“You seem such a great guy, Ray, and it’s really easy, really relaxing to hang out with you.” Thus had Neely attempted to initiate a serious chat over nachos in the Watershed Arts Centre’s café before they went in to see their arty Swedish vampire movie. It was easy to be with him, although not relaxing in every sense. Her stomach was inevitably tight in his presence.
He’d leant across the table, totally focused on her. His long eye-lashes were blond-tipped and his eyes that rather steely grey-blue—she could summon up the image in bed at night. “Is there a ‘but’ hovering in the air here?” She went to answer, but he got in before her. “You’re committed to the church, and I’ve got no religious or spiritual beliefs worth talking about. So you’re thinking, ‘Is there any real point in pursuing anything beyond friendship, however well we might seem to get along initially?’ Am I right?”
Her exact sentiments, stolen from her before she could even express them. “Well, I might have phrased it something like that.”
She had put a lot of effort into looking like she had put in just so much effort and no more. Trendy-sexy, but not too sexy. Jeans and cowboy boots, a slightly distressed black-leather coat and a bright blue Paisley-patterned neck scarf, the paler-blue ruffled shirt with its two buttons undone. Enough so her Claddagh necklace could be seen dangling discreetly between the very beginnings of her cleavage. Yes, God gave me breasts and they’re impressive in a subtle kind of way, but I don’t go flaunting them. Oh, and a hint of make-up.
Heavens, she shouldn’t allow her appearance to matter so much to her. But there he was, looking sharp and metrosexual yet utterly masculine, in a dark linen suit and open-necked shirt, that strong clean-shaven chin tilted back slightly as he eyed her and responded.
“It would have made total sense if you had said that. I think the wiser part of me probably agrees with it.” He paused, seeming to search for appropriate words. “Thing is, Neely, you’re not like anyone else I’ve dated. You’re committed to something beyond yourself or even those closest to you. You’ve got an integrity, a … a sense of purpose—understated but strong nonetheless—which impresses me. It draws me. It’s …and look, shut me up if I’m going too far here …it’s intoxicating. I suppose there’s a kind of irony there. The aspects of you which attract me the most are the very ones which will no doubt make you say ‘let’s be friends’.”
Whatever Neely had been expecting, this was not it. Any thoughts on the nature of their relationship expired in her throat. “Well, I haven’t told you that yet, have I?” she said without having meant to. The compromise made her thrill with excitement. He held her faltering glance and she reached for the nachos, trying not to stick her fingers in the salsa.
“I’ve no intention of messing with anything you believe,” he said. “I mean, tonight’s the first time we’ve been out properly. I don’t know what this is yet; I’m feeling my way. All I know is that it’s nice. It’s fun.”
“Yes, it is fun.” She smiled, and her insides were strangely warmed. “We’re having fun, what the hell’s wrong with that?” She broke into a full beam. “So let’s relax and have fun, for crying out loud.”
They did, as they finished their meal and as they gasped and laughed through their sophisticated horror flick. It was all so unproblematic now. Until, that was, when they kissed again at date’s end.
It happened more easily than the first time. There had been that nagging concern in Neely’s mind as they travelled back to the drop-off point, how the moment would play out. On arrival, however, it happened spontaneously mid-sentence (she’d been critiquing the vampire genre and comparing their appeal to that of werewolves), her mouth suddenly adhering to his. She could not say for sure who had moved first. Maybe it had been her, prompted by the lightest of touches on her arm. It seemed natural to be stroking his tongue with hers, letting the wet, rhythmic union of their mouths deepen and intensify.
A few coffee interludes and a stroll through the park saw nothing more than some coy hand-holding, but each touch sent mini-shocks via her spine all around her body. He treated her as his equal, yet never since the day before her twentieth birthday had she felt so teenage. The paradox only increased on their picnic date—wet-mouthed contact longer this time, exploration of hands on each other’s face, neck and back, bolder and more lingering. His upper body’s coiled strength was more tangible, the gravitational force of that body upon hers more insistent. Their late-evening farewell undermined the integrity of what she had professed that afternoon in bright sunshine, over champagne and mixed berries …
To be the subject of an interview on modern Christianity for Ray’s article in which she discussed her stance on pre-marital celibacy, what a good idea that had seemed. She’d hoped to lay down some ground-rules regarding their emerging friendship, more for herself than for this guy who treated her with such spotless respect. So she lay on the picnic rug in slim-fit jeans and a tie-dyed vest not too plunging. She strove to sound nonchalant, a girl at peace with her lifestyle choices.
“Sexuality’s important. So important.” Tippling on the Moet Chandon, as she weighed her words. He was taking notes and she wanted to be at least semi-articulate. “It’s a key facet of our natures and a beautiful one, but it sometimes threatens to kind of consume every other aspect and cause loads of pain and mayhem as a result. Ideally—and I suppose I’m an idealist—it’s something that should grow and be expressed in balance with everything else. Cherished and nurtured, but only as the two people experiencing it grow into a full commitment to each other. Does that make sense?”
“A surprising lot of sense.” He let the tape-recorder run. “It’s uncanny. You make me rethink issues I haven’t given consideration in years. If ever. My own experience, my own behaviour, is so far from yours. I’ve treated sex like another appetite to be sated right from my teens. When I meet someone I’m attracted to, I normally … you know … take and enjoy.” He said it wistfully, with a tinge of regret, but it still caused Neely’s heart to speed up. “And because I flatter myself by thinking that my partners have enjoyed as well, I assume it’s okay. Do you think I’m a terrible sinner, Neely?”
“What? Sorry? Gosh, no.” Neely had been distracted by the thought of how intensely Ray’s former partners might have ‘enjoyed’. It gave her an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. “No, you’re not doing anything earth-shatteringly awful, you’re pursuing pleasure, I suppose. For its own sake.” It occurred to her that there might be a whole lot of pleasure to be had with Ray and the realisation stung that others had experienced what for her was completely off-limits. “When maybe,” she concluded with rather a struggle, “there’s something deeper you could be experiencing. At least that’s what I believe …” she tailed off. Dear God, even saying what she just had sounded like an attempt to land him as a steady boyfriend.
“You make it sound very convincing. I’m not sure whether it’s the idea itself or the fact that it’s you expressing it. All of which fills me with very conflicting feelings.”
Me too, Neely thought miserably. Me too.
The conflict returned later that day on the plush seats of his car, when it struck her what a sexually experienced male she had in her arms. Make that between her legs, so closely crushed were they, her thighs splayed by the thrust of his knees. As chemicals fired in her brain and blood stormed to key regions of her anatomy, she could well imagine the physical effect their embrace was having on him. She desperately tried not to, however.
“Look, Neely,” he said, holding her fresh from their lips’ caress, “this is all new to me.” He sounded short of breath, striving to marshal his thoughts. “I’m sure you’ve guessed how I’m used to behaving in situations like this. Not in any very restrained fashion. Not very Christian. I generally act on my instincts. But …” He sounded curiously abashed and she gave him a reassuring squeeze, touched and stirred-up by his confession. “… I want to be clear that I’m trying not to do that here. I’m not hoping or intending to overwhelm you with passion or anything like that.” He added hastily, “And it’s not because I don’t want to, Neely, trust me on that. I find you immensely attractive and very, very sexy. Fact.” He said it with a slight smile, as though to draw some of the words’ intensity. It did not altogether work. Neely’s resolve was almost tangibly shaken by the declaration.
“I’m glad,” she said after a lengthy pause. “And I know you’re not planning on … on jumping me, I appreciate that.” The fact that his stated intention was not to jump her made part of her wish he would. She regretted having chosen that particular verb. It suggested such a thrillingly spontaneous outburst of sexual energy.
Then on official date number three, he did jump her. Kind of.
The all-important third date, Jasmine would have called it. With everything that ensued. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Neely,” the exotic imp would say with a smile. “Those butterflies in the pit of your stomach, because you know that tonight he’s going to try, and that you’re going to let him.”
“Well, he’s not and I’m not,” Neely had responded on this most recent occasion, trying to come off as not-too-pious.
“He’s not one of your church guys. As long as he knows the score … You sure he’ll not be expecting any Neely-love tonight?”
“We’ve talked about it, Jaz. He’s cool with it.”
“If you say so. But I wonder how cool he can be with you looking so damn hot.”
Neely accepted the compliment and laughed off the rest. Jasmine always dressed sexily; she was glad her friend didn’t think she was hiding her light (to misappropriate Holy Scripture) under a bushel. It was wonderful how effectively the right fit of slacks and a simple blouse could show off a girl’s figure on an evening out with a new friend.
“Coffee?” Neely asked after an evening of pub snacks and live rock. She and Ray shared a smile.
“With anyone else, I’d assume that was a euphemism, but I’m guessing you do have some really good coffee in the larder.”
“Java. With Biscotti biscuits, because I’m classy like that. Although my salary can ill afford such luxuries, let me tell you.”
“I’ll drink with due respect and appreciation,” he assured her as they went inside.
“Make sure you do.” She hoped her lightness of tone disguised her excitement at inviting a self-confessed hedonist into her home late at night.
They relaxed into Neely’s living-room sofa with mugs of non-euphemistic coffee and he expressed amusement that she should enjoy a band called The Devil’s Rejects.
“I’ve got time for the most stubborn of sinners if they play well,” she explained. “And those guys did.”
“Maybe I should learn to play in that case. Then you might look at me the way you did at the lead guitarist.”
“How did I look at him? That’s so unfair!”
“Never thought you’d go for the bad-boy rock type. All leather and hair and tattoos.”
“I thought he was talented, is all!” She swatted him playfully.
“Maybe I should rethink my image a little.”
“Don’t even go there. I like you as you are. Besides, you’ve got words, Mr Hotshot Journalist. Beautiful words.”
She set aside her mug and stroked his face. He deposited his own mug on the coffee table, drawing her to him and kissing her fully. Her mouth responded and they sank deeper into the sofa, wrapped together. His hands were gripping her upper body; she could feel the clutch of his fingers through her blouse’s thin cotton. Then his mouth progressed to her neck, one hand rising to cradle her jaw. Her head rolled back involuntarily, allowing his mouth easier access; it was hot and tender on the lower curve of her neck and it robbed her of breath.
She was aware, acutely so, of his body close to hers, of the hard muscles that flexed in his arms as he held her. Passion was channelling to her through his lips—experienced lips that knew how to caress a girl’s skin. Experienced. The word stuck with her as he gently mussed her hair and came up to kiss her mouth again.
This man was experienced in who knew what carnal activities. Sofa-canoodling wasn’t an end in itself to him, some expression of fondness between two people who knew when to slow down and put on a DVD. To Ray, it was an avenue leading to vistas of writhing, naked delight. However noble he was being, however restrained, his body was telling him to embark on that journey right now—and he did the warm-up part so much better than deejay Brian ever had. He would be good to his word though, right? She could enjoy making out some more without it getting out of control, surely.
Neely let her lips stray from Ray’s, along his clean-shaven jaw, till she could press them to the hollow under his ear. Even after all her protestations of virtue, the temptation was there to bite on his lobe. She resisted. He was gasping at her light oral explorations and she couldn’t help but love the reaction. His fingers continued to weave among the thick tresses of her hair, then one hand moved to her waist, brushing the collar and buttoned-front of her blouse along the way. His palm kneaded her middle very gently and she was glad she had maintained a trim figure. Her shirt had come free of her jeans and she gasped at his finger tracing a circle on her bare skin.
