Her mother turned to face him, her mouth gaping open. He nodded in reply.

‘Who’s having an affair with who?’ she ventured. It was rare for her parents to gossip. Her father glanced at her sharply.

‘Nobody. None of your business. Just sit down and eat your tea.’

Not wanting to anger him she did as she was told and sat down to her lonely plate at the end of the table. Her father bent over his meal and studied the sports pages of the paper, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. Her mother joined them silently.

The kitchen filled with the sound of clinking forks, scraping knives and chewing. She wondered what Solomon was eating for dinner. His kitchen always smelled delicious, nothing like the wet cabbage smell of her mother’s cooking. Everything in Solomon’s house smelled good, like cinnamon, kind of warm and earthy. And he smelled good, too. She felt a thrill as she remembered the coconut shampoo smell of his hair.

‘You haven’t seen much of Amanda these holidays.’

Her shoulders tensed with irritation. Her mother always sounded accusing, like there was something wrong with the way she did things. She stared at her mashed potato and shrugged. Truth was she’d been too preoccupied with Solomon to give Amanda any thought. She’d been afraid she’d spill her guts if she called her. But in the last few days she’d hatched a plan. And now her mother had mentioned it, Amanda could be a great alibi.

‘I’m seeing her tomorrow morning. We’ve decided to go running a couple of times a week. We’re gonna get fit for the swimming carnival.’ This was a half-truth. They’d talked about getting fit for the swimming carnival, but talk about it was all they’d done.

‘Running? You two?’ Her mother snorted.

Usually she hated it when her mother scoffed but tonight she didn’t care. Tonight she was glad that her parents didn’t bother about her. For years she’d longed for parents like Amanda’s: happy and welcoming and full of fun. She felt part of a family at Amanda’s noisy house. Here, she was as good as invisible. As long as she was good, did as she was told and didn’t upset them, her parents left her alone.

Her mother cleared the plates and plunged them into a sink full of hot soapy water. Her dad was still engrossed in the paper. She looked him, studying his features. His face was narrow like her own, and ruddy, his nose speckled with freckles and tiny broken capillaries. He had a working man’s head, a bit beaten and weathered, a face that had seen too much beer and sunlight. She poked her tongue out at him. He didn’t notice. She stuck a finger inside each cheek and pulled her mouth wide. He kept reading. Her mother came back to the table with their dessert of ice cream and tinned fruit and caught her pulling faces.

‘Stop that,’ she hissed, and gave her a little slap on the back of her head.

‘Sorry.’

Her father kept reading, oblivious. She dropped her hands back to the table, picked up her spoon and thought about which pair of nice undies she would wear when she went running the next morning.

My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.

The Song of Solomon

She rose in the early morning to find the world shrouded in a misty grey blanket. She checked the street was empty before creeping up Solomon’s overgrown sideway to sneak in through his back door. He was still sleeping, splayed across the bed like a bird in flight. Strands of hair lay tangled over his face. She knelt by the bed and watched him breathing. The smoothness of his skin was irresistible. She leaned gently over him, her chilled hand creeping under his blankets towards his stomach. Startled from slumber he sat up quickly, crashing his forehead into hers. They both groaned in pain. When he saw her he laughed sleepily.

‘How did you get in?’

‘Back door.’

She sat beside him on the bed. Now he was awake she was uncertain. Maybe she shouldn’t have come.
She fidgeted with the ties on her track pants, embarrassed by his nakedness.

‘I’ve taken up exercising,’ she murmured.

‘Have you?’ He rubbed his eyes and lay back against the pillows with his hands behind his head. ‘Good for you.’

She blushed and fiddled with her shoe laces. She realised she didn’t know what to do or say. She’d imagined that she’d come in and just kiss him awake and they’d make love again, but now it all seemed a bit silly and she was nervous.

He reached over and stroked her face. ‘Last night was really amazing.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, it was.’ She watched him watching her, feeling the words rising to the surface where they burst like a bubble. ‘Can we do it again?’

He smiled and pulled her to him, humming and snuffling at her cool morning air scent. He lay her down among his pillows.

She bit her lip as he nuzzled her neck, blowing his warm breath over her chilled skin. ‘Umm . . . Solomon, I don’t really know what to do.’

Leaning back he smiled into her eyes. ‘Don’t worry. I do.’

Relief flooded through her and she let herself go, let his hands dust over her body, let his eyes watch her. She reached up and smoothed his moustache. Words struggled for air inside her. How to tell him how she felt? How to say how relieved she was that he wanted her too?

‘I . . . um . . . really want to be with you.’ She flushed and played with the spirals of hair tumbling around his
shoulders. He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment.

‘Baby, we need to have a little talk about this first.’

She clenched her teeth against a small flutter of panic. She was afraid to look at him. Afraid of all of the ‘no’s’ and ‘we can’ts’ she knew were coming. They shouldn’t, they couldn’t, they mustn’t, it’s not right. She just wished he’d forget about it and kiss her again.

‘If you want to do this, with you and I . . . ’ he paused, ‘ . . . it’s your choice, okay? No pressure. It’s up to you. We only go as far as you want.’

She nodded. She wanted this more than anything else in the world.

‘Have you told anyone?’

She frowned. ‘No way.’

‘Good. We have to keep this very secret. No one can know about us. Nobody will understand. You can’t tell anyone, not even your best friend. You have to be very, very careful for both of us. Do you understand? Can you do that?’ He waited, measuring her with his gaze.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her eyes closing.

‘You mean that? Look at me and say yes.’

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Those pools of dark chocolate; she was unzipped every time she looked into them. She’d promise him anything. ‘Yes. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t want to share you with anyone.’

‘Good girl.’

He parted her lips with his tongue when he kissed her. She responded, hungry for the taste of him. It was just as
good as the first time, maybe better, so soft and delicious. She shivered before pulling back from him.

‘I was afraid you wouldn’t want to again, me being so much younger and everything.’

Solomon paused between kisses across her neck.

‘It’s okay,’ he reassured her, ‘I want to.’

*

The next week, he answered a knock at his door. Her mother stood awkwardly on his concrete verandah. He suppressed the panic uncoiling in him and greeted her with a practised smile. She was more than middle-aged but well preserved for her years. Perhaps there was hope for her daughter yet. She stood with one hand on her hip, smiling cautiously.

‘Hello, Mr Andrews. I’m Jude Baxter from next door. I’m sorry to bother you but I wondered if I could have a word to you about my daughter.’

Ice clenched his spine. ‘Please, call me Solomon.’ He forced a wide smile. ‘Would you like to come in?’ He stepped back and opened the door.