THE GIFT (MF, cons)
By George Carter
What do you do the day after
your heart breaks?
What do you do when the person
you love more than your own life
tells you she doesn't feel anything
for you any more?
Well, I can't speak for everybody,
of course, but I tried to forget
about it for a while.
The French Foreign Legion seemed a little
extreme, not to mention clichéd,
so I took extended leave from my
job and moved to Sydney, where
I'd lived before I ever met Kate.
We'd sold the house and I was
left with some spare cash after
settling the mortgage.
Eight years of bliss, and now I was living in a
flat again. I'd lost touch
with most of the friends I'd known in my
bachelor days. Sydney's
a bastard of a town to be lonely in. It's just
too damned pretty. It's
made for walking around with a girl on your
arm.
I tried to smile and get on with
my life, but it was a doomed effort
from the start. I'd not
only lost my compass, but my sails and most
of my keel as well. I
was becalmed and aimless, pushing forty with
a bulldozer, and miserable,
but in denial. Rather than sit at home
and masturbate, or worse, contemplate
suicide, I decided to take on
some volunteer work. That
way I figured I could keep busy long
enough for the pain to go away.
So it came to pass that I became
one of the thousands of volunteers
at the Olympics, where I met
a woman I admired very much but
whom I'd never dreamed I'd ever
meet. This rare, amazing woman
ended up giving me the most
precious gift anyone ever received.
What was it? Be patient.
I'll tell you in the end.
*****
I'd ended up drawing 'Spectator
Support', which was as good as
anything on offer as far as
I was concerned, so on day one I was
running around Homebush Bay
like a manic rabbit. It was pure
chaos. There were hundreds
of little tasks and little respite: lost
kids, lost adults, enquiries,
arguments, wrong tickets, wrong days,
and quite a few language barriers.
And guess what? The pain in my
heart didn't have the common
decency to ease off one little bit. I
kept going, all right, but I
felt like I was made of glass.
For early spring, it was a bloody
hot day. I'd taken a swig of water
from the plastic bottle at my
hip and was fanning myself with the
broad-brimmed uniform hat.
It was the first time I'd had a minute to
myself all day.
The voice came from behind me, strong but definitely feminine.
'Excuse me... '
I turned, essayed my best smile
and started to offer to help. To my
surprise, I was looking straight
at my questioner's chin. She had to
be four inches taller than me.
I looked up and held her gaze, then
started again.
The woman's voice said she was
either American or Canadian,
probably the former. She
had untidy, dirty-blonde hair, eyes
sparkling with amusement and
the smile of someone who
thoroughly enjoyed her life.
She was wearing a plain gold t-shirt,
faded blue jeans and worn running
shoes. She looked strong and fit.
'Sorry to bother you,' she continued,
'but I've gotten a little lost.
This place is so big, it's overwhelming
at times.'
'I know just what you mean, and
it's no bother, it's what I'm here
for. My name's George,
by the way. What can I help you find?'
'Mine's Jane, and I'm looking
for the residences of the U.S. swim
team. I came from there,
but I've just kinda got turned around.
Clueless, huh?'
I liked the way her nose crinkled when she said that.
'Not a bit. How do you
think I'd go if I hadn't had a week's training
in getting around this place?'
The sun beating down on my crewcut
reminded me that I had my hat
in my hands, in an old-fashioned
gesture of etiquette.
I must've looked pretty sheepish. I put the
thing on my head pretty quick,
and her smile widened. She had
great teeth. 'This way,'
I continued.
We took our time strolling to
the residences. 'Fifteen hundred?' I
asked, apropos of nothing.
'Pardon me?'
'Your event. You look like
a long-distance specialist. I'm sorry...
that's impertinent of me, but
you're one of the athletes, right?'
She blinked, and for the first
time looked a little wistful. 'Not any
more. I'm with the coaching
staff.'
I realized I'd said the wrong
thing, which was par for the course for
me with women lately.
I decided to shut my big mouth, and soon
we'd found Jane's bungalow.
'Well, here we are, Jane.
Maybe I'll see you around the place. I
hope you have a great time while
you're here.'
'Thanks, George. Keep your nose clean and your hat on, OK?'
I didn't really want to leave,
but I turned on my heel. Then I saw a
figure I'd seen once before,
a rotund, balding man - assistant chef de
mission I thought, clearly
agitated about something.
'Jane Urquhart! I've been looking all over for you.'
Jane turned to speak to him,
and I felt my stomach do a little jump.
I recognized that name... I
couldn't believe it. The coincidence was
too great, suspension of disbelief
factor would be blown out of the
water if this was a story.
It couldn't be her.
And yet, this woman did look
like the picture I'd built in my mind of
the woman whom I'd admired for
a long time. If this was an
enormous happenstance, then
I'd be a fool not to at least ask. Hell,
what did I have to lose besides
my dignity?
I waited until the man had finished
speaking to her before
approaching her again.
'Umm... Jane, I'm sorry to bother you again...'
She waited.
'But... I couldn't help hearing
your last name, and I think you're
someone I e-mailed a couple
of weeks ago. My full name is George
Carter, and I'm either an embarrassed
fool or your biggest fan.'
Her face moved slowly.
An eyebrow twitched. One corner of her
mouth moved upward.
'Naaah,' she answered, 'I have much taller fans.'
'Ooooh,' I laughed, 'a height joke! Not fair.'
'Well, at least you didn't mention
those damn yellow raisins...
everyone else does. Pleased
to meet you, George,' she continued,
sticking out her hand.
I took it. It felt like... a woman's hand. I
ordered myself to reel my tongue
in, I probably looked ridiculous.
'You're the guy who wrote me
that nice e-mail,' Jane pondered. I
thought she must get hundreds
of nice e-mails, and probably some
creepy ones as well, but it
was fine to be remembered. 'You said
that you write yourself, but
you were pretty dismissive of your own
ability. Hmm. Tell
you what. I'm gonna be real busy for the next
week, while the swimming events
are on... but the second week's a
vacation, really. Why
don't you get some of your stuff together and
slip it under my door one day.
Put your phone number on it, and
I'll call you when I've
read it. What do you say?'
I said, 'Thank you.' In
moments of crisis, dialogue should be basic.
*****
Over the next week, my life became
a little easier to face. Part of
the reason was a burgeoning
sense of patriotic pride. It was
impossible to be an Aussie and
not to be proud of the job we were
doing with these Games.
From the opening ceremony on down, it
was just superb. And my
countrymen weren't doing too badly in the
pool, either. I was lucky
enough to see the men's 4 x 200 metre
relay, and it was the finest
swim I can remember. Turning
conventional wisdom on its head,
we sent our fastest man, Ian
Thorpe, out first, and it was
a stroke of genius. He had the race
won before the end of his leg.
He demoralized his opponents and
drew the very best out of his
teammates, and we ended up beating
the world record by two seconds...
and the old enemy, the USA, by
nearly five.
The seppos were doing pretty
well too, just quietly. Susie O' Neill,
'Madam Butterfly', had to settle
for silver in her favourite event,
beaten by a plucky American
longshot named Misty Hyman. The
first time I saw that name I
did a double-take. Misty Hyman? What
were her parents thinking?
That was a porn-star name if ever I'd
heard one! It gave me
the first good belly laugh I'd had in far too
long. It made me think
about Jane. I bet she had a great line in
belly-laughs. I hoped that she
would make that call, but I wouldn't
blame her a bit if she didn't.
After all, she didn't know me, and I
could be any kind of ratbag.
I mean, I knew I was the harmless
kind, but she didn't.
The days were pretty good for
me. Being at the Games was an
experience that could cheer
anyone up. It wasn't just the events, the
feats or the athletes.
It was the spectators as well. I'd never seen
such a vast, heterogenous mass
of humanity being so good-natured.
It was touching. I was
working hard, but it was what I needed. It
wasn't healing, but it was a
kind of solace. And it felt like I was
losing weight.
The nights were a different story.
I used to like being alone in the
night, once upon a lifetime.
I'd stand on the flat roof of a block like
the one where I now lived and
stare into the heavens, feeling good...
feeling complete. I'd
been part of a pair for too long to feel that
way anymore. The night
I once loved now only made me feel
empty. I tried several
things to fill the emptiness. I tried drinking,
which just made me maudlin and
ill; I tried staying up all night, only
to find you can't get away with
that at age forty any more; I even
tried fantasizing about Jane,
but Mr. Happy wasn't in the mood. If
he didn't watch his step, I'd
have to rename him. Finally, I turned to
the word processor and started
writing. This was slow, almost
painful in its progress, but
it was creative rather than destructive,
and it helped a little.
The trouble was that little things here and
there kept reminding me of Kate.
She gave me my desk lamp.
Some of her old books were in
the bookshelf, God knew why.
Every time I thought of her
I missed her all over again. Why?
That's all I wanted to know.
Just why?
*****
The first week passed, and with
it the swimming competition. By
Monday of week 2, I'd pretty
much accepted that Jane wasn't going
to call. It was okay,
in her shoes I probably wouldn't either. Must
be just a little too surreal,
to meet a fan in the flesh and wonder just
what kind of person he really
is, then read his fantasies. It was great
to have met her, but I didn't
really expect anything else.
So, naturally, the phone rang on Tuesday night.
'George Carter.'
'Hello, George... Jane Urquhart here.'
'Jane! Hi... How're things?'
'Just great, thanks... I love
this place. The team does too. We're
having a lot of fun, but some
of these kids are running me ragged,
trying to keep 'em out of trouble.'
'Heh', I replied, 'at least you
don't have to worry about any of them
defecting. Lots of other
teams'll have that problem.'
'I never thought of that... anyway,
George, I managed to read the
stuff you gave me.'
'Uh, oh... be brutal, I can take it.'
'I took a few cold showers over the weekend.'
'That's sweet of you', I laughed,
' Now tell me what you really
think.'
'I think we should talk about
this, but not over the phone. I've
marked up your hard copies with
notes, and it'd be easier if you
could see them.'
I paused for a moment.
'How about we meet at the food court in
the village for lunch tomorrow?
That's where I've been eating
anyway. Hundreds of athletes'll
be there... just in case I turn out to
be a dangerous pree-vert.'
She laughed. It was a good
laugh, honest and infectious. Not a
belly-laugh, but maybe I'd hear
that later. ' One o' clock okay?'
'Great. See you there.'
*****
The next day dawned with me,
uncharacteristically, fussing about
my appearance. Normally
I didn't worry too much about this. My
mantra was 'neat, clean, smell
ok' and that was about it. I stared
into the bathroom mirror, and
the rational part of my mind argued
that there wasn't much to be
done. My hair was low-maintenance; it
was very dark, almost black,
and that was as much as I liked about
it. It was also dead straight
and very fine, with no body at all, and
some years ago I'd adopted the
number 2 buzz cut as the best of a
few bad choices. A few
hairs had turned silver at the temples.
My eyes were a dark blue, and
the skin around them was a little
pouchy. The eyes looked
a little like Robert Mitchum's. They had
the same kind of world-weary
look. They, and the grey hairs, were
the only giveaways to my age.
Fortunate heredity meant that my
face gave the impression of
a man perhaps ten years younger.
I looked down. My body
was not that of an athlete. It was squat
and broad. The legs were
a little too short, but strong. The arms
were a little too thin.
I sometimes felt that I'd been assembled from
spare parts. There was
still a little belly there, that said I like beer
and pasta, but that was about
it for visible fat. The same fine,
almost black hair lightly
covered my body. I snorted to myself at
this display of vanity.
As if she was even going to look twice at
me... honestly. This was
a married lady. Definitely a lady. And even
if she were in the market,
she could do a lot better than me.
*****
It was another busy day, no surprise
there, and quickly enough
Mickey's little hand pointed
to 1. Jane was waiting at the entrance
to the food court, a large buff
envelope in her hands, dressed in
similar fashion to our first
meeting. She wore that which she found
comfortable. Good for
her. Personally, I always thought that the
necktie was a perverted instrument
of torture, probably invented by
a woman with a cruel sense of
humour; but that just might be
because I have very little neck.
She said 'Hi', I said 'Hi', and
that was it until we'd gotten our meals
and found a table.
We were halfway through the seafood
mornay when she started
with a disclaimer. 'Of
course, I'm not a critic, so this won't be a
professional review.'
'That's fine with me. You've
done what I want to do, so your
opinion means a lot to me,'
I replied.
'Okay.' She dabbed at the
corner of her mouth with a napkin. 'Well,
you've got strengths and weaknesses.
Actually, I think you've got a
lot of skill. You write
the erotic scenes like you've done it all, and
taken notes... which worries
me a little, 'cause there's some pretty
raunchy stuff here.' She
gave me a sly, sidelong grin, and Mr.
Happy gave a little twitch.
'Research, research... it's a
tough job,' I smiled back. I looked at her
and suddenly realized that there
was nothing affected about this
woman at all. What you
saw was what you got. Like her stories,
she was honest, good-natured
and funny, and I found that very
attractive.
'Well... to list your strengths,
you write clearly. Your technical
skills are all there... grammar,
syntax, punctuation. The action
scenes are great, and I like
what you've done with some of these
characters. If I had to point
out a weakness, it'd have to be that
there isn't a whole lot of emotional
depth here. It's the difference
between porn and erotica, and
I believe that erotica is what you
want to write. Having
said that, I can see that in your later work,
you are addressing this more...
like you've diagnosed the problem
yourself and you're working
on it. Can I ask...?'
'Yes? Ask away,' I implored.
'How long have you been writing this kind of thing?'
'Well,' I replied, 'I've been
meaning to for years, really since high
school. But I've only
really been writing for about six months.'
Jane fixed her gaze on me.
'Then, there's only one piece of advice I
can give you. Write.
Write every single day. Set yourself an
amount to write every day.
That's what you need. It may be the
only thing you need.'
She reached out slightly to my
hand, and noticed the wedding ring.
The sly smile returned.
'Does your wife know you write this stuff?'
I closed my eyes. 'She
doesn't care,' I replied. 'We're separated... a
couple of months now.'
I hadn't meant to sigh. I wasn't fishing for
sympathy.
Jane blinked, and paused.
She finished her tea, and asked, 'Do you
want anything else to eat?
If not, do you want to get out of here? I
can't hear myself think.'
We got up and left, and were
soon strolling through the village. At
least, Jane was strolling.
What I was doing was just about power-
walking, trying to keep up with
shorter legs. She stopped, and at
first I'd thought she wanted
to give me a breather. I was wrong.
'Do you want to talk about it?' she asked.
'About what?' I replied stupidly.
'Your wife. George, tell
me it's none of my business if you want,
but I saw the look on your face
when you said you were separated.
It said... clearly... that the
separation was something you weren't
happy with. So...?'
'Nothing much to tell.
She wanted out. I didn't. But what I wanted
didn't matter very much.'
'How long...?'
'Were we married? Eight years. Eight years,' I repeated, bitterly.
'George... I'm sorry.'
She reached out to touch my arm, then
thought better of it.
'It's okay. I don't want
to bring you down, whinging about my little
problems. Not here.
Not now.' I tried on a smile.
Jane paused, then her face brightened.
'Okay, if that's what you
want. You can do me a
favor instead.'
'Jane, I owe you. Name it, ' I offered.
'Well, I've got responsibility
for some of the members of the team,
kinda like a house mother.
Their events are over, and they're
getting a little antsy.
I was wondering, could you suggest any good,
fun touristy things we can do
in Sydney?'
'Yeah... I know a real good one. You know the harbour bridge?'
'Uh huh... the "coathanger", I've heard it called. What of it?'
'How would you like to climb
up to the top of it and look down on
the harbour?'
'Wow! That'd be amazing... you can't do that, though?'
'Yep... sure can. How many
people we talking about? I'll set it up
for you.'
'Ahhh... about six? And can I ask you one more thing?'
'Sure.'
'Come with us? Can you get away?'
'Hey, that'd be huge! I'd love
to meet some of the team. I'll be
there.'
We talked a little more, and
worked out that the best time would be
about an hour before sunset.
After we got back down we could
have supper on the quay, or
at the Rocks. I advised Jane to dress
for hot weather, wear sturdy
shoes and that, unfortunately, they
couldn't take cameras, or anything
else loose like handbags. They
were forbidden, as dropping
one from the top might do serious
damage to somebody down below.
As I farewelled Jane, I realized
that for the second day in a row, I
was really... really looking
forward to the morrow.
*****
Dawes Point is the name given
to the protrusion of land at the south
end of the harbour bridge, and
it was there that I waited for Jane
and her entourage. It
would be a fine thing to meet some of the
young athletes that the Games
were all about, but I had to be honest
with myself. I was really
looking forward to spending some more
time with Jane. She had
a sense of joy... of enthusiasm, that I felt,
almost painfully, in contrast
to the emptiness I felt in myself. I felt
like I was without hope, and
without hope, nothing is possible. It
was a strange attraction...
the attraction of a vacuum for matter.
I shook my head and chided myself.
How pompous could I be, for
heaven's sake? Fortunately,
Jane had chosen that moment to arrive,
so I could abandon this dangerous
introspection. Oddly, she was
alone.
'Hey, over here,' I called, and
waved. She jogged up to me, looking
like a million bucks.
American dollars, not Pacific Pesos.
'Hi, George. Looks like we got a good day for it.'
'Yeah. Uh, Jane... where's
the rest of the group? Are they catching
up, or what?'
She looked a little sheepish.
'I'm really sorry, George. The team
had a function this evening.
Short notice. They couldn't make it.'
I became worried. 'Aren't
you supposed to be there too? Do you
want to bail out? I don't
want to cause you any trouble...'
'No, no... it's fine. I
can get away with not being there. I'd rather be
here. I got you something,
by way of apology... here, I hope it fits.'
She was wearing a small backpack,
and extracted something from it.
It was a U.S. team t-shirt,
the back covered with autographs.
I was really touched. 'Thank
you, Jane... what a thoughtful gift.
Thank you very much,'
I repeated. I felt like kissing her, but I
brought myself up short.
'Here,' said Jane, 'let me put
that back in here till later. By the way,
are you going to have any trouble
about there just being two of us?'
'Huh? Oh, no problem.
There's a charge, but you don't pay in
advance.'
'So, George... how did you set
this up on such short notice? There
must be hundreds of people want
to do this. I would've thought
you'd have to book ahead.
Out with it... how?'
'Easy... soon as I mentioned
foreign athletes, doors opened. This
city is keen to show you guys
what it's got.'
'But... we have no 'foreign athletes' now. Won't that be a problem?'
'No.' I grinned like a
schoolboy. 'I told 'em you were an IOC
delegate, so just remember to
look a little self-important.'
'An IOC... you didn't!'
Jane giggled. 'How could you... you're
pulling my leg.'
'Jane, one thing you have to
know about Australians. The country
was originally settled by convicts.
There's a national tendency to
buck against authority... to
tweak its nose when you can. It was
fun.'
'You're a bit of a dark horse, Mr. Carter... aren't you?'
'Nooo... if I was any kind of
horse I'd have been put down long ago.
Legs are no good. Shall we go?'
It wasn't a tough climb by any
means. We entered at the base of the
south-east pylon, a hollow concrete
pillar which appears to be one
of four which supports the bridge.
Actually, they're dummies... they
look good, but it's the tensile
strength of the bridge's steel
construction which holds it
together. We walked up, and up, a long
flight of stairs inside the
pylon. There was no hurry, although I
could go quicker than we were,
and I was sure Jane could go lots
faster, but we were constrained
by those in front of us. It was
single file all the way.
Finally, we were at the observation
platform. Only the painters and
riggers went any higher.
The sun was beginning to set over the
Parramatta River to the west.
We looked down, onto what's
probably the most beautiful
natural harbour in the world. For a little
while, the height and the sight
left us quiet. It was a comfortable,
reflective silence. I
realised that I was staring into space, and I
wasn't feeling empty.
'George...'
'Jane? Are you all right?'
'Yes. But you aren't.
Tell me about it. I'll listen. Maybe I've been
there, or somewhere like there.
Get some of that weight off your
shoulders before it breaks you.
Please.'
I turned to her, about to refuse,
and then I saw something in her
eyes which made me want to talk.
'I... I used to be
someone, you know? I had a good job, a woman
I loved very much, a network
of friends and co-workers, a home.
Everything a man could want.
Kate even had two sons from her
previous marriage. They
were twelve and ten when we were
married. We were so happy.
Life was so simple and good.'
I paused to collect my thoughts.
'I moved away from Sydney before
we were married so we could
live closer to the kids. Largely turned
my back on my local friends
as a result. But that was okay.'
'What happened?' Jane asked softly,
although I suspected she had an
idea.
'Kate moved on, I suppose.
The boys were grown, and maybe I
wasn't very attentive to her.
She found herself another man, and
one day, just told me it was
over. I was devastated... I still am.
Anyway, we split up. Sold
the house, and I couldn't stand to stay in
Newcastle any longer.
I took long service leave from my job, but I
know I'm not going back.
So in what seems like an eyeblink, I've
lost just about everything that
used to define me. I turned forty the
day before the opening ceremony,
and now I'm starting from
scratch. I used to be
someone.'
'And you still are, George.
Look at yourself. Look what you've
done. You've been hurt
badly, but you haven't crawled into your
shell and given up. Lots
of people would have, believe me. You're
fighting. You don't complain...
and you've never once said anything
disparaging about your wife.
I ... think you're admirable. But
you're being such a man
about this... and I don't mean that in a good
way.'
She touched my cheek, and continued.
'You have to get some help.
You need to talk to a professional
about this. You've got all this
emotion that you won't let out.
You... you have to let yourself
grieve.'
It was wrong. I knew it.
Not what Jane said... what I was doing. I
found myself putting my arms
around her. Her eyes spoke to me in
a language older than speech.
I moved my lips toward hers, slowly,
giving her plenty of time to
move, or refuse.
As long as I live, I'll never
forget that first kiss. Her lips were soft,
lush, yielding, and tasted like
mead. I felt like someone had jump-
started the dead black thing
between my lungs, and it was working
time-and-a-half, making up for
lost time.
Not only did she not turn her
head, but she kissed back, her lips
gentle but insistent.
It was wrong, but I didn't care any more, and
neither did Jane. Eventually
we broke the kiss, but were reluctant
to release each other.
One of us had to be the first
to speak. It was me. 'Jane... there
never were any athletes coming
today, were there?'
That sly smile again. 'My friends call me Janey.'
Gulp.
'George, I wanted to see you
again. I ... needed to see you again.
Then you suggested this, and
it was just perfect.'
'But why, ... Janey? Was it because...?'
'Don't you dare spoil this moment.
Don't say what I think you're
about to say. Not everything
is about you, you know.'
She turned from me and looked
out over the harbour. 'It was a bad
idea for me to come to the Games,
in retrospect. I don't really know
anyone in the team. They're
nice kids, but they're... kids. And
they're a constant reminder
that I can't compete any more, and that
upsets me. Until you came
along, I thought I was going to be
lonely and miserable for the
whole two weeks. And there you
were... polite, funny, someone
I could talk to, who knew about the
other side of me. And
I read your stuff. Believe me, the cold
showers didn't help. I
wish now I hadn't wasted so much time, but I
was afraid... afraid of you.
Afraid of myself. You must think I'm
terrible.'
'Janey... I think you're a miracle.'
She turned to look at me.
A single tear fell from her cheek. I
wanted to hold her again.
I did.
We kissed again, hungrily, with
passion. Somebody nearby gave an
ironic cheer, but neither of
us was listening. We were too busy
discovering. Jolts of
white energy were shooting down my spinal
column, and ... miracle!...
Mr. Happy was shaking off the cobwebs
and getting ready to greet the
day.
Once again, we ended the kiss. 'So... what now?' I asked, stupidly.
'Now... we stay here for a little
while. This place is wonderful.
Then, we find ourselves a cool
drink and a light meal. After that, I
want you to take me home.
And if you need instructions after
that... I've misjudged you badly.'
*****
I decided on the Lord Nelson,
at The Rocks. Depending on who
you ask, it may be the oldest
pub in the nation. It was cool, and we
found a booth that was fairly
quiet. They brewed their own beer,
and their Pilsener was dry,
hoppy, and very cold. While we were
waiting for our medallions of
lamb to arrive, we made small talk like
we'd known each other for years
instead of days.
'So, what's the story with the football here?' Janey asked.
'That's a bigger question than you know. Which code?'
'Code...?'
'Australia is, as far as I know,
the only country in the world where
no less than four codes of football
are played professionally.
Describe the game you're thinking
of.'
'Uhh... about thirteen
guys on the team. There's a ball involved, but
it looks like the object of
the game is to kill each other.'
'Ahh... Rugby League. Good
choice. That's the game we favour in
this state. It's pretty
easy to explain. Think of gridiron. The same
principle applies, you score
by running the ball over the goal line.
You get six tackles... you would
call them "downs"... and then you
have to hand over the ball to
the other team. You can't pass
forward. You can't tackle
or interfere with a player who doesn't
have the ball. There's
lots of other rules, but those are the basics. I
used to play a little in school.'
'Really? What position?'
I didn't think. 'Hooker.'
She didn't spray beer over me,
but it was a close call. She did
laugh, uproariously. 'HOOKER?
You're joking. You don't have
the legs for short skirts or
fishnets.' She laughed again.
'Hooker... that's good.
What, pray tell, does a hooker do?'
I tried to act hurt, but the
truth was, I'd been waiting for that belly
laugh, and I wasn't disappointed.
'For your information... the hooker
is called that because he "hooks"
the ball out of the scrum with his
legs.'
'The scrum... yeah, I've seen
that. Looks like six guys on each side.
The ones in front butt heads
with each other, and the ones in back
look like they have their heads
stuck up the other ones' butts...
weird.'
'Not a bad description. The hooker occupies front row centre.'
Janey looked at me like I was
Evel Knievel or something. 'Isn't that
dangerous?'
'It is if you do it right...
Here's our food, great. I'm starving.'
The lamb was cooked just right,
and sat on a bed of vegetables stir-
fried just a little past raw.
It was delicious. On any other occasion I
would have savoured it. Just
then, though, my breath was short and
my chest was a little tight,
and I found it difficult to sit still.
*****
The trip from the inner city
to Maroubra was fairly brief.
Thankfully the traffic was behaving
along the run down Anzac
Parade south-east to the beachside
suburb, and soon we pulled up
outside the block of flats.
If I'd had butterflies in my stomach
before, they were flying-foxes
now, as I opened the door and let
Janey in.
She looked around the living
room and remarked, 'George... this is
very neat for a bachelor pad.
It's even dusted.'
'Must still be trained', I shrugged. 'Would you like a drink?'
'No', she whispered. 'Come
here.' I did, and she embraced me.
After a little while, we sank
down to the sofa. Her lips were soft
and knowing; her tongue, a dancing
nymph. We were very close,
our hands tracing the contours
of each other's backs. After each
long kiss, I placed another
shorter one on her lips, like a
punctuation. It was sweet,
it was tender, but the heat between us
was increasing. The kisses
became ravenous, the caresses grew
more insistent. Janey
broke the embrace and started pulling at my t-
shirt, getting it over my head,
and off. 'Show me', she said, so I
removed my shoes and socks,
and then my shorts. My briefs
weren't really concealing anything,
as I was fully erect, but off they
came too. 'Turn around,
please,' she asked, so I did a slow three-
sixty. She smiled, and
stood with her arms held loosely apart,
inviting me. I removed
her shirt. Underneath she was wearing a
powder-blue bra. I ran
my fingers over her breasts.
'You are... so beautiful', I
murmured. I meant it. She was
magnificent.
'No. My boobs are too small and my butt's too big.'
By this time I'd discovered that
the bra unhooked in front. Such a
joyous discovery! As I
freed her breasts, I answered, 'You're
crazy... just look at these.
They're so firm, the perfect size... and the
nipples are just...' I
had to stop talking there, as my tongue had
started tracing an aureole.
Janey shivered a little and stopped
arguing.
After a few minutes of pleasant
exploring, I crouched down and
started removing Janey's shoes,
and then her shorts. She helped me
by stepping out of them, leaving
herself clad only in matching
powder-blue cotton panties.
I left them on her for a little while, and
caressed her mound with my fingertips.
Mr. Happy was starting to
drool a little... he has no
manners. Finally I hooked the fabric in my
thumbs and pullled down, revealing
a very neat little blonde bush.
Once Janey was completely unclad
I asked her to return the favour
by turning around. 'Too
big be damned...your bum is perfect.' I
stood then, and embraced her
once more. Then I took her hand and
led her out of the living room.
She said, 'Do you think we could shower first?'
I was embarrassed by my stupidity.
It had been a warm day, and
we'd been active. I must
have smelled pretty ripe... I thought she
smelled great, but maybe all
the blood in my cock was starving my
brain. I fetched a couple of
towels and opened the bathroom door.
The shower cubicle was quite
small, and I doubted we'd get both of
us in it at once. 'You
go first,' Janey offered, so I did, making it
quick. I scrubbed myself
dry and retired to the bedroom, thanking
providence that I was house-trained
and that the flat was neat and
clean. Not that I thought
she'd be scared away by a reasonable
amount of bachelor squalor,
but her comfort and her approval were
very important to me.
I only had to wait a few minutes
before Janey walked inside. I was
surprised a little to see that
she was holding her backpack in front of
her mons. It was an endearing
display of modesty, which made me
feel a little foolish, lying
on the bed loud and proud as it were. She
favoured me with a small smile,
and said 'I hope I do this right...
I've never been with a hooker
before.'
'Less of your cheek, young lady...
or I'll perform Australian foreplay
on you.'
She lay on the bed beside me
and said, 'I'm game... what's Australian
foreplay?'
I nudged her in the ribs with
my elbow and said, 'Are you awake,
love?' It was a very old
joke.
She laughed, like music, and
said 'All things considered... I prefer
the traditional kind.
Please?'
'There's a lot to be said for
tradition,' I replied, as gradually I began
to trace the terrain of her
calves with my fingertips, moving upward
slowly, then just touching on
the backs of her knees. Her thighs
were strong, yet the skin as
soft as everywhere else. I was in no
hurry, and right then, giving
this woman pleasure was my only
priority. My hands had
found her inner thighs and were stroking
gently, with just the occasional
touch of my tongue. I avoided her
centre, teasing, and asked her
to turn onto her chest. Then my
fingers started tracing her
spine, starting between the shoulder
blades and working down.
It was the lightest of massages, but I
could feel her relaxing under
it, making little inarticulate noises into
the pillow. I reached
the coccyx, the very base of the spine, and
brushed with no more pressure
than a butterfly's wing. This time I
heard her sigh.
Gently, but insistently, I pulled
her arms out from her sides so I
could reach her armpits with
my fingers. It seemed like an unlikely
erogenous zone, but it had worked
for me before, and as I stroked,
I knew it was working this time.
She was totally relaxed and a little
aroused. My hands
sneaked down to the sides of her breasts and
pressed, just a little.
Then I gave her a tiny smack on the bum.
Slowly she turned herself over.
I took a pillow and placed it under
the small of her back, and we
both knew then what was next.
I got my head between her thighs
and gazed on the mystery and
majesty of a woman's sex.
Once again my fingers played with her
inner thighs, and this time
one or two found her perineum, and
brushed against her buttocks.
She sighed, content for now with this
passive role, and I kissed her
sweet cleft briefly, as a harbinger of
what would come soon.
Janey made little inarticulate
sounds of encouragement as I raised
my head and guided my fingers
around her labia, stretching,
stroking and testing the sensitive
skin, but studiously avoiding the
clit. All things in good
time, and I could already tell that Janey was
much more responsive than Kate
had been. She was starting to
moisten and part slightly, so
I moved my hands away and up,
stroking instead around her
navel. Up again, along her ribs, and
then I had a breast for each
hand - how convenient! - and a
prominent nipple to tease with
each thumb and forefinger.
A growl started in the back of
Janey's throat, so I moved back
down, extended my tongue, and
tasted her. Nectar. I lapped, from
the back of her cleft to the
front,
and again, and then zeroed in on
her clit, and suddenly her arms
moved and her hands were on my
head. She couldn't seize
my hair - it was far too short - so she
settled for stroking it while
I tongued and kissed her most sensitive
spot. I sneaked a finger
inside her, then two, and stretched her a
little while I brushed her perineum
with my thumb and described
tiny circles with the tip of
my tongue.
As I said before, Janey was a
lady, so I'll not repeat what she said as
she reached the edge of orgasm,
except that it was most
encouraging. She panted,
moaned, and for a moment I thought I
was going to lose an ear.
My fingers, inside her, knew it first as she
spasmed around them, and immediately
she cried out in that cry that
could be pain, but was something
else entirely. I felt her heat and
then her body's stillness.
I raised my head after her spasms ended
and saw the tell-tale flush
of her chest... and for the first time in far
too long, I felt like a man.
She took a few minutes to recover.
I played with her hair,and
touched her face, using my dry
hand. No hurry at all, we had all the
time we needed.
'Get...' she caught her
breath. 'Get your ass on that bed... it's your
turn.'
I scootched over to the
warm place she left as she rose. She turned
to her backpack and extracted
a strip of condoms. 'Fifty-one.
That's how many they supplied
for each and every one of us.
Australian hospitality is really
something else.'
I knew the story. 'Seventeen
days... three per day. And after the
first week, the Cubans complained
they'd run out already.' We both
chuckled at that. 'Just
trying to intimidate you Yanqui imperialists, I
bet.'
She laid the little square in
easy reach, straddled me, and laid a soft,
tender kiss on my lips... then
one for my throat... then over my
heart. Splaying her hands,
she ran them slowly over my chest, her
thumbs meeting and travelling
down my stomach to my navel. My
penis was stiffening again;
she found it with one hand and
encouraged it further.
I exhaled, groaning a little, and if I'd had a
tail it would've been wagging.
Janey grinned at this and moved
back off me. I had a reasonable
idea what to expect next and closed
my eyes, waiting.
Hmmm... that was nice.
Her tongue had found my scrotum...
gentle and warm. I started
breathing a little heavily.
Slowly, tantalizingly, she laved my balls...
and then she found the underside
of my cock with her lips. She
moved upward, her lips following
the bulge of the urethra. I
couldn't move if I'd wanted
to, and I thought I was going cross-eyed
with delight.
Then she took me into her mouth,
and I said something clever like
'ohhhh'.
She kept me in there for only
a little while, then placed a kiss on the
underside of the glans.
I opened my eyes in time to see her self-
satisfied smile as she rolled
the condom on to me. Then she
lowered herself gradually onto
me... filling herself. For a moment or
two, she stayed still, both
of us simply enjoying the feeling of being
joined so intimately.
Then she kissed me with infinite tenderness
and started to move on my cock.
It was so good it was almost
torture. I had my hands on her
buttocks, stroking her there,
but my mind wasn't on it. I was
watching her face... burning
it into my memory forever, associating
the sight with the sensations
I was feeling just then. Tiny beads of
perspiration were appearing
on her forehead, and her blonde hair
was flowing like sentient flame
as she rocked and tossed her head.
My heart leapt in my chest and
I wondered at that moment... was I
falling in love with her?
Then something started happening that
chased the thought from my head.
Not all orgasms are the same.
Women have told me this, but the
same is true for men.
They're all good, of course, but it's a matter
of degree. Some are quick,
hurried and, I suppose, concentrated is
the word. The one I was
starting to feel was something else again.
It started as something not
unlike an itch at the base of my penis,
along the urethra. My
breathing quickened, and Janey stepped up
the pace, just a little. The
itch became stronger and started travelling
up the shaft. I groaned
inarticulately, and noticed that Janey was
getting a little flushed and
was making little noises from the throat.
Her too...?
The itch was almost a burn now,
and it was starting to concentrate
in the head of my penis, approaching
the tip as the sensation became
almost unbearable. It
reached a plateau, so good it was close to
pain... and stayed there for
several seconds. The hallmark of a truly
rare orgasm... not so much the
Rolls-Royce, as the turbo-charged
Carroll Shelby Ford Cobra of
orgasms. I closed my eyes and let
myself relax totally... and
then let go. It was unbelievable. The
feeling in my cock peaked, went
past the peak, and I emptied
myself... I thought I was going
to cry.
Janey kept going after I'd finished
coming, and the feeling was really
pain now, but it was pain I
could bear. It was pain I wanted to bear,
as I knew she was seconds from
her own orgasm... seconds that she
was granted, as I stayed hard
enough for long enough to help her to
her climax. She collapsed
onto me and I kissed her gratefully.
'You're beautiful,' I said,
with little breath.
'That's.... my line,' she gasped. 'You're beautiful too.'
I hugged her to me and didn't
want to ever let go. After a few
minutes we got under the covers
and cuddled. It felt so warm and
soft and safe, and I was totally
relaxed. Maybe that was why it
happened.
Without any warning, my chest
got tight and I was filled with
emotions I had no names for.
Too many, too much, all at once. I
shook, and started to cry like
a baby, bawling uncontrollably. I was
embarrassed by it, which of
course just made me worse. Crying my
little heart out.
Janey, bless her, just held me.
She didn't say anything at all, but
with loving patience, just let
me go on until I was finished, knowing
that I needed her touch more
than anything else to get me through
this. By the time I was
finished, I felt lighter, so much lighter, like
I'd lost a millstone from around
my neck. Janey got up, turned the
lights off and returned to bed.
We held each other again and started
talking... really talking, like
old friends and confidants. I don't know
how long we talked like that
for, but thankfully, it wasn't all about
my problems. It was about
lots of things, and nothing... it was a
d&m, and a bull session,
all at once, interspersed with a lot of
snuggling and the occasional
warm kiss.
After what must have been hours,
we ran out of things to say, and I
was sure that I loved her. Not
'I can't live without you' romantic
love... more the love you feel
when you've just discovered one of
the very few first-rank friendships
of your life. I was starting to
doze off, feeling content and
serene, when I felt an elbow jab me
gently in the ribs, and an awful
attempt at an Australian drawl said
'You awake, love?'
My oath, I was awake.
*****
That would have been a good point
at which to end the story, but
life is seldom as neat and convenient
as the movies. We woke the
next morning and showered, and
I made breakfast: poached eggs,
bacon and a plunger of
Darjeeling. We talked about how little time
we had left before Janey had
to go home, and we agreed that the
previous night would be our
first and last time. Not that it was
wrong, not that either of us
felt guilty about it, but we really had
very little time left, and neither
of us wanted to dilute the memory of
that one heartfelt night with
any hurried, furtive repeat
performances. It was bittersweet,
but it favoured the sweet. I
wouldn't pine for her when she
was gone, because she never
belonged to me, but instead
I'd keep her in my memory box, folded
and cherished like a love letter.
I drove us to Homebush Bay, parked,
and walked Janey to the
village. We stopped outside
her bungalow and looked at each
other, suddenly not knowing
what to say.
'How are you feeling?' Janey finally started.
'I'm... good. I feel good,' I replied. 'You?'
'Good... bad. Torn. Are you going to be all right, do you think?'
'Yeah. I'm gonna be fine.
You haven't heard the last of me... I'll e-
mail you, and I'll keep on writing.'
'I'll look forward to it.'
We embraced, and she kissed me on the
cheek. 'I guess this is
goodbye.'
'Maybe one day... you never know
your luck,' I answered. Then I
kissed her properly, and placed
my Akubra hat on her head.
'Goodbye, Janey.'
She turned, opened the door and
went inside, and that was the last I
saw of her.
*****
The night was warm and soft and
dry; I'd taken a deck-chair out on
the flat roof of the block so
I could look at the stars with a beer or
two. I looked inside myself
for the old pain, and confirmed what I'd
found before. Where it
had been like a poisoned wound, hot,
festering and refusing to heal...
now it was different. It still hurt,
but it was clean, and the pain
held the promise of a future without
pain. Sure, there'd be
a scar, but scars aren't bad, they're nature's
way of reminding us not to repeat
our mistakes.
Okay, I'm winding up the story,
and you want to know what Janey's
gift was. Well, I'm not
talking about the t-shirt, although that was
very nice. It wasn't what
we did with each other. I wouldn't
cheapen that by calling it a
gift.
Janey's gift was a number of
things, all thanks to her generosity of
spirit. She gave me encouragement.
She gave me friendship, when
I dearly needed a friend.
Most of all, she found the hope I'd lost and
gave it back to me. Getting
that hope back was the greatest gift
anyone could ever receive...
because with hope, all things are
possible.
What do you do the day after you get back your soul?
I didn't know yet, but I was
about to find out. And it was going to
be good.
THE END
I have permission from Jane Urquhart
to use her character, 'Janey',
in this story - GC
If you'd like to comment, please e-mail me.
If you'd like to write to Janey, here's the link.