Rio de Janeiro International Airport. 11 am. Warm winter sun shines into the international arrivals hall.
I wait nervously.
This is an understatement of epic proportions.
Your plane landed one hour ago. Still no sign of you. Maybe you pulled out at the last minute. Maybe your wise, and not wild, side got the better of you. It appears all the passengers on your flight have cleared immigration. But no you. Shit, I think. I have come half way around the world for nothing.
I re-read the text you sent yesterday:
At the airport. Boarding soon. After all this time – I can’t believe it is so close now. See you tomorrow!!!
We have planned this reunion for six months. In secret to hide it from our respective spouses. We have been apart three years but found a window in our busy lives that allows us to spend just three days together.
Rio was selected because it is somewhere we will see no one we know. It is also about a half way point – for me in Australia, and you in Europe.
And then you are there. It is like seeing a ghost. After being in almost daily contact for three years – text, email, phone calls – you are here. You squint into the winter sun. I like the idea that you are search me. You have the same understated glamour, same slim body, same brown hair with just a touch of silver that I found so compelling three years ago.
‘Juan!’ you scream. You drop your bag and run at me. I was not expecting this. But like it all the same.
We collide in an intense hug. The rest of the world fades away. It is, once again, just you and I. No speaking. Silence and squeezing.
The emotion of the moment ebbs away – but it takes a long couple of minutes. One of those moments you know you will always remember. We gather up your bags, get out of the terminal and hail a taxi.
In broken Spanish I give the driver the name of the hotel. I have been here about a day and have booked into the hotel we selected together over the internet.
We sit apart in the back of the taxi. The suburbs of Rio zoom past as we head for our hotel on the beach. I slide my hand over to hold yours. As we connect you stiffen and hold your breath.
‘Driver, turn around. Back to the airport. Please,’ you bark. I let go of your hand. The driver looks at me in the rear view mirror. I shake my head slightly to him, and then turn to you.
‘What’s wrong? Why?’
‘What we are doing is wrong. I want to go home.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ A single tear rolls down your cheek. You turn away and look out the window, but find my hand and grip it hard.
‘Driver. Please pull over.’ He doesn’t seem to mind. Almost like this kind of drama is a daily event in the back of his taxi.
‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I might have a way for us to decide what to do.’ From somewhere an idea has popped into my head. ‘Do you know the kids’ game Paper, Rock, Scissors?’ You nod.
You look at me with your big, moist, sad eyes. I swallow – I feel a pain in my stomach. It stabs me. We have both plotted and planned and dreamt about this moment for three years. And now we both have cold feet.‘We can play a similar game to work out what to do.’
I smile weakly, trying to encourage you to go along. Your forehead is creased and you tilt you head to one side, shaking it a little in confusion.
‘It’s simple, really. I will count to three. On three we each say either “hotel” or “airport.” If we say the same word, that is our decision.’
‘What if we don’t agree?’
‘We try again, and again if necessary, until we both say the same word. Okay?’ You think for a second then nod in agreement.
‘One, two, three ..’
‘Airport,’ you say.
‘Hotel,’ I say.
We rest out foreheads together. You are breathing in fast, shallow breaths now. I am too.
‘Okay, again,’ I say. ‘One, two, three …’
‘Hotel,’ you say.
‘Airport,’ I say.
We laugh a little, but sad laughter. Our driver is out of the taxi having a cigarette, as if he realises this might take a while.
‘Again?’ I ask. You nod. ‘One, two, three …’
Silence.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘I was waiting for you,’ you answer.
‘Yes. Me, too.’ Now we really laugh. This really is silly and comical. But we are having some fun regardless. Both our breathing is returning to normal. The pain in my stomach has almost gone.
‘Again. One, two, three…’
‘Hotel,’ we both say.
I smile. You smile. We kiss and hug and then kiss again. Our kisses are warm and wet. We grip each other’s faces in our hands as we kiss.
I wind down the window. ‘Hotel, please driver.’
Now our hands are held tightly together and we sit closely. Occasionally I take a peak at your heads and shoulder. Otherwise I stare straight ahead, like you do. It is totally surreal being together, again, and that two people should go to such lengths to be together.
To break the surreal tension, I try to make small talk. ‘Um, how was the flight? What did you do?’
‘Mmm. Not much. Just read our text messages for last three years.’
I frown; text messaging was our secure way to communicate. Unlike email, it can be instantly and permanently deleted. At least that’s what I thought.
You continue: ‘I found a contact deep within the mobile phone company I’m with. With just my phone number he was able to print every text I had received and sent for the last three years. Here.’ You hand me a thick wad of papers bound in a folder. Sure enough every text – all nine thousand – are printed in small font on page and after page.
‘I had to pay for it, and it is of course not at all legal. But it is the most amazing record of our relationship.’ I look at you in disbelief. ‘I have two copies. One is for you … my love.’
For the rest of the taxi ride we read to together bits and pieces of this record. Some banal, some erotic. Some angry, some heartbreaking. As I read some strings of texts we fall very quiet and watchful, reflective. We are reminded why we have gone to such lengths to be together.
When we arrive at the hotel I ask, ‘Do you still want to do what we agreed to do on the first night?’
We are standing in foyer across the road from the Copacabana Beach. It is winter. Cool, but not cold. It is now about 1.30 pm and the winter sun has warmed the tiles of the foyer floor. The staff is relaxed and welcoming. It is, more or less, the perfect place for such a reunion.
‘Yes – I hope we still can.’
When we determined, about six months ago, that Rio would be the site for our reunion we cooked up a novel idea: why not learn salsa dancing in our home towns and then on the first night go salsa dancing together. We agreed this would make our reunion extra special. We both enrolled in classes to learn salsa moves.
To seal the idea of dancing salsa on our first night together we agreed that we should separate after booking into the hotel. This would help break but also build the tension of being reunited. We would go our separate ways and shop for clothes, maybe have a haircut, then reunite at a salsa studio for dancing, then dinner, then …
‘Okay. But before we go shopping I have to explain something,’ I say a little gravely. ‘I have booked us an extra room, and I would like you to go there first.’ You look very puzzled, thinking initially that I do not want to share a room (and a bed) with you over the next three days. ‘Please, just go to the room. There is a note to explain everything.’ With this I give you the key to the extra room and walk away.
Without me there to ask further questions, you go to the room. On the pillow of the bed you find a letter from me. It says:
Dearest Muriel
I have booked this extra room for you if you want to sleep here rather than with me.
If this is what you want, I accept this decision completely and without any reservation.
I just thought once you got to Rio you might like to keep our relationship as … well, just friends. If that is all you want, I would be okay.
But if you want to join me in my room, and in my bed, for the next three days I am waiting for you.
Love Juan
You stare at the letter, and re-read it – twice.
A little like you are sleepwalking you find your way to my room. The door is ajar and you push it open. I am organising my clothes and get ready for my pre-salsa shopping expedition.
You walk to me with the letter in your hand, hanging limply by your side.
You say, ‘When you do things like this,Juan, I belong to you.’
You have said this phrase to me before, mostly by phone, over the last three years. I always melt, absolutely melt, when I hear it. But this is the first time you have said it to my face. I blush. Again, a stabbing pain in my stoamch. My knees shake.
‘I just thought … if you didn’t want to … we could …’ I speak in a sincere, low, shy but serious voice. I stare at the floor as I speak. Huge tears well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks.
You come forward and place one finger to my lips. You are a little shorter than me. You look up into my eyes and we kiss, really kiss, for the first time since you arrived.
Again - the sensation of the world shrinking and retreating until the whole universe is just the tiny space where we stand. Our kiss is sexual, no doubt. But is much, much more than that. Deep, deep tenderness and quiet passion and kindness is vested in every motion of our mouths, tongues and hands.
We break. I say, ‘You are shaking.’
‘So are you.’
In the winter sunshine, overlooking the beach in our hotel room, we hug until over shaking and shuddering subsides.
We go our separate ways to prepare for our salsa-dancing date. I have arranged for the final fitting of a shirt and pants that have been specially tailored for me. After this a haircut and massage. I will go straight to the salsa studio and meet you there.
You? I am not sure what you have planned. But I am certain of one thing: as a long as you show up – even dressed in gym pants, a t-shirt and flip-flops – I will be the happiest man in Rio.
When you do show up it is almost beyond description.
You are late. No great surprise there. You have a habit of being chronically late. But an hour late? When we have such little time. I am a little angry – well, very angry. I feel very self-conscious sitting, and then pacing, in the crowded salsa studio. Couple dance; singles sit and flirt. I am alone and bat off anyone who approaches me for a dance or conversation. In my tailored black shirt and pants I feel a bit foolish to be alone.
And then you enter the room. All my angry and self-conscious feelings slide away.
Again, and for the third time since you arrived, I have the sensation of the world narrowing and it being just you and I. I walk across the dance floor and bow to you and hold out my hand. Sounds phony and corny to write this now, but at the time it was just right.
You are dressed in a black dress tailored of one piece of fabric. It wraps your body tight. Across your breasts, stomach and thighs the fabric wraps your body in one layer and then the second layer comes across the top. A narrow belt of the same fabric holds these layers together. This creates a dress with a plunging neckline and a hem just above your knees. The sleeves are short, stopping on your upper biceps. The tailor has created a beautiful outfit that is at once stylish and sexy. The dress hugs you, highlighting your slim and toned body.
As I approach I see the thin gold chain you always wear hanging between your breasts. Up close I can catch the faintest glimpse of your bra as it peaks out in places from under the dress. Black, of course.
I am stunned, totally lost for words. As I hold out my hand I look you up and down, from head to foot – twice.
‘Well, what do you think?’ You appear oblivious to my rapture at seeing you dressed this way.
I take you hand and kiss it lightly. ‘When you dress like this for me, Muriel, I belong to you.’ All we can do is stare into each other’s moist eyes.
The music starts abruptly and our moment is broken. The music is familiar – a salsa standard we have both practiced to many times in our hometowns. We begin to dance.
After a clumsy start we fall into a gentle rhythm, like two people who have danced together a lot before and have nothing to prove to the other. Just dancing for the joy of being together. Practising in my hometown and thinking about this moment in Rio I kindof expected it to be some terrible dirty-dancing episode with us ended up in the bathroom of the studio, ripping each other’s clothes off. I am so glad it isn’t.
I expected you to be good, and you are. You have had lessons before in other styles and I have seen you dance before so know you have a real flair. But it is me who is the surprise. I took my lessons seriously and have developed a strong repertoire of basic salsa moves.
After the first song you clap me and grab both my hands, smiling. ‘I thought you said you had no dancing bones in your body.’
‘This was important, so I have tried hard to overcome my disability.’ We smile and kiss – you seem particularly happy I have made a real effort for this novel start to our three days together.
After two hours of dancing – mostly together, but also with strangers we meet at the studio – we leave and have dinner at a small restaurant overlooking the beach and the sea. Dinner is a time to catch up on what is happening in our lives – with our families, our children … and our spouses. We eat and drink very comfortably, almost like a brother and sister who have found a way to be true adult friends.
We walk slowly, hand in hand, towards the hotel. As the waves lap gently on the beach we are lost in our own thoughts. We do not speak. For me expectations of what will happen in our hotel room cloud my mind. I worry a little about whether it will as good as the brief two nights we spent together three years ago.
As if you know what is on my mind, you say; ‘Do you remember that time when we shared the bottle of wine on the waterfront on our second night together?’
I am silent and turn and look out to sea. I shut my eyes but you can’t see this. I squeeze your hand tight. ‘Are you okay, Juan?’ My silence and the strong grip I have on your hand is a bit confusing.
I stop walking and turn to face you. I hold both your hands and look down into your eyes. Again, the sensation of being the only two people in Rio, or even the world, engulfs me.
‘For three years I have tried to preserve ever moment of those two nights together. I remember especially being with you, sharing the wine, on the waterfront. At one stage you lay on your stomach,’ I say, staring intently into your eyes, ‘and rested on your elbows. Your back formed the most graceful arc and light played in your eyes. At one moment I reached out a touched your hand lightly? Do you remember?’ You nod quickly, hanging on every word I say. ‘I touched you because the first night felt like a wild dream. I wanted to check you were still there … available … for me to touch.’ We squeeze each other’s hands in unison at the memory of that moment. ‘You enthralled me then. Just as I am tonight.’
You go to say something but I continue: ‘Muriel, I have given myself to so few – emotional, physically, sexually. But for you … I want to abandon myself and risk everything.’ Tears are coming for both of us now. ‘I don’t know if I can ever go back after being with you again.’
‘I didn’t expect it to be like this,’ you say gravely and with great emotion. Your voice is shaky and your hands tremble a little in mine ‘I thought we could just have some fun together here in Rio, reconnect as friends … and in bed … and then return to our lives.’ Your swallow deeply, shutting your eyes. ‘But I don’t know how I am going to say goodbye to your in a couple of days.’
I release one of your hands and plunge my hand deep into my pocket. My hand grips the key to the second room in our hotel. I grip it so hard that it cuts into my fingers. As if you can feel the pain the key is causing my flesh you say, ‘Tonight, I think I will sleep in the second room. Is that really okay with you?’
‘Of course. Of course it is.’ My body language – open and without a trace of guile - convinces you I mean this. I hand you the key and cement it in your hand with a firm but loving gesture.
We walk silently back to our hotel. The staff smiles at us thinking we paint a pretty picture: two lovers returning home to their temporary love nest in a romantic hotel in a romantic city. We smile trying to fulfil this image.
I climb the marble staircase to the first floor and escort you to our second room. We say nothing. A simple kiss and a deep hug seal our temporary separation on the threshold of the second room. I turn quickly and head to my room on the third room.
In my room I review some of the items I thought we might enjoy on this first night brought all the way from Australia: expensive dark chocolate; great Australian champagne, some black lingerie (bra and panties). I tuck these deep into my bag with a deep sigh. I am disappointed – no question. But the depth of respect and affection I feel for you, developed over the last three years, means that any lust or desire I feel for you is secondary to what you want.
I sit on the balcony and have a Brazilian beer from the mini bar and smoke a little hashish I foolishly smuggled into the country. The hash takes the edge of the bittersweet feelings that have engulfed me. I sit in a very mellow state looking out over the beach and the black sea. One ear listening for footsteps and a knock on the door – that never comes. After an hour I crawl into bed and sleep heavily. The heavy sleep is a result of both the beer and the hash, but also because I know separate rooms are just right thing to do, at least for tonight.
In your room, you similarly are reviewing your special first-night-together gifts: some books by Anais Nin for reading aloud (you are quite a fan after I introduce you to her books); chocolate, but French chocolate; some oil-free liquid ideal for massage and other purposes; and, even some light but strong velvet chords for tying wrists to bed heads …
You pour yourself a beer from the mini-bar and put your iPod headphones on and cue up some PH Harvey. You lay on the bed and Is This Love comes on:
You're the only story that I never told/ You're my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so/ Come on out, come on over, help me forget/ Keep the walls from falling on me, tumbling in/ This is love that I'm feeling
You, too, fall into a peaceful and deep sleep gripping Anais Nin’s Delta of Venus close to you chest.
The next morning I wake early to see the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. Surprisingly – considering the emotion of last night, the beer and the hash – my mind is clear and my body feels strong and energetic. I quickly dress in gym pants and t-shirt, grab some swimming pants and a towel and head for the beach.
At this time of day the beach is quiet and deserted. Short of a few older couples and a few joggers I am alone with my thoughts. Only two full days and nights left together, I think to myself. What is going to happen today? Will she even be there when I get back?
With head down I walk through the small waves that lap the shore. My mind is consumed by many thoughts and themes: my children, my wife, my work and … where you fit in all this.
I look up from my reverie and you are there about 25 metres in front of me. You are dressed almost the same as me and walk in the shallows, head down, possibly thinking about things similar to me.
You look up. We smile. I jog a little to get to you. We do not kiss. I just take your hands tenderly and say, ‘Are you okay?’
‘I am … good, I think.’ Your voice is calm and clear, like the air hanging over the ocean on this calm and serene morning.
‘Me, too, I think.’ You look well and even more beautiful than yesterday if that is possible.
‘A swim?’ you ask. We change into our swimming clothes, not thinking to peak at each other’s semi nakedness and the plunge headlong into the cool waters of the Atlantic.
Off shore there is a very small rocky outcrop, about 150 metres out. We swim towards this destination without words, drawn to this tiny island that is only the size of a small car.
When we arrive we discover that rocks are warm and dry and on the seaward side provide great privacy. With out speaking we strip naked and lay side by side on the warm, black rocks.
Lying on our backs with our eyes closed we hold hands and do not speak. The sun dries out bodies and hair. Soon we are warm and the sun relaxes our limbs like some opiate. Our hands melt together under the sun’s warmth.
I turn my head to one side to look at you. You are perfectly still – the only movement is your chest moving up and down with your steady, peaceful breathing. This movement draws my eyes to your breasts.
They are just as I remember them: pert, firm and perfectly formed. I could lie here all day just looking at them. They are dusted with small patches of salt here and there left behind when the water evaporated from your skin.
I slide down a little so my lips and tongue and mouth can find your breasts. With great gentleness I slowly kiss and lick and nibble one nipple and then the other. You remain with your eyes closed but part your lips and let out small moans. One of your hands finds the back of my head and carcasses my scalp as I continue to work on your nipples.
My hand traces small circles on your stomach. The circles gradually go lower and lower until my finger tips are in your pubic hairs. I search lower again and with great tenderness for those sensitive and erotic points that hide between your legs.
My fingertips venture all over and into your sex. I am guided by your moans as to what you want. Your moans make it clear what you desire most: my finger gently moving in and out of vagina in short, steady slow thrusts. Not too deep – just so my first knuckle disappears into your body.
With the motion of my fingers and the attention I give to your nipples your sex becomes very, very moist. A small rivulet of fluid runs out of body and down over your anus. I rub this moisture all over your sex. Then you say abruptly, ‘Lick me. Please.’
Now between your legs I gently spread the lips of your sex. In the morning sunlight the folds and textures of your sex look like an exotic, ripe flower. The smell is sweet and salty. My mouth waters at these sights and smells. I bring my warm wet tongue to you and lick the entire length of your sex – from the bottom of your vagina and then up to the clitoris. My tongue and lips explore every crevice and fold. Your skin is smooth and swollen, glistening now with my saliva and your moisture. On your elbows now, cupping your breasts and squeezing your nipples, you have opened your eyes to watch me. Your eyes flutter open and shut as you take in the sight of me buried within your sex.
‘Enough. Please, stop. I … not here. I will … cum if … you …’ These words drift out between your pants and moans. ‘Hotel, please. Can we go to the hotel, please?’
I stop licking you and look up through your pubic hairs to your face. ‘Do we need to play the Paper, Rock, Scissors game?’ You smile and gently smack the top of my head.
We dress, dive into the water and swim to shore. We run up the beach, hand in hand, across the road and through the hotel foyer – covering its marble floor with sand and seawater still dripping from our bodies.
In my room we shower together, washing each other gently. Then we towel each other down. These small actions to look after each other fill me with great joy. I see you smiling as you dry my limbs – I think you like this, too.
The doors that lead to the balcony of the room are open and big cream curtains flutter peacefully in the breeze. This is where we stand together naked to finally touch. The sun, reflecting off the ocean, is diffused through the curtains and baths the room is a soft, warm light.
My arms hang with great tension by my sides. Your hands find them and stroke them gently. I shudder and moan. You simply say, ‘Relax. We have all day, and all of tomorrow, too.’
We embrace and our entire bodies meet face on, head to toe. They fit together and melt together. I stroke your back and run my hands up your neck into hair. Your limbs are relaxed. I pull back and see your eyes are closed and your face is blissfully relaxed.
I lead you to the wall next to the balcony door. The wall inside the room is warm, heated by the sun outside. You smile sweetly when you realise what I am choreographing. I am repeating something special from our first time together.
‘You might not believe this,’ you say as I gently but firmly grip your wrists and raise your hands over your head, ‘but hardly a day has gone passed when I did not think of doing this with you. I love it so very, very much.’ Your words are slurred like you are a little drunk.
With one hand I grip your wrists and press both of your hands into the warm wall high above your head.
This reveals the under sides of your arms and your pale, shaved armpits. I am drawn to kiss one, and then the other, armpit. They are smooth but have a salty and earthy taste – the essence of you.
I drive my hips into your waist and stomach. My stiff, hard cock is pressing against your stomach, pointing up. With this motion I pin you strongly against the wall. Your buttocks absorb the force as they press into the warm wall.
This posture lifts your breast and their shape changes a little. When I see this effect on your breasts my cock jumps and stiffens further. I push it harder into your stomach. My free hand cups one breast, and then the other. ‘Oh, perfect,’ are the only words my brain can muster.
I slide my strong thigh between your legs and push hard. You meet this by pushing your pelvis to meet me and throwing your head back. I kiss your graceful neck in hard, wet pulses.
I gradually let your hands go and quickly spin you around. Now your breasts are pushed against the warm walls as I grasp your wrist again high above your head. I pin you against the wall with my erect cock resting in the crevice of your bottom. The harder I pin you the longer and deeper your moans become. I kiss and gently bite the nape of your neck
With one foot I guide your ankles apart and then use my free hand to caress your inner thigh. My fingers trace long smooth arc up and down both inner thighs but move up and up towards your sex. My fingers find your vagina open, hot, moist. I slip my middle finger in and out, in and out. You rock your pelvis to meet this penetration. You moan, ‘I love, absolutely fucking love, the way you arrange me, choreography our love making. It drives me crazy.’
Again I release your hands. You turn around and grab my cock. In one slow movement we fall gracefully back onto the bed. I am pulled on top of you, with you still holding my cock.
‘We never …’ You search for the right words. ‘We never, I never … had you inside me on those two nights.’ You have released my cock and it lays stiff on your stomach. I am on my palms poised above you, looking into your eyes.
‘Now?” I ask.
‘Yes,’ you answer.
I adjust my hips and we connect. You are moist and warm. I am stiff and thick. Your hands find my waist and ever-so-lightly encourage me forward. We cannot look away from each other’s eyes. No speaking now – just the deepest connection. Of our bodies. And our souls. As my cock slips in.
Our faces – they contort in pleasure. But it is more than this. For years – years - we have though and talked about doing this together. It is the one thing we did not share during our brief two nights together before. The bliss of the moment, finally upon, is truly wonderful. A moment to remember and cherish forever more.
Now my cock has found its end point deep inside you. Neither of us wants or needs movement now. This deep, deep coupling of two bodies makes me smile and sigh with untold happiness. You mirror my mood in your face: your eyes and mouth smile warmly and with great joy. I stroke you hair with great, great tenderness and am totally lost in your eyes. You gaze back and look lost in me, too.
Suddenly your face becomes tense and troubled. Your lips move trying to form words. In the midst of the most intimate and tender embrace imaginable you slowly shut your eyes. Anguish consumes your features.
You mouth tries to form words, but none come. I say, ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’ I stroke you temple to calm you.
‘I don’t belong to you. I belong to someone else. But … but … I …’ You try, but the words won’t come.
My heart knows what you are trying to say. Instinctively I push my hips forward and slip even deeper into you in an unconscious effort to coaxes the forbidden words out.
‘I … I …’ A deep, deep painful but cathartic sigh. As if you are committing yourself to an abyss. ‘I … love you, Juan.’
And without thinking I smile and choke, ‘Oh, and I love you, Muriel.’
We grip each other and bury our heads into the other’s shoulders. There is joy and shame and guilt and relief mixed together for both of us. We are both in free fall, into an emotional black hole, a frightening but blissful void.
We have never, ever used the word ‘love’ to describe what we share. In text messages, phone calls and emails we talked endless about tenderness, lust, desire, deep bonds of friendship … but never the L word. Now we have unleashed it I feel we are entering deeply forbidden and foreboding territory. A terrain that is dangerous with no way to retrace our footsteps and escape.
Suddenly and without warning you push me up and look angrily into my face. ‘Do you mean it?! Do you really mean it?’ you bark. ‘Do you … love me?’ These last words see you melt into uncontrolled tears but you continue to stare me down.
‘Of course I do. Can’t you tell?’ You are smiling now – the deepest most profound smile I have ever seen.
Now we are beyond emotional free fall – some kindof anti-physics, terminal velocity squared type of free fall. Oh boy …
