David
I would’ve liked to wake up with Margot on top of me, straddling me, dressed only in the white nightgown I packed from her stuff. I imagined her with the fabric riding up around her waist and one strap drooping off her shoulder while her hips sailed nonexistent waves on top of me. And then, because I’m weak, I would kiss her nipples; I would whisper the kinds of loving words that don’t hurt and use caresses to ask permission to enter her and live forever inside her in the form of a moan. And the light reflected in the sea, the breeze, and freedom would applaud us as we made love.
Sounds good, huh? Well, nothing could’ve been further from the truth because I was startled awake by a chair crashing to the floor that almost gave me a heart attack. And when I sat up, I found Margot disheveled and with makeup running down her face, snatching things off the floor.
“What the…?” I managed to say.
“The ferry! We’re gonna miss the ferry back!”
Running with a hangover is not cool. Running with a hangover when it’s 110 degrees in the shade is even less cool. Running with a hangover, in 110-degree heat, to catch a boat…could only be a sign from destiny to wake me up and show me that something was wrong. A sign I missed, by the way.
The Dramamine took so long to take effect that I felt sick the whole way. Margot was no better off. She didn’t even wash her face before we ran out. We looked like summery, desolate versions of the Joker and didn’t speak a word to each other until we arrived in Santorini.
I was about to ask her to drive the bike back to the hotel, but I took pity when, after I unlocked the massive bike lock, I turned around and looked at her. I couldn’t help but smile.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You look terrible,” I teased.
“You should talk…”
“Me? The grunge look works on me, aren’t you the one who said that? But you…you look like a junkie who survived an orgy with a bunch of chainsaws.”
“Your hair is plastered to your head,” she informed me, making it crystal clear I was grossing her out too.
I touched it. Fuck. I always got so grimy when I went out to party, especially in dives where you could smoke. She was right.
“But we’re going to get in the shower now and you’re going to wash it for me, so it doesn’t matter.”
She rolled her eyes, I climbed on the bike and kicked the kickstand, and she clambered on.
“Half an hour,” I whispered before she put on her helmet.
I earned a punch on the arm. Some things are probably better not to say out loud when you’re not wasted.
We stopped at a bakery on the road back to the hotel, and along with two coffees the size of our heads, we bought everything…anything soaked in cheese and as greasy as possible. Then we went into our villa and hung the “Do not disturb” sign, taking shelter in a room we darkened by lowering the blinds. We turned the room into an artificial and refrigerated womb where we could hide out with the expectation (and hope) that we’d become human again.
The truth is, after the previous night and being startled awake so abruptly, my body couldn’t take any more partying, and I wasn’t thinking about sex at that point, although I was still convinced I needed thirty minutes with my tongue buried between Margot’s lips…and I don’t mean the ones covering her teeth. What I’m trying to say is that, at least consciously, when I got into the shower with Margot, I didn’t have erotic intentions. I wanted her to wash my hair.
“David!” she screamed, beside herself, like she had repeated something hundreds of times and I had ignored her again.
“Don’t scream, you loon, my head’s going to explode!”
“Out of my goddamn shower, for fuck’s sake!”
“Why?” And I swear I asked her that because I really didn’t understand the reason I couldn’t take a shower with her. For fuck’s sake, I wanted her to wash my hair.
“Because I want to shower in peace!”
“Okay, babe. So shower then.”
I turned around and focused on soaping my body fastidiously.
“If you’re doing this to seduce me, I have to tell you it’s not working. I swear watching you wash yourself reminds me of a documentary I saw about monks in India. They wash themselves just like that. Exactly the same.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her makeup was even more streaked down her face, not even a hint of a smile.
“Whatever you say, but I want to be nice and clean in case you want to suck on my balls for a bit.”
“When you’re hungover, you’re the gnarliest dude I’ve ever met in my life, you know that?”
“Will you wash my hair?” I asked.
“Yeah right, because you’ve been so nice, you’ve earned it.”
“I’m charming, and you know it. Come on…wash my hair, please…”
“What do I get out of it?”
“You’re a fucking capitalist,” I teased. “Come on. I’ll wash yours after.”
“But the whole deal like in a salon. With a head massage.”
“Fine.”
Margot’s fingers on my scalp, spreading the shampoo and rubbing gently, all the way to my temples…was the most relaxing thing I had ever felt in my life. I had never gotten a massage, and I promise the barber in my neighborhood didn’t massage my head when he cut my hair. Anyway, I decided I wasn’t made for so much pampering when I noticed my cock was starting to get hard. I looked at it sideways. Poor thing…it was so optimistic.
“Rinse now,” I asked Margot.
“Whatever you say, but I want you to rub me more than that.”
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say something dirty.
I guess she noticed the state of my cock when I started washing her hair because it kept knocking against her butt. It was driving me up the wall. But she said nothing, and I kept adding shampoo and sliding my hands over her head and neck. After a while of her moaning with pleasure and saying, “There, right there,” which almost made me lose it, she rinsed off under the tap and worked in the conditioner herself. I took the opportunity to fill my hand with soap suds again with the worst of intentions.
I pulled her against my body, her back turned, and shoved my hands unceremoniously between her thighs. She must have been thinking something along the same lines because she received my attentions with a moan and apparently without any surprise.
“Should I rub like this or harder?” I asked her slyly.
“Rub until we fill the bathroom with foam.”
I slid my middle finger between her pussy lips and rubbed in circles while she grabbed my forearms hard, like she was scared I would stop and leave her hanging.
“Can I spend the next hour keeping my promises?”
“No,” she moaned in my arms. “I’m still spotting a little.”
“What does that mean, you’re ‘spotting’?” I asked, intrigued.
“That I’m still bleeding a little. It should be okay by tomorrow.”
“So what do I do now? I want to pleasure you,” I complained.
She directed my hand a little farther down and made me press my finger into her.
“This isn’t good enough for me,” I announced.
“It is for me. Keep going…”
Her hand found a way between us and stroked my cock, which responded harder than I ever remember it doing before. I moaned with my mouth close to her neck because I wanted her to hear the pleasure I felt when she touched me, and with the hand that wasn’t between her legs, I clasped her left breast. Margot was moaning too, telling me what movements she liked best, and when I was about to offer to get out of the shower to lie on the bed and get comfortable, she surprised me by asking something I wasn’t expecting.
“Do you think I’m being unfaithful?”
“What?”
She squeezed my cock between her fingers, and I let out a moan.
“For the love of God, don’t ask me that right now.”
“Do you think so or not?”
“No…” I moaned again, let go of her boob, and wrapped my hand around hers touching my cock, to stroke it faster. “He ran off for the whole summer, right? Well, this is your summer, Margot.” A groan slipped out of me. “Don’t stop now… Keep going.”
She let go of me. Fuckingstupidregrets, I muttered without opening my lips, in a kind of roar contained in my throat. But that dude can’t even love you right, Margot, because you don’t have to tell me much about your relationship for me to know that he didn’t even try to get to know the part of you that’s hidden way down below your outward appearance. Fuck my life, Margot. And you feel bad? He should feel bad for not being able to see that the love of his life was terrified on the day of her own wedding.
I didn’t say anything. Margot looked into my eyes.
“Really?”
“Really.” I nodded.
“You’re not just saying that because you want me to finish what I started?”
“I want this hand job, and I want to come on your tits, Margot, but more importantly, I want you to understand he’s free and you are too. And I don’t care if he hasn’t been with anyone because, in the end, he’s not with you, right?”
She smiled. “Fine. Then a blow job can’t be any worse than a hand job, right?”
I blinked. I couldn’t believe it. Even my cock smiled. Memorizing Margot was impossible. How many different women lived inside her?
But she got out. She got out of the fucking shower before I even got to feel her mouth around me. I watched her, stunned, as she wrapped herself in a towel and then pulled me over and wrapped another one around my waist.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered.
When I sat on the edge of the bed, the towel fell open, leaving in sight, very clearly, the fact that I hadn’t forgotten her promise.
“You know you have a beautiful cock?” she said, tossing a pillow onto the floor and kneeling on it, in front of me.
“I never stopped to think about it. Do you think it would win a beauty contest?”
“Let’s see…” She grabbed it and…magic: she made it disappear.
I yelled. I don’t know what I said, probably something rude because she was looking at me with very wide eyes. I think I made reference to where I wanted to put what was filling her mouth.
I laced my fingers through her hair and pushed her down a little onto me, following the rhythm she was making by pulling my cock in and out of her lips.
I stroked her forehead with my thumb, and she looked at me. I nodded, as if that was enough to tell her everything I was thinking and didn’t even understand myself: to keep going, that I wanted to come in her throat, that I didn’t want the trip to ever end, that I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to leave her, that Idoia had no idea how to give blow jobs, if a blow job was what she was doing, which was more like a supernova of pleasure. I couldn’t stop staring at her. It was the best blow job of my life, but also…she was so pretty…
She helped herself with her right hand, and I laughed. Laughter! I threw out a couple of pitiful laughs because it was unfair that I liked her so much, and she smiled. With her mouth full, with her eyes, swallowing my fucking soul.
I didn’t have time to warn her. I opened my mouth to say something, I swear, but the words stuck until they were nothing more than a stupid gurgle, like a teenager, as I emptied myself completely (of semen, worries, and fears) inside her mouth. I didn’t last ten minutes, but Margot didn’t seem surprised; she just stopped, wiped the corner of her mouth, and then licked me again before kissing the fleshy head of my cock and standing up.
She straddled me, took off her towel, and said to me with a serious, hot, unsettled, look on her face… “Now me.”
I fingered her with all the desire bursting from my body. All of it. The desire I had for her and all the desire I had ever felt in my life for any other girl. All of them. The entire universe folded in until it only fit Margot, like a cruel goddess who fed on whatever I gave her. And she came in spasms over me, but I knew that pleasuring her like that no longer satisfied me. It wasn’t enough anymore.
We forgot to eat. We didn’t even try the coffee. I couldn’t help it. As soon as I could, after I recovered from coming, I wanted to make love to her. And she wanted to make love to me.
I rummaged in my bag, which I had tossed onto the dresser in her room, and I found the box of condoms I bought in the supermarket a few days before; I tore one open with my teeth. Badly done, I know, but I needed my eyes to ask her if she needed it as much as I did.
She was writhing naked on the bed, squeezing her thighs, trying to relieve, I imagine, that throbbing need.
We both fumbled to get the condom on me while we kissed with our eyes closed, and then she lay back on the bed with her legs spread. I got on top of her and directed my cock inside her; she was so wet I glided in almost without thrusting. We looked at each other with open mouths, surprised by the sensation, and I pulled out to push back in; her knee fell to one side, next to her ass, and she let out a shriek.
“Did I hurt you?”
“I’m a virgin,” she said.
I swear I was paralyzed; I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t. A smile spread across her face and then evolved into a cackle.
“You’re an idiot!” I complained.
She dug her fingers into my ass, pushing me deeper, and smiled slyly.
“You should’ve seen your face. How could I be a virgin?”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” I leaned in to kiss her.
“Don’t stop, stupid. Don’t stop.”
And I didn’t. I didn’t stop.
And now, just between us, listen up because I’m going to say something I probably shouldn’t. Something very ugly, because feelings, emotions, and women…should never be compared to each other. But…I had gotten used to fucking Idoia, and it was always like being in one of those porn movies that are filmed like your eyes are the camera. Everything. The moans, the positions, the requests, even the aesthetics…it all looked like well-edited and highly polished porn. That only meant one thing: that everything was perfect, pristine, without ifs, ands, or buts, and that…it never felt real. I was always telling myself I wasn’t up to the performance, so when Idoia and I fucked, it felt like a competition. I had to be the one who pushed it furthest, the one who pushed the hardest, the one who could get it in the fastest without coming, the one who made it, and the one who gave the best ass slaps, when to me…actually those slaps lowered my spirits quite a bit. All this coupled with the fact that I’ve never been a huge fan of the porn approach… It made me frustrated because I didn’t enjoy it as much as I knew I could, and I kept telling myself it was my fault.
Well…doing it with Margot made me forget I had to be “the most” because I wasn’t worried that she would vanish before I had my fill. Doing it with Margot showed me that I had never even thought about myself with Idoia. I just wanted to make her happy. Her. And with Margot it was just naturally for both of us. Both.
I made love to her, but I left space between us for her to make love to me too. And so much intimacy was breathed in the sounds of our bodies, in the gasps, in the smells of sex, in the smiles we shared. If someone ever tells me again that laughter is the enemy of passion, I’ll tell them they should’ve been there watching Margot laugh.
Margot, full of light. Margot, still moving under my body, begging for the next thrust. Margot, with her horny face. Margot, who whispered that she was coming while she rubbed herself and I thrust in, out, in, out. Margot, riding on top of me, leaning on my left knee with one arm thrown back behind her. Margot swallowing fears and turning them into a sigh of pleasure.
Margot.
And there, in plain sight, the connection, the thing that united us: her body open to me, allowing me to give her pleasure. I was grateful for so much truth. For a porn director, that truth would be nothing more than imperfections, sounds, hair, wetness (not the good kind), interruptions, laughter, and words that were so much better than the absurd dialogue in porn. But it was perfect. It was real sex. Even the “take your hand out of there, that hurts” or the pause to take a sip of water from the bottle on the bedside table because, let me say something, a small truth: What good is perfect if it can never really make it out into the real world?
I hated myself when she started to let out her delirious moan of pleasure and I moaned hoarsely, almost growling. Why? Well, because I was losing it too, because I was exploding, because I never wanted it to end.
I don’t think denying it made sense anymore because you can’t hide what’s in plain sight: I had already split my soul so it could grow between the two halves. Falling in love was the only logical consequence.
She came twice, and both times she had to help finish herself with her hand, but I didn’t care at all, and it didn’t make me feel any less of a man; her pleasure was hers. When I came, lying between her thighs this time, I needed more help…the help of seeking refuge and intimacy to confront and swallow so many things. I sank down between her breasts, biting back my urge to cry, and pushed it down my throat alongside a certainty that appeared out of nowhere, and I didn’t share with Margot that what we had just done would be more important in my life than I wanted to believe.
I came. I filled the condom, and when I finished, I stayed there, inside her, panting, accepting. Not understanding a single thing.
When I could, I looked at her. Two eyes with a woeful gleam were waiting for me. Maybe I was comforted by the thought that she felt more overwhelmed than I was, but it gave me a moral kick that was hard to forget.
“Fuckkkkk…you dirty dog! That was incredible!”
Ah, shit. Ah, shit, shit, shit. She laughed. She cracked up, writhing…adding trust to our relationship, subtracting that awkwardness that comes the first time two bodies interact, multiplying what I felt when I came, and dividing until the barriers were left at zero.
“Incredible?” I asked. “You’re incredible.”
We melted into a kiss, and I prayed. Prayed that Margot would never stop.
By the way, that afternoon, after a nap, I woke up with Margot on top of me, straddling me, dressed only in the white nightgown I had packed from her stuff. She had the fabric riding up around her waist and one strap drooping off her shoulder while her voluptuous hips sailed nonexistent waves on top of me. And then, because I’m weak, I kissed her nipples; I whispered the kinds of loving that don’t hurt and used caresses to ask permission to enter her and live forever inside her in the form of a moan.
And the light flickering on the pool, the damn air-conditioning, and freedom applauded us as we made love.