Memory and Loss Pt. 04

"I think I knew that, and it scared me. It scares me still."

She reached her warm hand to my face, and around my neck, and pulled my head down to her lips. Her lips were warm, soft, and her eyes were closed. Clio. A car drove past, tyres rushing in the wet, and its horn sounded twice, the driver seeing us. Clio laughed, and flipped two fingers up after the car. And grabbed my hair and kissed me again.

Then pushed me away and started walking, her hand trailing out behind her, for me to catch up.

"You'd better take me home, I think. Can you cook?" She walked purposefully. "I'll come over to yours tomorrow. What time are you home from work? I'll buy some stuff, and we can cook."

The next day, Wednesday, was cold and raining. I had the old oil heater running and it was an orange flame tinged with blue, the flames flickering like Lucifer's wings as he fell from heaven, and Clio was following after, tumbling down, a fallen angel.

I heard a car door slam outside and could see the trace of red tail-lights on the glistening road, the white Taxi sign illuminated on the roof. Opening the door so she would not wait in the rain, I was rewarded by the slender wrapped bundle of Clio in a sensible warm coat, her spiked black hair beaded with raindrops caught in the run from the taxi, and her arms around me.

"Alex, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"You're here because you want to be, surely? Plus, you're hungry because we haven't eaten yet. We haven't cooked yet."

"You're right. If I do one thing at a time then that will be the right thing, and I can stop thinking about it all. I need to stop thinking."

Like me then, the whole idea of nine years channeling down to this moment, that was doing her head in as well. But I knew this could not last, she was married now. There was somebody else. Seems, in my life, there is always somebody else.

"Clio, maybe we should just be now, you and me, just now."

"You're right, it will probably break my heart, but you're right."

Two broken hearts, then, but mine was healing. This was a tiny second chance, even if her heart was breaking still.

The early part of the evening was spent domestically. We managed to coordinate ourselves in the small kitchen, chopping vegetables, cooking spaghetti, cooking up the mince, a glass of wine each for the cooks, and then a wait while it all came together.

We went to the lounge and set a small table, and there was a stub of a candle left from another time. Clio met cat, who coiled around her feet and nuzzled his nose to the smell of the leather boots, his tail erect.

"Look at his eyes, he's got the most intense look."

Cat inspects her, and no doubt makes his mind up about her, but doesn't say a word. I'm sitting in a chair pulled near to the fire, and she is close by in her chair, and cat drapes himself around my neck. When I stand, cat is still around my neck and he drapes himself there. Clio's not seen a cat do that before, and is amazed.

I too am amazed, because Clio is here, with me.

We ate and we talked, but now I have no recollection of what we talked about. We must have filled in edited highlights of our finishing years at university and our beginning careers. I would have told her of the death of my father less than six months before, and tears would have been in my eyes, and they still are, and she would have held my head to her shoulder and held me gently. Women do that, they are kind, so beyond doubt, she would have done that.

Perhaps it started from there, from my most immediate grief, and perhaps that made it easier for her to make amends for that shut door so long ago, my first grief.

"Your bedroom door is open. Come with me and I'll take you through it."

And Clio took my hand and led me through the bedroom door, not looking back at me but with her hand stretched back, and my hand was stretched forward and our fingers felt the pull of our different speeds. Our different needs. Cat curled in the chair she had left, and watched us go.

Clio turned to me and was efficient. Her fingers were fast on the buttons of my shirt, and I equally so on pulling down my jeans to stand naked before her. She quickly flicked the piled covers down on the bed.

"Get in. It's cold. Don't look, I'm shy, don't look."

"Clio, the only time I ever saw you all undressed was that morning in my room, of course I'm going to look."

"Yes, I remember that, of course I do. I had my period, and you didn't mind." She touched her hand to mine on the covers. "OK, but I'll turn my back then. I can't see you watching me when I undress."

This woman was a mass of contradiction. She had determined, clearly she had, that she wanted something to happen with me, with this second amazing time that was beyond logic. She was here of her own accord, her own free will. She was seducing me, to be seduced herself. And at the same time she was innocent and young, still shy.

Don't look at me undress? This drifting, gossamer woman, she has to be kidding? Her being here is like a giant tree losing all of its leaves in a thunderous storm, and me being able to catch the single leaf that falls from the highest part of the tree, before it reaches the ground. I have to see every moment, every second, or none of it will be real.

She turns away and pulls the jumper over her head and there is one of her typical black tees, still being worn all these years later, clinging tight to her slim body. She grips the bottom of the cloth and twists it over her head, placing it over the back of the chair. Her naked back is dark skinned, slender, the ripple of her ribs shadowed ridges to her spine. She is not wearing a bra, and I know she still has the tight firm breasts she had as an eighteen year old.

She undoes the belt of her jeans, and then bends to remove her boots and socks. Still facing away from me she peels her jeans down her legs, each leg lifting slowly as she shucks the tight denim from her limbs. She is shaking. She straightens, and is still facing away from me. She wears a pair of dark panties, a simple pattern of lace around the waist. They are simple and unadorned.

"Don't look."

She knows I will not answer, for if I do it will be a lie. She bends her body and peels the small slide of cloth down her legs, revealing the pale curves of her ass. There is a clear bikini line, she goes so dark in the sun. Clio turns towards me, and at the same time takes the first of three steps towards the bed, towards me. I see her intense dark eyes, black, gazing at me, willing me not to look.

But I cannot not look. As she takes the second step towards me I see those breasts as I remember them, perhaps a little fuller, she is twenty-seven now, a woman, no longer a girl. Her nipples are tight, dark nubs pulling high on the conical shape of her breasts. There is no bounce.

As Clio takes her third and last step to the bed I see the dark triangle of hair at the base of her belly, and then she is pulling the covers over her body as she falls into my arms, her face hiding into my neck, one hand straight to the back of my head, holding me there.

Her other hand is on my cheek, just holding me softly. Under the covers her legs wrap around mine, and my cock is hard against her belly. She is a hot creature, burrowing into my skin, into my soul.

We lie together, silent, wrapping each other as tight as we possibly can. We are clinging on for dear life, and we must both be making up for all those years of lost time, and banking it for the next time.

We are a tragedy from the beginning, for she is married and I am not.

Clio chose, or was chosen, and he is not me. So we cling, this bed a life raft in a spin of time. The world keeps turning, but for this moment, just for us, our time stops and we are timeless.

Slowly, we relax into each other and soften, and enjoy each other's warmth. We are like two animals curled around each other, and then we start to talk, to whisper. Time has gone, and I don't know what we talked about, but I think it must have been a step by step re-tell, each from the other's point of view, of that intense, dope-fuelled six weeks those nine years ago.

We were children then, adults now, but still full of wonder for each other. And slowly, as if our bodies were waiting for our minds to catch up, our bodies began to respond to each other. Here in my bed was a delectable, slender woman with the body of her eighteen year old self, but now Clio knew her body so much better. I too had learned to play a woman's body, like a violin.

"Remember that day, you told me you'd never had an orgasm?" I'm curious, does she know where her pleasure is, nowadays?

"I do, but I don't always come, even now."

I wonder if I know how to bring that joy for her. She'll decide, I think. It's a treasured moment then, her coming. I hope she'll come with me.

Our bodies take us past thoughts now, and our hands are a wonder of discovery, for we only shared our skin once completely, back then. Now, we have time, and this night there is no hurry. It is only mid evening, and we are alone, so we have some hours to stretch ahead, just as the years stretch impossibly behind us. Nine years is forgotten, and nine minutes is vital, now. And the next nine.

We are so slow and gentle and quiet with each other. There is no rage to cool our passion, and she seeks a quiet penance for the heartbreak that was behind that door. I accept her gift, with all my heart, for she was always my gift. Our hands drift over our skin, and we take turns in delighting the other.

First she kisses my neck and her mouth twists to my ear, and her soft sigh enthralled me. Her fingers run through my hair and my lips kiss the softness of her lashes, and they flutter like a moth, soft wings dusting pollen. Her lips are full and I suck them into my mouth, my teeth a gentle bite on her full bottom lip. Our tongues tangle, and it is all so slow and delicious.

My palm is upon the soft rise of her breast, and her nipple is hard, and fills further between my lips, and Clio arches her breast to my mouth. My finger traces circles on her belly and she shivers, a thrill racing through her body as I touch just the right place near her hip.

It is cold, so we keep the covers over us and wrapped warm, so our finger tips act as our eyes. I cannot see her slight beauty curled on the bed, so my fingers learn braille upon her skin. I learn the code of her spine, and when I turn her gently on to her side, she feels the long heat of my cock against her back, and loves the weight of me there. I want to feel her firm bum against the heat of my groin, and she presses herself back against me.

With her back to my front, my hands hold her small breasts hard, and she holds her hands to my hands, and then she places one hand on her belly, and I feel the quiver of her breath, her belly rising like a cat's deep intake of breath. My other hand caresses her throat, and her head reaches back and turns for a kiss.

She is fine and lithe in my arms and against my chest, and her hands flicker with a gentle movement against my hands, alternately holding them to her skin, and then tracing lines over my arms with her fingers, drawing her own patterns on my skin. We mark each other and draw patterns, dots and darts on our skin, as if marking out a trail, a tale to be told, some ancestral truth, traced on our flesh.

Clio's breath quickens and she turns within my arms so she faces me, and we cup our faces in each other's hands, an offering and we are each a grail for the other. We no longer need words, for our bodies guide us now, and her fingers glide to the moistness between her legs and her hand grasps my length and she places me to her wet lips. We are lying on our sides, and she raises a leg over my hip, opening herself, and settles herself down onto me.

She pushes me onto my back, and she is so wet that she can bear down straight on to me, half my length.

"Oh fuck, so hot, so full, ohhh, fuck, yes, deeper, more, fuck yes, yes," and her voice fades into low moans, almost sobs.

She writhes on me, oh glorious fuck, and then I am deep inside her, all my length, and she is fucking me hard, pushing herself hard back onto my groin.

"Oh fuck yes, fill me, fill me, oh God, why did I wait so long, you beautiful man who waited. Ah me, fill me, fill me hard, fuck, yes."

She is writhing on my cock, and her movements are so frantic over me that I slide from her, and her fingers grapple between us, and I am placed inside her again by her hand, and it is as if she doesn't know whether to lie upon me or sit upon me, she wants me every way she can. But she is frantic.

"Clio, darling Clio, hush, hush, be still now, be still."

My hands hold her head and I stroke her hair, to sooth her, to sooth her. And slowly, like some trapped thing, she slows herself, and slowly she relaxes on to me, her hands grappling at mine. I link my fingers through hers and hold her hands firm.

"Be slow," I whisper to her, my lips close to her ear, and I hold her slim back firm in my hands, long caresses down her sides, soothing her like a cat. She curls her head to the top of my chest, and now she is still upon me, and she grips me, a clench along my cock. I respond with a slight thrust, and she answers with another grip.

I feel the weight of her, her slight weight, for she is a delicate thing, slim waisted and lithe, she lies her body upon me, her legs on mine. This way, she holds her thighs together and traps my length within her.

My hands curve to the shape of her ass and her muscles are tight there, clenching as she grips me. We slide into a slow rhythm with each other and rock gently together for a minute or two or even maybe three, our pace is slow and seductive, easing our pleasure slowly.

Ah Clio, I came on your belly when I was young, and never dreamed I would have you all the way, and you me. We were so young then, we did not know what we did, so we didn't quite make it, then.

And now the impossible coincidence of our meeting in the square comes home to me.

"How did we meet again," I asked, sliding inside her, "why did I walk where I had never walked before? And how did you know to be there? This is impossible, you and me now."

"Don't," she whispered, "don't wonder. I was there for you, just like you were there for me, that day you cared. Your stoned girl, you cared. And I broke your heart, later. This is my redemption."

Clio healed me that night, healed me and made me whole. It is not often it takes nine years to consummate a love. Sometimes, I have to wait, it seems. But this tell is about Clio, too. She waited, and came to that square as well. But I don't know all of her story, only this part.

"Come into me, beautiful man, come into me now," she urged. "Love me the best way, deep."

And with a quickening of her grip upon me, and her kiss upon my lips, Clio urged up the seed from within me, a slow thickening of heat within me, and she looked upon my face with her dark, dark eyes, and whispered, "forgive me."

And my cock deep inside her felt her heat and her gentle slow grip, and she gripped tight upon my cock, and with a gentleness beyond words, she urged up my soul in a spill of semen, a long slow pulse within her, and I gasped with the sweet joy of it, and came inside Clio. Forgiven.

"This time, it's for you. Next time, it's my turn. Beautiful man, inside me."

She curled small upon me, and I held her there, upon me. Angels are not heavy, I know that now, even fallen ones on gossamer wings, like Clio.

We dozed, her dark hair, short though it was, falling over her eyes, needing my finger to brush it back from her eye so it didn't annoy. She rested her cheek on my chest so she could hear the slow beat of my heart.

"It's so steady, your heart, I could count seconds from it."

"It beats faster, sometimes."

"It beats for me now."

She put her hand over my heart and held it there. I traced her slim, dark fingers, her nails small crescents curved. Clio was gentle and quiet, and she would look up to my face, her dark dark eyes holding my gaze, and she would grip my hand, just one squeeze, and look down and close her eyes. Thinking, but I never knew those thoughts. Peaceful and still now, just her and me in a little moment all our own. A long time coming, and even longer to forget.

Because our walks had coincided, that strange coincidence, it was no longer never, it was just us, again. It wasn't forever, but that moment has lasted a long time, a very long time. And it's not done yet.

That night, though, it was done. She stirred, and fell from the bed and straggled her clothes together, pulling them from the back of the chair. Clio sat on the side of the bed, pulling up her jeans and threading her boots, and before she slipped that black tee shirt and thick jumper over head, she turned to me, dipped her head to mine.

"Look at me now, A, look at me. I'm not shy with you, not any more."

The small drop of her breasts were a delight before my eyes, and I leaned forward in the bed to kiss her dark nipples. She smiled, slowly, the most beautiful smile in the world, and pulled the cloth over her head, hiding them.

"Stay in bed, it's warm. Where's your phone? I'll call a taxi."

I protested, she insisted, she kissed me, she prevailed. A woman with a kiss will always convince me, whatever it is she wants.

In the hall, I heard the murmur of her voice, and the clunk of the phone in its cradle.

"Ten minutes, he reckons. It's not a busy night."

Clio curled herself on top of the covers, trapping me inside the bed. She looked down at me, a serious look in her eyes. She touched my lips.

"N is back on Friday. I've only got one more night before he's back."

She paused, gazing at me unblinking, and tapped her finger on my lips once, deciding. Her eyes darkened, and she frowned, questioning herself.

"Pick me up from my house at six tomorrow. Don't come in, just be there. I don't want to explain you to anybody, just be there at six, and I'll be ready." Clio made her mind up.

The next day at work passed in a dream, I couldn't wait for six o'clock to arrive, but then time was so limited. It seems that my story of Clio is all about time, tiny portions of it, time past, time now, time future, achingly small moments that stretch out in my eternity.

Before I went down to pick Clio up, I pulled a space heater from storage and turned it on low in my bedroom, to take the edge off the cold air. I thought we might want it, later. She was packing as much into these short nights as I was. I look back now, and she must have been as driven as I - indeed, more so, for she was making bigger decisions than I. She was married, I was not.

As soon as I pulled up outside her house, the front door opened and closed, and she was down the path to the car. Shutting the door quickly, she turned to me and ran her hand through my hair, a caress.

"Let's find a restaurant, I want you to take me out for dinner. I want to go where no-one knows us, but where we can be seen as a couple, just once. Would that work, do you think?"

As we drove towards the city we thought of places to go.

"I know, remember the suburb you lived in those few weeks when you first got here? There's a divine French restaurant there, I've read reviews, let's go there." I grinned. "I think I can get us off the main drag with more clearance than you did!"

"Yes, that was a bit close, wasn't it." Her eyes lit up with the memory of that tyre squealing acceleration.

The next hour and a half was a delight, the meal was superb, the waiter French and a charmer, flirting with Clio who was wearing a simple black dress, heels and stockings. She did not wear much make-up, but this night had darkened her dark eyes and reddened her lips, and was sultry, seducing me. But that wasn't hard to do. She enthralled me.