THE AFFAIR
They spent the weekend together, the majority of it in one of their rooms. Jada was having fun playing with the barbell studs in his nipples and she found that he got off on a little bit of pain. They had an adult conversation about birth control and STDs; she was on the pill and got tested twice a year or so. Each said it was unusual for them to have unprotected sex unless it was discussed first. He also was tested regularly and apologized again for his impulsive behavior. Both said they were disease and infection free. They didn’t feel the need to discuss the exact details of their sexual history, but they asked each other if they had more or fewer than twelve partners a year and they both said fewer. One of them was lying and it wasn’t Jada.
Jada suggested that they keep their affair under wraps because she didn’t want the gossip to distract everyone from the training. Plus, she would enjoy the game of keeping it secret. Ayano said he couldn’t care less what his students thought about his personal life, but he would keep his mouth shut if that’s what she wanted.
On Monday morning, Jada crept out of his room bright and early, hoping to avoid detection. Ayano showed up to teach their lessons late, as he never did. Midway through the morning, Ayano was walking by and Jada stopped him.
“You look so tired…” she said in a tone of false pity.
“Someone has been fucking my brains out. I don’t get any sleep!” he teased. “I really ought to maintain a professional reputation. Not distract from the training.”
“Come by later and I’ll make sure you have another sleepless night,” she said quietly.
"Oh, good…" he said “I don’t really have a sleep fetish anyway…”
“Heavens. What kind of fetishes do you have?” she asked, pretending to clutch at pearls around her neck.
“For right now, we’ll start with my naked woman fetish. I have to gauge when I announce the others,” he said, smirked, and walked to the other side of the room.
For the rest of the day’s lessons, he instructed her almost as if nothing had changed between them, making sure that he divided his time evenly between the students and wasn’t openly ogling her. The main difference was where and how long his hands lingered on her body during instruction. She loved how he was guiding her, showing her how to use her body effectively to protect herself. Feeling his fingertips on her thighs made her want to pounce on him right then and there.
After the lessons had ended, they counted the hours until dinner. He invited her upstairs to eat on a private balcony near his suite on the top floor. It all came very naturally. He never spoke as if offering a tour—of the unfamiliar Europe or of himself. She felt less like a schoolgirl with a crush now and more like a woman being courted. At dinner, she caught him staring at her so often that he became the embarrassed one. They finished eating and went straight to his bed, without pretense, and fucked as only new lovers can fuck.
Jada’s favorite time with him was the pillow talk. At her age, Jada equated sex with intimacy and the pillow talk ended up making her feel closer to someone. She felt comfortable revealing more of herself when she was already naked. After a few more days of sneaking around in the mornings, clandestine contact during lessons, and truly spectacular lovemaking, their pillow talk got more intimate.
“We have very good chemistry…” Ayano commented, kissing her chest between her breasts. “Tell me, what else do you like in bed?”
“Hmm…” she considered. “I like when a man lets me get off first, when he really pays attention to what makes me feel good. The clit is a must. Um, dirty talk can be really sexy… Sometimes, role play… I don’t know, I’m open to trying new things; it’s easier to say what I know I don’t like.”
“What don’t you like?”
“Spitting is disgusting and kills the mood. Choking is too scary. And no anal. Ever. It’s gross, and painful. It is also a turn-off if a guy tries to get me to change my mind about these things,” she told him.
“What about women? Have you ever been with a woman?” he asked, looking like he was picturing that right now.
“Yes. A few times. It’s a very different feeling. Women can read each other better. I like being with a woman, physically, but the relationship part was really hard,” she explained, running her fingers through his hair.
“You are a lot of work, you women!” he teased.
“Some of us are worth it,” she said. He put his arms around her and they lay there in an easy silence. The sun was setting outside the window, casting a golden-pink light in the room.
“France is so beautiful,” she said quietly. After a moment, she commented again. “Only a little more time here. I had no idea I would like it so much.”
“Maybe I should move up my trip to New York. I need to be there for the end of the financial year in July anyway. We could extend our… liaison," he suggested without any indication that he was worried about rejection. Or worried about anything.
“Liaison… you Europeans,” she repeated, rolling her eyes. She stopped cuddling with him and sat up. “I have some questions.”
He shifted his position as well.
“What are your questions?” he asked, sounding amused.
“How old are you?”
“How old are you?” he countered.
“I’m twenty-three, almost twenty-four,”
“Me too,” he grinned.
“You are not,”
“Okay, twenty-seven?” he tried.
“Stop it! How old are you, really? I am trying to make an informed decision here,”
“What, you wouldn’t want to be seen escorted around by an old man?”
“No, Ayano, I want to know how different our lives are,”
“I’m sure I could barely keep up with you,”
“How old?” she insisted.
“Bine, bine, bine. I am thirty-eight,” he conceded. “Am I too old for a hot young thing like you?”
“Hmm… I think so…” she joked, crawling on top of him on the bed.
“Mmmph. If we’re going to keep talking, I don’t think I can concentrate with you there. You see, I’ve sculpted your body into the masterpiece we see today over the last few weeks and I really like to admire my work,” he said, before biting his bottom lip. He looked like he expected to get slapped for that. And that he might like it.
“Shut up! So, you want to spend some more time with me, in New York? Are you going to follow me around like a puppy dog? What do you do in New York?”
“Mmph, you’re killing me,” he responded, shifting her position slightly. “When I’m in New York, I live in a brownstone in the East Village. My company has an office in midtown. I go to meetings but not every day. I go to formal business dinners with people who buy metal: German, Japanese, Indian, whatever. Occasionally, my colleagues and I attend some black-tie functions. I work out and compete in a few mixed martial arts competitions. I go to bars with friends, employees, whoever. There. Do you like my life?” he finished, grabbing her thighs wantonly.
“It sounds like you stay busy. I live in a condo on the Upper West Side. I run my art gallery most days, throw parties for new exhibits. I go to shows, concerts, clubs with VIP areas to meet rich people and sell them art later… Artists follow me around, hoping I will give them an exhibit. I’m friends with some people I went to art school with. And I still do capoeira, I’m close with the people in my group. Lots of Brazilians,”
“How is it that someone so young could afford to start her own gallery? It must have been very expensive,” he wondered, running his hands up and down her thighs.
“An unexpected inheritance. And knowing a lot of influential people to get the word out. I have eight people that work there that I trust very much. All of them are running it right now and I barely have to check in. And I’m well-connected with the art students if I’m ever in a bind,”
“Oh, perfect. You can spend time with your new lover whenever you want,”
“Exactly how often do you think I’ll want to?” she teased him.
“You won’t be able to get enough of me,” He grinned. “Should I move up my trip? You want me to come with you?”
“Mmmm… yeah...” she smiled and curled up with him again.
In Brazil, she had grown up with the phrase “jogo de cintura,” referring to the literal game of the waist used by soccer players to stay loose and agile. Hers was a culture of flexibility and optimism. Everything would turn out fine and she didn’t need a plan. Jada was thrilled to have met this gorgeous, rich, and slightly dangerous man and couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for her.
THE BROWNSTONE
Jada and the other students said their goodbyes at the hotel. She exchanged contact info with a few of them and pretended to be leaving as well. The next day, she and Ayano were driven to the airport in a classic Daimler limousine. When she checked in, Ayano insisted on upgrading Jada’s tickets to first class. Jada began to observe him with a different set of eyes, for she had told no one at home in New York City that she was coming home with her Răz-nevă instructor and was kind of wondering who Ayano was in other contexts. He was very chivalrous, holding doors and carrying her luggage. He had a way with people. While he spoke enough French to get by and Jada only caught a few words, it sounded like he delighted everyone he encountered.
“Ayano, Romanian is a romance language, right, from Latin?” she asked as they waited for their flight. She was flipping through the latest issue of French Vogue.
“Yes, but it has a lot of other influences, too, like Slavic languages and Hungarian,” he said, composing a letter on his PalmPilot. Jada was sort of relieved that he didn't need reading glasses for this.
“Well, my first language is Portuguese, that comes from Latin, too. I bet I could pick up some Romanian,” she commented.
“Actually, it’s much closer to French. It’s okay, nobody learns Romanian. It’s more difficult than the other Romance languages,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He sounded dismissive, like he doubted she could pick up anything in Romanian. Little did he know that the best way to get Jada determined to do something was to tell her she probably couldn’t do it. If this thing with him went anywhere, she thought, she would put some effort into learning the language to show him how he had underestimated her.
On the flight, Ayano’s chats with the crew and other passengers were just as warm and easy as they were in France. It was as if everyone was a long-lost friend of his. She imagined everyone he talked to saying “I met the most interesting guy today…” to whoever they lived with at the end of the day. She was discovering that he was a socially graceful man in all contexts. She didn’t need to worry about him making a bad impression on anyone.
It was almost the end of the financial year. Ayano’s Ilanescu Mining Company had over a thousand employees, a small group of them in New York City in charge of research and development. He said that all of the men in his family worked in the mines when they were teenagers as a rite of passage to higher positions. On the flight, he showed her photographs of the mines and company get-togethers in various villages. They seemed like a really tight-knit and traditional group.
He also showed her pictures of Răz-nevă tournaments he entered, usually placing in the top five and even winning two of them. She recognized Sergei competing against someone else in one picture and Dumitru in the audience in another, doing shots of something with a large group. There were women occasionally pictured with Ayano, but none of them looked like anything serious: a peck on the cheek, or squeezing his bicep. A few weeks ago he mentioned that he was widowed, but Jada didn’t want to pry. The men in her family were very private people and for the most part, she accepted such mystery from other men in her life.
Jada in turn showed him a few pictures she had brought. One was from her capoeira cord ceremony, getting her red-white cord. If she would ever want to start her own capoeira group, she could progress to the white cord, the very highest level.
“Why haven’t you?” he asked.
“Mmm, don’t have time. Plus, I really like my group. I would never want to leave,”
“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to a good-looking guy she was pictured laughing with.
“Oh, that’s Evandro. What?!” she asked as he frowned. “He’s a friend. Don’t tell me you’re the jealous type,”
“Well… do you have any unresolved things going on back home with anyone?”
“No, of course not. But you can’t lay claim yet! I hardly know you!” she nudged him. He looked at her with his dark, dark, nearly-black eyes and allowed her behind them for a moment.
“I just think we should not surprise each other,” he said, holding her hand and kissing it. “I have no plans to see other women. You are a rare combination of so many things I like… ambition, integrity, acumen… Not to mention confidence, beauty, and grace...” Jada was briefly spellbound by his flattery and wished they were somewhere else. She reminded herself they were on a plane in front of people. Why was she such a sucker for this guy? Wasn’t he a little cheesy?
“And you. You’re pretty fucking perceptive, if nothing else,” She grinned, hoping humor would cover up the flushed feeling she had on her cheeks and chest. His gaze in response seemed to penetrate her deeply and she was without a doubt blushing now. She looked away, suddenly feeling quite shy and vulnerable. He gently put his hand to her cheek and turned her toward him again.
“Mmm… I love the way you feel, you smell, you taste…” he whispered into her ear. Her inner cynic was telling her this guy was laying it on a little thick. But her heart was pounding as he kissed her lightly, exercising great restraint to not tear into him. It felt like he lived to please her, like she was a rare, mythical being he had the fortune to encounter. The sensation she got was hard to describe. It was sort of like having her stomach flip, but more like all of her insides were being summoned. It was overwhelming. Overheating as well. She took off her sweater and said nothing, only glancing at him with a flustered smile. After a few moments, she recovered her composure enough to speak.
“Don’t worry, I’m not seeing anyone right now, Ayano. No drama,” she said and cleared her throat. “Look at the rest of my pictures. This is my gallery...”
They looked at pictures together until they had seen them all. Before they landed, they flipped a coin to decide at whose house they would spend their first night. Ayano won. Jada was mildly surprised to see that he had a driver in a black Rolls Royce waiting for him to take him home from the airport. Had she been traveling alone, Jada would have most likely taken the subway. She had the money for the finer things in life now, but transportation was not something she ever made a habit of reserving a large budget for. Ayano didn’t appear to have any sort of budget.
Further evidence of which was his three-story brownstone. Well, four, including the "garden" level. It was situated on the corner, with neighbors attached only on one side. Ayano and the driver carried their things upstairs to the main level. Jada saw that all the buzzers said Ilanescu, saving her the trouble of uttering the starstruck “Is this whole thing yours?”
They walked into a foyer with medium-dark wood paneling. This floor had the living and dining rooms, the kitchen, a bathroom, and an office. The interior was all exposed brick, the medium-dark wood, black accents and off-white.
“The master bedroom and bath is upstairs. Forgive me, I’m just going to send a few faxes and I’ll be right up,” he said, kissing her cheek. He spoke with the driver for a moment, who left quietly as Ayano walked into his office. Jada brought her bag upstairs and was immediately struck by Ayano’s good taste in the master suite. She was sure that each piece of furniture, old and new, had a good story behind its acquisition. His love of metallurgy was apparent in the details—the iron frames of the bookshelves, the copper lamp, and a steel sculpture resembling the Eiffel Tower. Of course, she had to examine all the artwork before anything else. Most everything had something to do with Romania and was very old. Even the lighting was subtle and well planned. She closed the blood-red floor-to-ceiling curtains, found some things from her suitcase, and got undressed.
As she turned on the shower, she heard Ayano come upstairs. She got in and did all the non-sexy shower stuff, like shaving her armpits, before he came in.
“You won’t have to sneak out in the mornings anymore…” he said, opening the shower door and stepping under the stream of water.
“Oh, no. I’m telling everybody that I’m fucking you now. I’ll introduce you as my Balkan boy-toy,” she informed him.
“I’ll take what I can get, I guess. Maybe I’ll earn a promotion," he said, kissing her as if they had been apart much longer than ten minutes.
“You have impeccable taste in art. Women, too, of course, but your art is beautiful. Why do you have the Eiffel Tower?” she asked, curious but also running from the discussion of their relationship and where it was going.
“The iron and steel from the Eiffel Tower was from my family’s mines,” he said proudly. “They only made girders and rods back in those days.”
“Oooh, tell me about your rod,” Jada teased, coming closer and pressing herself against him.
“Futu-i… what did I do to deserve you?” he cursed, surprised and pleased that she was feeling frisky already.
After they showered and made love, all Jada could think about was how much fun this all was. It was so simple—they made each other happy and liked to hang out. He may have been a little too old for her—she was sure she looked like a mistress or golddigger to passers-by—but for now, this would do nicely.
ROOM AT THE GYM
Jada prevented herself from calling Ayano some days. But, around nine, she would crack. At first, when Jada would call up Ayano at night, she kept telling him it was a booty call. That was all she was after, so far. Plus, she didn’t want to scare him off. If TV and magazines taught her anything, it was that men didn’t want commitment. They had one dinner date, then another, and at some point, they started to meet up more and more often.
