Built Upon Sand

She spread herself on the massive bed, her legs wide apart and drawn up to expose her sex organ to me and said in a muffled voice, "Do it to me now, Tony."

I delayed penetrating her just long enough to kiss her. Her tongue probed my mouth, exploring its recesses and I pressed the head of my penis against her vaginal opening.

"Come into me," she murmured.

I slipped into her warm moist depths and felt the wall of her vagina gripping my length and sucking me into her.

My experience with other women had indicated that the male needs to hold back his orgasm until the woman is ready to experience hers. With Amrah it was different. Close as I was to ejaculating she was ahead of me.

She began with soft slightly weepy cries that gradually increased in volume until she cried out, "Oh yes...yes...now...put your seed into me...now."

I released what I had been struggling to hold back. Sperm pumped up my shaft and burst into her. She gave a long drawn out howl of mixed agony and pleasure. Her legs were wrapped round my waist, her fingers digging into my back, and as she passed her climax she whimpered something in a language I did not understand.

I make no secret of the fact that my previous sexual relationships had been ones of convenience. They had been a pleasant way of relieving sexual tension. Now, as I lay with my penis still in Amrah's vagina, I knew there had been something different – very different – in this experience with her.

At that time I could not define what that difference had been, that understanding came later. All I knew then was that she had stirred something deep in me, something that had been, shall I say, sleeping in me.

It was stirred still further when Amrah said, "You will stay with me for the rest of today and tonight, Tony?"

"Yes, but my clothes, my things, I've only got my shorts and shirt and..."

"Do you stay very far from here?" she asked.

"Well, I'm staying at the Sea Breeze Motel, not that there's much sea breeze there."

"Then I think you should go and get your things and you can stay here."

"But I can't afford..."

"Why are you so foolish Tony," she sighed, "do you wish me to become angry with you? You stay with me, in my suite."

She laughed softly, "You see, it is you who is the whore; I am buying you." She laughed again and went on, "I only joke with you, but then, I am not foolish, I know that you cannot afford to pay what they charge here, so if I want you with me I must pay. That does not offend you?"

I laughed in my turn and replied, "In other circumstances yes, I might be offended, but since this is the only chance I'm likely to have to spend time in a place like this, I choose not to be offended."

Amrah looked at with that mixture of anger and pain again.

"You wish to stay here for the sake of this place, and not for me?"

"No, Amrah, I did not mean that," I said emphatically. I would stay with you even if you decided to come to my poor accommodation. Like you I was only joking."

"Ah, I see. Sometimes I cannot always understand when someone is joking, will you always tell me when you are joking in future?"

I felt there was something deeply touching in her words; the problem of being in a culture in which you have not been brought up can make if difficult to understand when someone is being humorous. That must especially apply to the Australian brand of humour that is often edged with a touch of cynicism, and frequently means the opposite of what the plain words mean; like, "You're an ugly girl," meaning "I think you're very attractive."

In reply to her question I said, "Yes, I'll tell you when I'm joking."

"I do not want you to be gone away a long time from me, Tony, so I will drive you to your motel. I shall get dressed."

While I got back into my shorts and shirt Amrah put on a dress that no doubt was meant to be casual, but looked as if it was some expensive Paris creation.

The car in which we drove to the motel was a dark green Porsche that was as luxurious as her hotel suite.

Although it had not been explicitly spelt out up to that moment, all the indications were that I would be spending the rest of my holiday with Amrah. It was made unambiguous when we pulled up at the motel.

"You will stay with me for the rest of your time here?" she asked.

"If you're sure you want me to," I answered, "but suppose we don't get on?"

"'Get on,' what is get on?"

"I mean, suppose you find that you don't like me..."

"Ah, or you do not like me? Do not worry, Tony, we shall...get on; I shall make sure we do. So tell them you will no longer require your room."

"Yes madam," I replied, adding hastily, "That was a joke."

"Yes, I thought it was. That is what the servants call me, ma'am or madam. I believe that 'madam' has certain connotations not altogether agreeable, is that not so?"

"Yes; I'll make sure I never call you madam in future."

I went to collect my things and when I went to cancel my booking there was wild protestations from the manager who pointed out forcibly that I had booked for a fortnight so I could pay for a fortnight. When he calmed down we settled on my paying for only a portion of the time I would not be using the room.

I loaded my gear into the boot of the car and we drove back to the Imperial and headed straight for the bedroom.

It is not my intention to go into details about our activities. Let it be sufficient to say that we spent the rest of the day and night in bed, apart from when Amrah ordered meals to be brought to her suite.

In the process of exploring each other I found everything about her – her taste and smell, the warmth of her skin and the delicate perfume of her hair, everything about her, alluring.

When, as is the way of things, I could not get an erection for a while, Amrah asked, "You will do nice things to me, won't you?" So I did nice things to her until my testes were replenished and my manhood restored.

That which had stirred in me after the first coupling continued to both excite and puzzle me. For all our athletic explorations there was one thing that Amrah insisted on, that my sperm always ended up in her vagina. I would have thought that when her vagina was brimming over with sperm she might wish it to be discharged in another place, but she would not have it so.

We always ate in her suite, and the only times we left it were to go for a swim or a walk along the beach, but always we ended up returning to the suite and bed. Amrah was insatiable, and I must admit I was not far behind her.

It was in the middle of the week I spent with Amrah that I came to recognise what had happened to me. I was in love with her; call it infatuation if you wish, but it was a feeling I had not experienced with any other woman. I felt that in her I had found the love of my life and began to dread the end of the week when I had to fly back to the city and we might never see each other again.

Perhaps ridiculously I even tried a pathetic test of the love I was experiencing. I had been in the habit of telling the girls and women I had copulated with that I loved them, but always that had been before the deed. Afterwards love seemed to wane. With Amrah I waited until I, and even she, was sated. As we lay recovering from a long series of couplings I kissed her and said, "I love you Amrah; I never want to be parted from you."

She looked at me with those dark penetrating eyes, then she sighed and burying her face against my shoulder she said in a muffled voice, "I do not wish to be parted from you, Tony, I feel a great love for you, but what can we do?"

It was then I began what I can only call a "campaign." I made constant pleas for her to leave her husband and come to me.

Amrah had said virtually nothing about her husband, but as I besieged her with my pleas for her to come to me she said, "My husband is rich and powerful, he knows people who will do anything for money; he is proud and is capable of doing much harm to you, perhaps even to me."

I dismissed her warnings, saying ridiculous things like, "We'll go away where no one will find us." Amrah went on to point out that I might ruin my career, and she was right, and add to that the fact that I could only just maintain myself financially as it was, and could certainly never give Amrah the lifestyle she was used to, and you can see how foolish I was being. The problem was I was so completely besotted with her that I could not see it at the time.

Towards the end of our time together Amrah finally relented. She was returning to the city a couple of days after I left, and the day after her arrival she would come to my flat where, she said, "We shall talk further."

I had to rest content with that; after all, it did mean I should see her again.

I asked her how I could contact her in case anything went wrong, but she said, "It is better you do not know my address and telephone number, I shall be there to join you."

Chapter 2.A Long Search.

At the end of the week she drove me to the airport. We kissed and as I parted from her I said, "In three days time then."

"Yes," she replied, "in three days."

That was the last I saw of her until unexpectedly seeing her in the hotel dining room after five years.

On that third day after arriving back at my flat I had waited impatiently. I sat up until after midnight, and when I did finally go to bed I couldn't sleep. Every sound had me alert; I told myself there had been some sort of hitch; she had been driving back to the city and the car had broken down or there had been an accident; or there had been a problem with her husband and she could not get away immediately.

On the fourth day I telephoned every hospital in the city and even regional hospitals to find out if she was injured, but none of them knew of Amrah Mustafic.

I hunted through the telephone directory and found only one Mustafic, and certain it had to be her number I took the risk and telephoned, only to be disappointed; there was no Amrah living there.

I followed that up by combing through every city and regional telephone directory across the country and finding only a few Mustafics I rang them all and did indeed find one Amrah, but she was a lady in her seventies.

For several days I kept telling myself that she would turn up, but she never did. I was so distraught that I had to speak with someone, and the only person, the only one I had ever fully confided in, was my mother. I went to her and told her about Amrah.

When I had poured it all out and was close to tears, mother sat silent for a long while. When she did speak her voice was very quiet and solemn.

"Tony, you have experienced a great love, and that is something that does not happen to everyone. Such a love is often both glorious and painful, and it is especially so for you; she is a married woman and that makes it difficult and distressing.

"I don't know Amrah or what her reason was for acting as she did. She may well have meant it when she said she returned your love and intended to come to you, but - and I don't mean to be harsh – she may have been a rich woman amusing herself. You may have to face the possibility that she deliberately deceived you. There are so many things that could have been going on, but one thing seems clear, she is not going to come to you."

Mother had a way of throwing old clichés in her conversations, and she did so now.

"Darling, you have experienced a great love, so remember, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

The trouble with clichés is, that for all the derision that is heaped upon them, they carry a kernel of truth.

Mother continued, "I know you will not be able to understand now, but in time you will treasure the memory of the love you felt for this woman, and the pain will diminish."

In my heart I knew mother was right about Amrah never coming to me, but just then I would not and could not face it. I continued my search for her, hunting through electoral rolls, even telephoning the Imperial, "Yes," I was told, "we did have Mrs. Amrah Mustafic staying here, but we are not at liberty to give out her address."

I seemed to have run out of possibilities, but for two years I looked for her everywhere I went; in the streets, shops, on trips and one day I came upon a green Porsche and I stood waiting for the owner to arrive. After an hour a middle aged couple turned up and drove away.

My studies began to suffer and for a while my doctorate was in danger of being lost. Then towards the end of the two years I finally surrendered to the truth of the situation and got back on track with my work.

Now, here she was, and at first I could do nothing. My food arrived but my stomach was in knots as I continued to stare at her and as she talked to the child and helped her with her food. I could barely eat a thing.

Chapter 2.Confrontation.

I saw her and the child preparing to leave the dining room. They stood up and their way out meant they had to pass my table. As they approached I pulled myself together, rose and stood looking at them.

Amrah glanced at me, and then stood stock-still. Her eyes were riveted on me and for a few moments neither of us said anything and I could see her starting to tremble, and then she gasped, "Tony Essex!"

The words seemed to be yanked out of me; "Yes, Tony Essex, where the hell have you been?" Even in my anger the words sounded futile.

I had spoken fiercely and the child gave a little whimper and clung to Amrah, and the diners around us looked up, startled by my vehemence.

"Please, Tony," Amrah said in a quavering voice, "you are frightening the little one."

"Don't you think I deserve some sort of explanation," I snapped, but in a lower voice.

"Yes...yes...but not here, please."

"Where then?"

"Come to my suite at...at eight o'clock, the little one will be in bed by then."

I couldn't resist a sarcastic response; "I remember, you invited me to your suite once before."

"Yes...be angry with me, but not here. I am in suite number 25, come there at eight."

"Oh, so you haven't got a penthouse suite this time. What's the matter, your husband gone broke or isn't he as generous with you as he used to be?" I jeered.

"I'm going now, Tony, if you need to give me pain than let it be in private."

She started to move off, and I called after her, "Are you sure you'll be there or will you run away?"

She did not reply, and as they walked away the little girl kept looking back at me apprehensively and I noticed she had the same brilliant black eyes as Amrah.

It was seven fifteen and like Amrah I was trembling, and those forty five minutes seemed to drag endlessly. I went to the bar and tried to steady myself with a couple of double whiskeys, but alcohol being treacherous in that respect they seemed to have no noticeable effect.

At two minutes to eight I went to her suite, half expecting that she had indeed fled, but she answered my knock. Her face looked drawn and anxious and there was a look of apprehension in her eyes. Without a word she indicated that I should enter and then signed for me to sit. It was then she spoke.

"The little one is asleep and I do not want her woken or frightened. You will want to say harsh things to me, but would you say them quietly?"

The forthrightness was still there, but I got the impression that some of the self-assurance was missing.

"What is it you want to say to me?" she asked.

"Do I need to say it...ask it?"

"No, you want to ask why I did not come to you, do you not?"

"Exactly."

"It is hard for me to explain, but you think I deceived you...lied to you."

"Yes."

"I did lie. I lied and I deceived. You see, I am a wicked woman...perhaps you would say evil."

"I'll make up my mind about that when you've explained. I searched everywhere for you, but it was as if you'd vanished."

"Yes, one of my first lies was about my name. It is Amrah, but not Mustafic."

"So that was why...why did you give a false name?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, I'm very sure, especially after all the misery you put me through; so tell me."

"The reason is obvious; I did not want you or anyone to be able to find me."

"Your right, that it's obvious, but...but why...I mean why me or anyone?"

"I was looking for you Tony."

"Looking for me! What the hell does that mean, you're not making any sense; I'd given you my address and telephone and mobile numbers, so why...?"

"No...no...let me finish. I was looking for a particular man during that holiday."

"What sort of particular man," I asked with a heavy edge of sarcasm, "someone you could have a 'fuck' with, as you called it; rich lady let off the leash and looking out for a bit on the side, was that it?"

She seemed to stiffen and snapped back, "No, it wasn't like that, you are desecrating what we had together."

"What we had...my God, I'm desecrating...what the hell do you think you did?"

"It wasn't like..."

"You said that before, so go on then, tell me what it was like," I sneered.

"It had to be a special man, and you were the one."

"Why, what was so 'special' about me?"

"You had the right colouring...your hair...eyes...your physique...it was what I needed."

"I was so special you made a fool of me...left me searching for you for years. God help me, I wish I hadn't been special. All that talk of love, it was bullshit...you bloody well..."

"Do not swear Tony, it does not...er...become you."

"Don't tell me how to express myself, I think I'm entitled...anyway what about you using the word 'fuck', that's about as crude as it gets."

"Is that bad? That is the word my husband always used when he wanted to..."

"No doubt he does, and anyway, come to think of it, "fuck" was probably the right word for you to use. I thought I was making love with you...or I did in the end."

"Don't you understand Tony, what I did was because I loved you."

"Love!" I exploded. "If what you did to me was love, what the hell would you be capable of if you'd hated me?"

Amrah suddenly seemed to come to a decision. She sat up very straight and looked deep into my eyes.

"All right, Tony, I see you are full of anger and bitterness, so I will tell you."

She paused for so long I said, "So tell me, for God's sake, I've waited five years to know."

Once she started to speak her voice had steadied but she spoke so quietly I had to strain at times to hear her.

"I told you that my husband is a very proud man, did I not."

"Yes...yes...just get to the point."

"That is the point, Tony." Do you wish me to continue?"

"Yes, get on with it."

"Then do not interrupt me. It is hard for me, so be patent."

I thought I'd every right to be impatient but curious to hear what I suspected would be a pack of lies, or at least half truths, I held my tongue.

"My husband is a very proud man, and one thing he wanted of me...sometimes I thought the only thing, was for me to give him a son. When I failed to do so he took it almost as a personal insult, as if I was deliberately thwarting his wishes. I knew how ruthless he could be and that he would not hesitate to get rid of me if and when it suited him; that is his way with people who do not do as he wishes."

"What has this got to do with...?" I started to say.

"No, please listen to me Tony."

"All right."

"You see I did not fail to bear a child because there was anything wrong with me. Tests had shown I was quite capable of doing so."

"Then it must have been...."

"Yes, my husband; but his pride would never allow him to admit there was anything wrong with him. I knew I would never succeed in becoming pregnant with him, and so..."

"You chose someone who more or less matched him in colouring and looks and I was the idiot. I was just a sperm bank as far as you were concerned. Why didn't you go on one of those programmes, IVF or whatever it's called, good God you've got the money?"