Chapter 1
Jasmine and I look like a mismatch, that's for sure. She is a lithe, slender 14 year old who looks very much like the girls I envied back in the 60's. You know the ones I mean - naturally slim Twiggy types with long straight hair spilling down their backs all the way to their butts. That is, if they had butts. Those types tended to just have a little bump at the back that interrupted the otherwise straight line of a pencil thin body. At the front, their pelvic bones and their tits competed to see which would enter a room first. However, in those pre-anorexia days, it was still okay for the tits to win.
Those were the women that halter tops, bikinis and mini skirts were made for. It's funny that 30 years later, Jasmine gets around in the same kind of clothes and looks much the same, except she prefers black lipstick rather than white.
As you may have worked out, my relationship with Jasmine is a May/November one. I'm nearly 30 years older. But before you rush to judgement and assume that I'm a kink who seduces young girls or some kind of vampire who needs the blood of young virgins to stay alive, let me tell you that she was the one who chased me. It happened like this.
I really have to start the story before Jasmine was born. Her mother, Rita, was a child of the 60's who somehow managed to emerge from that decade without producing a love child, despite having made a significant effort to do so by by having sex with every male who took her fancy. I once saw Rita having sex with a paraplegic guy at a college football game. They had a blanket around them, but it was obvious what they were doing. The guy was sitting in his wheelchair, and she was sitting on his lap bouncing up and down. Her back was to the playing field, so it was clear that she wasn't bouncing around because she was excited about the game.
Rita and I lived together during college and witnessed each others individual comings out. Although Rita said she condoned total sexual freedom, and I would have been more than willing, we were never lovers. She was supportive, though, as I went through the stages of trying desperately not to be gay, coming to the painful realisation that I was, and the ensuing search for others of my kind.
Rita went with me when I told my family that I was gay, and I think her acceptance (and obvious heterosexuality) really did help them to come to terms with the fact that this child of theirs was not going to produce the grandchildren they were hankering after. Over the years, she's been there to counsel and advise when I was lusting after someone, offer suggestions on how to engineer a seduction, listen to the day to day relationship highs and hassles, and help to pick up the emotional pieces when my relationships ended. Either by good management or by good luck, Rita produced her first child in wedlock after she had settled down with a business major from Frankfort, Kentucky. She popped out five kids in five years and paid homage to her 60's past in the name she gave each one. The oldest is Martin Luther Malcolm X, the next one is John Bobby, the middle child is Hyacinth Marigold Sky, the fourth is Ringo Paul George, and the baby is my Jasmine Nirvana Moonchild.
The business major husband died prematurely just after Jasmine turned two, probably worn out by trying to keep up with Ritas constantly shifting causes and interests. He had always been a bit of a non-entity anyway, content to trot off to work six days a week and leave child rearing and the home scene to Rita. His legacies were a paid off house, blue chip investments that left his family financially secure, and dimples. The deep dimple in each child's chin and the ones that appear when they smile are about the only impression the man left in their lives. As Ritas oldest and best friend, I've always been on the family scene, at barbeques, Christmases, birthday parties and impromptu gatherings. Rita believes in being open and honest with her kids about life and sex, so no secret was ever made of my being a lesbian. As soon as each kid was old enough to recognise my difference and ask about it, Rita explained what a lesbian is and that it is just a different way of loving and an equally valid lifestyle. I sometimes wonder if she regrets being quite so positive about it.
Because she professes to be liberal minded, Rita tolerates my relationship with Jasmine. She proscribes to the phase theory; that is, Jasmine is going through a phase, and she is not really a lesbian. And the fact that Jasmine proudly admitted that she was the instigator, the pursuer, the seeker of this relationship, spared me the tearful, angry interrogations and reproaches. You know the ones I mean: the ones that take place out in the kitchen where the kids can't hear. The tar is bubbling away on the stove, and the bag of feathers is sitting on the kitchen table, as the mother approaches like a mongoose circling a cobra. Then comes the nose to nose invasion of my personal space, the blazing eyes, the teeth bared in a snarl and the accusations, voiced in a hiss with a touch of flying spittle, "How could you? How dare you seduce my daughter. Pervert, paedophile, dirty dyke."
The news about my relationship with Jasmine wasn't received that way at all. Jasmine just decided to tell her mother one day that, oh, by the way, I'm in love with Jan and I've been sleeping with her. Except for a slight contraction of her pupils and the uncontrollable urge to turn and search my face for confirmation, Rita didn't miss a beat, even though she knows very well that I have nearly always been the pursuer of other women. Hence, she would have had good reason to think that I seduced her daughter, rather than the way it really happened.
Looking back, I can see that Jasmine was taken with me from the time she was old enough to crawl over to me. Whenever I was at the house, she wanted to be on my lap every time I sat down, wanting to be cuddled. This caused problems with some of my less secure partners, and I had some heated arguments with those partners, defending myself against accusations that I loved the kid more than I loved them. I never wanted kids of my own, so being around Rita's kids gave me the chance to experience motherhood from a safe distance.
I was there to see Jasmine develop from a gangly kid into a gangly adolescent. And then one day when she was fourteen, I realised that the blossom had burst open. I was sitting at the kitchen table talking to Rita as she supervised Marty and Ringo taking their turn at making dinner. Jasmine was behind me, her arms draped around my shoulders, her chin resting on the top of my head. She was, quite intentionally, blowing short bursts of warm air through my hair, which was distracting me from the conversation I was having with Rita.
"Jan, you need someone in your life again," Rita was saying. "Youve been on your own too long. How long is it now? Two years?"
"Two years and ten months to be exact Rita. And you know I was glad to see the back of Sybil. That experience has soured me on relationships for good. Jazz, do you have to do that?"
"Poor Jan," Jasmines voice was soft and genuinely concerned. "You need someone to love you."
As she said that, her arms tightened around me and I felt the buds of her breasts pressing against my back. Thats when I realised that she wasnt a little kid any more.
I wiggled away from Jasmines hug, dislodging those disturbing little tits from my back.
"You're squeezing the life out of me Jazz. Take it easy."
She responded by grabbing me in a bear hug, surprising me with the strength in her skinny arms, and planting a deafening smacking kiss right on my ear.
"I'll love you then Jan. You'll always have me."
"Jazz, I couldn't imagine life without you," I said. "How can thee torment me, let me count the ways."
"Hmmph. When are you people going to start treating me like the adult that I am?" Jasmine released me, whirled around and stomped out of the room. Rita turned around to watch her leave, then looked at me. We were both taken aback by Jasmine's performance, which was most unlike her usual cheerful self.
After a moment I said, "Hormones."
"Yes," Rita agreed. "Hormones."
After that incident, Jasmine didn't hang off me as much as she had before, and I found that I missed the contact and the touching we'd had. Still, I put it down to the teenage turmoil she was probably going through, trying to find her identity and all that. She returned to being warm and friendly, but did it from a distance. Unlike her older siblings, Jasmine didn't start disappearing with her friends for long periods of time when she hit her teenage years. She seemed to be a genuine homebody, preferring her mother's and my company to the company of kids her own age. She was always there when I visited, always joining in our discussions, putting in her precocious two cents worth. For her 14th birthday, Jasmine asked me to take her to a concert, but not the sort you'd expect. It was the local symphony orchestra playing a whole program of Beethoven. Jasmine knows me well, knows that I love Beethoven. Rita and I were stunned when Jasmine made the suggestion. We were sitting in the kitchen having a cup of decaf one Saturday afternoon. Jasmine was with us, as usual, so I asked what she wanted for her birthday.
"Jan, do you know what I really want for my birthday?" she asked. She got out of her chair and moved behind me to hug me like she did in the old days. Her arms circled me in a tight hug as she pressed her soft, smooth cheek against mine. And those disturbing tits nestled against my shoulders again.
"I want to go to the Beethoven concert with you next week, just you and me. I'd really love that."
Chapter 2
Rita and I were speechless. Jasmine hadn't revealed any love for classical music before this, so Jasmine's request was really out of the blue. Neither of us saw the request as anything other than having an outing with Aunty Jan.
"Why of course, if that's what you really want Jasmine," I said. "But are you sure you'd like to sit through three hours of Beethoven? I didn't know you liked that kind of music."
"We studied about him at school, and the teacher played Moonlight Sonata. I really liked that, so I bought a whole CD of his music. I listen to it on my Walkman all the time. He's cool isn't he Jan?"
When Jasmine hit on my absolute favourite Beethoven piece, how could I say no? I knew her well enough to know that she'd sit through the concert without complaining, even if she discovered that she didn't like it. That's the sort of kid she was/is.
"Jazz, I'd love to take you to the concert. It's on a Friday night, so you won't have to be tired for school the next day."
"I know, Jan. Could I stay the night at your place too? I haven't done that for a long time." And then she added thoughtfully, "That way I won't wake up Mom and the others if I get home late."
In retrospect, I have to say that Jasmine planned her strategy well. Rita didn't suspect any ulterior motives, nor did I. But why should we? Jasmine had often stayed the night at my place when she was younger. The following Friday night I arrived at Rita's house to collect Jasmine. When I went inside, Rita and Hyacinth were sitting in the living room, but there was no sign of Jasmine.
"Hi Jan," Rita said. "She's still upstairs getting ready. She shouldn't be too much longer."
"Couldn't be too much longer you mean, Mom. Shes tried on every piece of clothing she owns twice. You'd think she was going out on a hot date," Hyacinth smirked knowingly. "Give it a break, Cyn," Rita sighed. "Don't you dare say anything like that in front of Jasmine."
Hyacinth smiled again and looked up toward the corner of the room. "Course I won't Mom. I don't want to traumatise the kid."
We all went quiet and fixated on the television. An old Brady Bunch re-run was on. This one was about some dilemma Marcia was having about telling her parents about something naughty she was maybe/maybe not going to do. I have to confess to watching this show when it was first on TV, but the only thing that took my interest was Ann B. Davis, whose dykeness shone through the sexless role she played. Now, of course, I watch Robert Reid with admiration as he carries off his role as straight Papa Bear Brady without the slightest indication that he was gay in real life. He should have gotten an Emmy, but they don't give awards for the sort of performance he gave, do they? A creaking stair alerted us that Jasmine was coming. When I looked up, I was stunned at what I saw. She was wearing a long black dress that clung just enough to outline her slim waist and hips. The dress was sleeveless with a scooped neck and straps that were wide enough to stop it from looking like a prom dress. Just at the edge of the neckline, there was a hint of cleavage. The blackness of the dress highlighted her slenderness and the whiteness of her bare shoulders and arms. Jasmine had gathered her long light brown hair together at the back of her head with a silver clip, and below the clip it spilled down her back. Except for a fine silver necklace, she wore no other jewellery, and she had abandoned her usual black lipstick for a soft pink colour. She moved down the stairs gracefully, slowly, trailing her hand along the banister, maximising the effect. And the total effect was one of sophistication and youth ripe and ready to be plucked. Her eyes focused on me as she descended the stairs, her smile telling me that she knew she had accomplished what she set out to do: impress me with her grown up-ness, her quivering, about-to-burst-open sexuality. I realised then, knew without doubt and to my great discomfort, that to Jasmine this was not just a birthday outing with Aunty Jan. Warning bells went off inside me.
"Jasmine, you look beautiful," Rita crowed proudly. "Doesn't she Jan?"
"Uh, yes Rita. Jazz, you're going to turn some heads tonight." That was the best I could manage, considering the moral war that was going on inside my head. Because, much to my shame, Jasmine's strategy had the desired effect. I felt stirrings in places that hadn't stirred for a long time.
"Thanks Mom," she directed a smile to me. "Thanks Jan. I didn't want to look like a little kid going out with her mother."
"Nobody could make the mistake of thinking that, Jazz," Hyacinth cooed.
Jasmine turned her head to give Cyn a brief icy stare and then looked back to me. "Well Jan," she said brightly, "Shall we go?"
I felt like a big lumbering bear as I heaved myself out of the chair, wishing I'd done something more proactive about fighting my middle aged spread. Jasmine came over to me and reached out to adjust the collar of my shirt. I could feel Rita's and Hyacinth's eyes following this. If I were Rita, I would have been seriously considering pulling the plug on the evening at that stage. But being the conscientious liberal that she was, the cool mom who trusted her kids and her friends, she said nothing.
Jasmine hooked her arm through mine and looked expectantly at me. "So are we going then Jan?"
I cleared my throat uncomfortably and avoided eye contact with the others. I knew that Rita could look right into my soul if I looked at her then, and I didn't particularly want her to see what was lurking there at that moment.
"Right Jazz. We'll be off then. Beethoven here we come."
"Have a wonderful time darling," Rita's voice followed us out the door.
"Could you get my backpack for me please Jan," Jasmine said as I opened the front door. She was playing the role to the hilt, I could see, even though the backpack detracted slightly from the image. I reached down and grabbed the backpack that was leaning against the wall near the door. And it weighed a ton. Outside, Jasmine took my arm again, squeezing it between her arm and side. The soft warm swell of her breast pressed against my arm. Oh Lord, I thought, how am I going to deal with this?
When we reached the car, Jasmine disengaged her arm from mine and stood expectantly at the passenger door. I was halfway around to the other side of the car when I saw her there, demurely holding her little black clutch bag in both hands, arms extended so that the bag rested coyly in front of her crotch.
I decided to play this like a game, thinking it would be easier to control the situation that way. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her, and the second last thing I wanted to do was to jeopardise my friendship with Rita.
"Oh, mademoiselle, forgive me," I said as I rushed around to open the car door for her. "I can be such a boor at times."
Jasmine entered the car in perfect ladylike style, butt first, then swinging her legs gracefully in, knees tucked together. She looked up at me and gave me a brilliant ravishing smile. "I've been so excited about tonight Jan. I couldn't think of anything else all week." Those damned alarm bells started ringing again.
"Mmm, yes, I bet you have been Jazz. Beethoven has that effect on me too." Being deliberately obtuse seemed a good idea. As we drove to the concert pavilion, I was trying to decide whether I was misreading Jasmine and at the same time worrying that I wasn't. I had always studiously avoided cradle snatching, especially since I turned 40. I suppose it's really because of a fear of being left for someone younger, the ultimate rejection. And then there's the problem of different interests, different values, different metabolisms, different energy levels. With Jasmine there was an additional, far more serious consideration: violating Rita's trust.
"It's a beautiful starry night isn't it Jan?" Jasmines voice broke into my thoughts. "Maybe we could go for a walk on the beach after the concert. I have a surprise for you, but we have to go to the beach so I can give it to you."
"Jazz, you're hardly dressed to go trudging around on a beach. It would ruin your dress," I tried to appeal to her sense of practicality.
"Oh that's no problem Jan. I've got my jeans in my backpack. I can change into them. Oh please, can we go to the beach? I really do have a wonderful surprise for you."
"Well, we'll see. It might be raining by the time the concert finishes."
"The weather forecast says it's supposed to be fine and clear. Besides, we only have to be at the beach, not on it."
This kid was one step ahead of me on everything.
"We can go to the beach if I'm not too tired. I had a hard day at work."
"C'mon Jan, don't be an old fogey."
That was the trump card. Of course I didn't want to be an old fogey, with all the connotations it carried of flannel nighties, warm milk at bedtime, being over the hill.
"All right already. We'll go to the beach if you really want to Jazz, but only because it's your birthday."
When I had parked the car at the concert pavilion, Jasmine again waited for her car door to be opened. I played along, bowing as I opened the car door, then taking her hand to steady her as she got out. First the feet came off the floor, then there was a quick pivot of the butt, and the legs swung out together, revealing a little bit of leg and a fine silver bracelet around one ankle. Jasmine stepped out of the car, and as she did, her hand grasped mine tightly. She kept holding my hand after she was out of the car just a little longer and a little tighter than necessary.
"Right," I said, freeing my hand from Jasmines with a short sharp tug. "We've got time for a drink before the concert starts if we hurry."
Jasmine hooked her arm through mine again, and we walked to the pavilion side by side. Once we were inside, she insisted on continuing to hold my arm as we moved through the crowd of concertgoers. I saw some heads turn as we made our grand progression and hoped the attention was because Jasmines youth made her stand out in this collection of middle agers and oldies and not because they were taken aback because they were seeing a butch dyke with her baby dyke girlfriend. I wished I hadn't worn a tie.
I parked Jasmine near a pot of palms and extracted my arm. "Wait here Jazz while I get us a drink. What'll you have? Coke with a twist of lemon?"
"No Jan. I'd like champagne please."
"That's one coke with a twist of lemon and one orange juice," I said as I walked toward the bar.
Chapter 3
Jasmine was definitely unimpressed when I handed her a coke, but she thought better of making a scene. She was wise enough to know the limits, even though she was always prepared to test them. We were content to stand in silence and watch the other people as we sipped our drinks, each of us alone with her thoughts. Around us, people moved and mingled. Some brave souls were wearing fur stoles, secure that in this culture, it was still okay to wear the skins of dead animals. Jewels glittered with white, red, blue and green flashes against a field of basic black evening dresses. In a small alcove far removed from the main foyer, the smokers, the pariahs, were congregated in a cloudy haze. A bell rang to warn us that we had five minutes to take our seats.
"Let me get rid of these," I took Jasmines empty glass and put our glasses on a passing waiters tray.
"Very well, mademoiselle. May I escort you to your seat?"
There went the arm again, hooking itself through mine, pulling me closer to her than I preferred to be in this ultra straight gathering of people. Jasmine looked at me, smiling that bright white-toothed smile again. When we were seated, the child in Jasmine took over as she looked around at the concert hall. Her head swiveled left, right and then up to look at the ornate ceiling. Cream coloured swirls and scollops made a border, with plump Cupids poised in each corner. Directly above us, a massive chandelier sparkled, its facets refracting the light into a rainbow of colours.
The orchestra was already in place and attending to tuning instruments and tidying up scores on their music stands. The cacophony of strings, brass, percussion and woodwind, rose and fell in volume. Little snatches of tunes occasionally surfaced in the tossing sea of sound. This discord is really necessary, I think. It's the storm before the calm that lets you appreciate how order and direction turn a collection of noises into beautiful music.
The instruments went quiet as the conductress entered, accepted the audience's applause, and turned to step onto her podium. The light dimmed, and the orchestra poised itself as the baton rose. The first sweet strains of Herr Beethovens music rolled out to fill the concert hall, sweeping away all my thoughts of the Jasmine problem.
The last piece on the program was my favourite, Moonlight Sonata. I closed my eyes, as I always do when I hear it, to make myself alone with the music and the image I always get when I hear it: the moon rising over the sea, emerging as a small semi-circular slice at the edge of the horizon, rising and growing into the splendour of its fullness, painting the water silver.
I suddenly felt Jasmine's hand on my arm, felt her slipping her arm through mine. Then her head was resting on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and turned to look at her. Her face was tilted up towards mine, but her eyes were closed. She had a peaceful look on her face, as if she were smiling in her sleep. And there was a tear quivering at the corner of her eye, about to let go and slide down her cheek. I wondered why she was crying, and this put me so off guard that when the tear let go, I reached out and caught it on my fingertip. Jasmine's eyes opened when she felt the touch of my finger. When she looked at me, I could read what was there as clearly as if it were written in letters a mile high.
"Are you okay, Jazz?" I whispered as I caught another falling tear.
"Yes, I'm okay Jan, but sometimes things are just so beautiful that they make me cry."
Jasmine's eyes slipped closed again. Her hold on my arm tightened, and I let her have the contact she seemed to want and the comfort it seemed to give.
Jasmine was slow to lift her head when the music ended and looked embarrassed when the lights came up to reveal her tear streaked face.
"Don't be ashamed, Jazz. Beautiful music makes me want to cry too."
She smiled shyly as I handed her my handkerchief.
The rest of the audience was up and leaving the concert hall, basic black politely deferring to basic black as people exited from the rows of chairs to merge into the crowd moving up the carpeted aisle. Above us, the orchestra was packing up instruments and shuffling sheets of music. But neither Jazz nor I moved, content to miss the push and shove going on around us. When the hall was empty of all but a few stragglers, I leaned over to Jasmine and asked, "Do you still want to go to the beach?"
That brilliant smile appeared. "Oh yes, Jan. That will be the perfect way to finish the evening. Thank you for bringing me tonight."
"Jazz, you're most welcome. I hope you've had a wonderful birthday."
"It's the best one I've ever had," I could tell by the look on her face that she meant what she said, and the warning bells started ringing again. After losing myself in Herr Beethoven's magic forest, I had stepped out into the worrisome world again.
We made our way out of the hall, and when we stepped out into the cool summer's night, the landscape was lit by the silvery glow of a massive full moon. Forms appeared as shadowy shapes, gray merging into blackness, and the soft light made the night seem safe and warm as it wrapped itself around us. When I opened the car door for Jasmine, she didn't make any move to get in. She just stood there, looking at me for a moment, and then all of a sudden, she threw her arms around my waist in a crushing bear hug and pressed her cheek hard against my chest.
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you Jan," her voice was muffled, coming from somewhere near my right breast.
"What for, Jazz?" I tried to move away as I said this but was pinned against the car door.
"For making this the most wonderful birthday ever. I love you Jan."
"Well, I love you too, Jazz," I didn't know quite how to respond to the intensity in her voice. I patted her head awkwardly.
"Let's go to the beach now," I said brightly. Her skin was warm and smooth where my hands touched her shoulders as I peeled her away from me. A look of pain crossed Jasmine's face fleetingly when I broke away from her hug, but she quickly replaced it with a radiant smile.
"Right, let's hit the beach so you can have your surprise Jan. I can hardly wait to give it to you."
As I drove, I wondered what this surprise was going to be. That is, I wondered about the surprise when I wasn't worrying about extricating myself from this developing situation. I could smell the ocean before we could actually see it. The smell of the sea, that freshness, always makes me feel like leaping in, diving deep, coming up alive and clean. I parked at the side of the road and turned the engine off. The sound of the waves rolling onto the beach was like a muted drum beating rhythmically, ceaselessly. I was grateful for the sound because it filled the silence that had settled in between Jasmine and me.
"Jan, do you want to have your surprise here in the car or out on the beach?" Jasmine leaned over and put her hand on my shoulder to catch my attention and break the trance I'd fallen into from listening to the sound of the waves.
"Well, it's your surprise, Jazz. Which place do you think would be better?" I left the choice to Jasmine. "Definitely out on the beach, Jan. But will your clothes be okay if we go out on the sand?"
"I'll just take off my shoes and roll up my pant legs, Jazz, so it'll be fine."
"Good, great. But I want to change clothes. Mom will kill me if I wreck this dress. Could you get my backpack for me Jan, so I can change?"
I opened the boot of the car and lifted the backpack out. It seemed heavier than before, but I supposed that Jasmine just had that tendency that some people have of packing more than they need. I handed the backpack to Jasmine through the open drivers door and went around to perch my bottom on the front of the car while I took off my shoes and socks and rolled up the legs of my pants. Under my feet, the pavement and sand were still warm from the days heat. The car door closed behind me, and I turned to see Jasmine standing beside the car, backpack dangling in her hand. Her hair was loose and rippled softly in the breeze coming off the water, and she was wearing cut-off shorts and a tiny halter top that left more uncovered than not. Oh, momma, I thought, maybe the car would have been a better idea. Less room to get into trouble in a car.
"I thought you were putting on some jeans, Jazz. Won't you be cold?" I could see the two round points of her nipples pushing against the cloth covering them, so I thought this was a reasonable question to ask.
"Not at all Jan. In fact it seems kind of hot. Don't you want to take your tie and jacket off before we go down to the beach?"
"No, really, I'm fine Jazz. I think I'll just keep them on thanks."
"Well come on then. I can't wait any longer to give you the surprise. You're gonna love it." Jasmine grabbed my hand before I could hide it in my jacket pocket and started pulling me towards the beach, nearly pulling it out of the socket actually. She towed me behind her, walking so quickly that I almost had to trot to keep up with her. The sand settled around my feet as I stepped onto it. First the warm top layer and then the cooler layer below closed around my feet, moulding itself around my them, reluctantly letting go to let me take the next step. I felt as though the sands resistance, its reluctance to let go its grip on my feet was warning me that I was heading for trouble, about to take my first floundering step into quicksand. And I was. Jasmine headed directly for a sand dune that curved into an arc to make a sheltered grotto that faced out towards the sea. Beach grass covered the top of the dune, drooping down to form an overhanging fringe that fluttered in the wind. The centre of the grotto was in deep shadow, and I couldn't see how far it actually went into the dune. I certainly didn't want to have Rita wake up to blaring newspaper headlines like "Lesbian Lovers Buried Alive in Collapsing Sand Dune".
"Now you stay there Jan," Jasmine let go of my hand and left me standing in the sand in front of the dune. By then I could see that the sandy grotto was little more than a shallow cup in the wall of the dune. Jasmine turned her back to me, dropped her backpack in the sand and bent over it. The strong light of the moon outlined her buttocks, and I looked away, feeling very guilty for looking in the first place. Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Jasmine liberated a blanket from the backpack and shook it open. The wind caught the blanket, and it billowed out in all its double-bed-size splendour.
"Jasmine, what on earth are you up to?" I was afraid I already knew the answer.
"You have to be comfortable and completely relaxed for your surprise, Jan. And you don't want your good clothes all full of sand do you?"
"My clothes will wash, Jazz. Maybe I should get my surprise in the car after all."
"No way, Jan. I want you to get it here. Please?"
"Jazz, I think we need to get something clear first." I decided to try to cut this off at the pass, just in case I was right about what Jasmine had in mind.
"What is that Jan?" She looked at me innocently.
"I think you know without me telling you Jazz," I chickened out on the direct approach. "But what am I supposed to know?" She looked truly puzzled.
"Never mind, Jazz. Never mind," no use opening Pandoras box if there's no need to, I thought. Jasmine settled the blanket down over the sand, letting it drift down softly to cover the sand at the base and the back of the dune.
"Now sit down here Jan. You can lean against the back, just like in an easy chair." Easy, yes, this is all a bit too easy, I reflected as I sat down on the blanket and nestled my back into the dune. Jasmine went over to the backpack again. I couldn't see what she was doing, so I looked out at the ocean. Just as well that I was sitting down, because I wasn't prepared for the incredible sight in front of me. The ocean spread out in undulating waves, whitecaps catching and reflecting the light of the full moon above. The water rippled and glittered, throwing back the moonglow that was pouring down from the sky. And the moon was a magnificent medallion, huge and almost white against the star speckled night sky. I could feel my eyes and mouth opening in awe at the sight.
"Now you have to close your eyes for a minute Jan." In my moon-drunk state, I obediently did as I was told. When my eyes were closed, I could still see the afterglow of the moon on the insides of my eyelids. I heard the soft scuff of Jasmines feet approaching in the sand. "You have to open your eyes exactly when I tell you to Jan. Okay?"
"Whatever you say Jazz. But how could you improve on what I've already seen? The moon and the ocean are just glorious. That alone is a beautiful surprise."
"Oh, it's definitely going to be better. Now, you can open your eyes on the count of three but not before that."
"One," I wondered if she was going to be standing there totally naked.
"Two," Oh, God, I hoped she wouldn't be.
I heard a click.
"Three. Now. Open your eyes now Jan."
As I opened my eyes, the first notes of Moonlight Sonata began in all their sombre, dignified glory. I gasped with surprise as the scene in front of me merged perfectly with the image I always see in my mind when I hear that piece. The moon, so stately, so brilliantly white and huge suspended in the sky. And the sea below, like a tantalised lover, tossing and restless, touched by the moons caressing light...
Chapter 4
I will always remember that night, even if there had been nothing more to it than the music and the sea and the moonlight. Some moments are perfect. They're the treasure you gather up in your hands, knowing it will always be safe, knowing you can take it out and look at it whenever you want, knowing it will always and only belong to you.
The last note of Moonlight Sonata faded until it was swallowed up again in the sound of the waves hitting the shore and receding with a soft hiss. I began to come back into my body and be aware of the gentle pressure of the dune at my back. I could feel wetness on my cheeks and realised that tears were pouring out of my eyes.
"Oh dear, Jasmine. I'm crying like a baby. That was the most wonderful surprise anyone has ever given me. Thank you, my darling Jasmine."
Jasmine was kneeling at one corner of the blanket, watching me, smiling.
"You looked like you were in heaven Jan. I can't describe how happy you looked. I've never seen you smile like that before. You're so beautiful."
Jasmine seemed to be moving in slow motion, floating, as she moved towards me. And I found I couldn't move, didn't want to move.
"I love you Jan. I want you to love me back."
"Jazz, you already know I love you. You're the nicest kid I know."
"No, Jan. I don't mean love me that way."
"Oh, Jazz, honey, no. I couldn't, you know I couldn't. You're fourteen. And your mother would be devastated."
"Mom will cope, Jan. You know she always copes."
"But Jasmine, this is a totally different situation. It's a serious thing. And it's dangerous for both of us."
"If you were a man it would be okay. It shouldn't make any difference because you're a woman. I love you, and that's all that should matter."
"It would still matter if I were a man. I'm too old for you. And my darling Jazz. I wish that love were all that did matter. You're fourteen, too young to really know what you want."
"But Jan, I know what women do together. I touch myself and think about that, and it gets me all excited. So if I know about it and understand it, I'm old enough to know what I want." I had hoped this moment could be avoided. I didn't want to cause Jasmine any more pain than she was already feeling, but I didn't want to give in to temptation either. Well, alright then, I was tempted.
"Please kiss me, Jan. Just once. That's all I ask."
"That's not a good idea Jazz."
"Why not? Don't you want to?"
Jasmine threw herself at me, wrapping herself around me, clinging with a strength that said she wouldn't easily let go. So there I sat, not knowing what to do, afraid to put my arms around her to comfort her. Then I felt her tears beginning to wet the place where she had buried her face against my shirt. I couldn't let her cry like that and not let her know that I did care. So I thought, well, hell I've got to do something. I enclosed Jasmine in my arms and rocked her gently as I stroked her soft hair.
"Jazz," I whispered. "Please don't cry. You know I do love you, but not quite in the same way you love me."
Jasmine lifted her face up off my shoulder. The tears glistened against her smooth skin, and she looked so vulnerable, so hurt.
"Please, Jan. Only one kiss. Please," she quivered as a sob shook her body.
Gone. I was gone. The battle was lost as Jasmine's face moved closer and closer to mine. Her lips touched mine once, softly, then again with a little more pressure.
I reached up and pulled her head back. "You said once, Jazz. No more. I can't let any more happen."
"Yes you can, Jan. You don't have to do anything. Just let me do it to you."
"It's all the same thing, Jazz. I'd still be responsible for what happened. And I told you it's dangerous." I know what you're thinking. The lady doth protest too much methinks. "Mom says that if you don't want someone to do something to you, you can say no. I'm not saying no. I'm saying yes," Jasmine reached down and began to pull her top off. "Jasmine. Don't do that. It's not fair."
As the soft swell of her breasts began to appear, I knew that I had to stop this before it went any further. I reached out to grab her hands and suddenly found she'd moved them. What I'd grabbed was two handsful of breasts. Jasmine arched her back to press herself into my hands.
"Oh Jan, your hands feel wonderful there. Please don't move them." And I didn't move them. A person can hold out just so long. So go ahead and say what you're thinking. You may think it was an avoidable situation. I know it wasn't.
"Jazz, are you sure this is what you want? I shouldn't be doing this, but you're a damned temptress."
"It's exactly what I want and exactly what I planned to happen tonight Jan."
I closed my hands over her breasts and gave in to their seductive softness. It had been so long since I'd held another woman's breasts in mine. My lips parted willingly and easily at the touch of Jasmine's lips and searching tongue. I just totally gave up resisting and let Jasmine take charge. Jasmine's mouth stayed in constant contact with mine while she unknotted my tie and unbuttoned my shirt. When she pushed back my shirt, the night air chilled me. I could feel my nipples rising, even before her hands slipped lightly over my breasts.
"Oh, Jan, your breasts feel so nice, so warm, so soft. Does this feel good."
"Mmmm, Jazz, does it ever. It has been a long time since I was last touched."
"Then let me touch you all over. Just relax and let me explore your body."
"Jazz, just remember that this body is quite a bit older. You may find some things that aren't in the same places they used to be."
Jasmine pressed her fingers over my lips. "Sshh. Just enjoy the rest of your surprise."
She eased my jacket off my shoulders together with my shirt, then moved back to look at me. Smiling, she moved forward until her nipples just touched mine, then moved them up and back down again. I heard myself beginning to breath very deeply. Reaching up, I twined my fingers in her hair and pulled her to me. This time I parted her lips with my tongue to taste the warm wetness of her mouth. I heard her moan rising from her throat and would have gone on with the kiss, except she gently disengaged her mouth and pulled back.
"No, no Jan. I want to do this to you. Then nobody can say that you took advantage of me."
"Jazz, nobody is going to believe that this wasn't my idea regardless of what you tell them."
"Shhh," Jasmine placed her finger against my lips.
Jasmine was sitting on my lap and reached out, placing her hands on my shoulders. As she did that, she started moving herself up and down over my legs. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed as she seemed to be savouring the friction of her body against mine. Her movements kept time to the rushing in and out of the waves over the sand.
Suddenly I came to my senses and grabbed her hips with my hands to stop her. Jasmine opened her eyes and looked down into mine, then very deliberately grasped my wrists and placed my hands on her bare thighs. She closed her eyes and started her sliding movement again. I looked at Jasmine, then looked beyond her at the ocean and the moon, both backlighting her lithe form, making strands of her wind blown hair looking like tiny black filaments against the strong backglow. I suddenly found that my hands had slid up from her thighs and around to her buttocks. I could feel the flexing of her muscles as she propelled herself against me, and God help me, I felt a great thrill of desire rush through me. I felt damned, but I felt alive.
Jasmine seemed to sense that the tide had turned in favour of sin over virtue, and she opened her eyes once again to look at me. Even in the shadow her body cast over me, I could see the whiteness of her smile as she leaned forward to kiss me again. Her lips were exquisitely soft against mine, her breath fluttering against my face, then her lips were gone from mine and her weight was no longer there on my legs.
She stood over me, straddling but not touching me. Her hands went to the waist of her shorts. First she released the button, then I heard the soft zzz of the zipper as she opened it. The moonlight shone through between her legs, making an inverted white V that pointed to the shadowy place where her hands were moving. Jasmine began to slip her shorts down over her hips, then down her thighs. I could see the sparse puddle of her pubic hair appear as the shorts slipped lower. I didn't actually see the shorts hit the sand, because I was thinking it was strange that my Jasmine would have pubic hair, though I don't know why. Jasmine stood above me again. The moonlight reflecting off the water outlined her slim body from behind, surrounding her like a silver aura. Above us, the moon cast down a brighter light that made her movements seem to flicker like an old silent movie, as she pulled off her halter top and dropped it beside us on the sand. I looked up at Jasmine, my eyes again following the V of her legs to the place where it met the dark pool of her pubic hair, then moving up to her flat belly to her breasts, her shoulders, her face. I caught my breath, for the moonlight played a wonderful trick with my eyes. It was as if she was an artist's sketch, her shape lovingly drawn in black, gray, lighter gray and platinum, her skin a moving mosaic of shade and shadow. And where her bones and breasts rose beneath the smooth powdery silver of her skin, their contours caught the light like bright silver filigree. The illusion created by the moonlight playing with her body and with my eyes took control of me, and I felt that I was hovering over this scene, watching Jasmine as she knelt down and slipped my jacket and shirt off my shoulders, watching as she reached down to unfasten my slacks.
"I want you to be naked too Jan," her whisper brought me back into my body. "I'm not sure I can do this Jazz, not here. Someone might see us."
I could just see it. Someone ambling along the beach, perhaps an old couple walking their dog, enjoying the warm night and the full moon. Suddenly they come upon two people naked and making love in the hollow of a sand dune. Oh, George, look at that. George, it's two women. My God George, one of them is only a kid!
"Jan, it's after midnight. Nobody is going to see us." Jasmine was tugging at the waist of my slacks, trying to pull them past the place where my butt anchored me to the sand.
That's when the devil really got hold of me and I thought, "Dammit, I want this to happen. Damn the consequences, full speed ahead."
I drew my knees up to brace myself and raise my butt off the sand and felt Jasmine moving my slacks down as soon as my butt lost contact with the ground. She wasn't waiting for me to change my mind again.
The warm sea breeze tickled my naked skin, and I looked down to see my own body coloured a muted silver in the moonlight. I loved the moon at that moment more than I had ever loved it in my life, for it gave my shape and contours the same ethereal quality as it had Jasmines, although my body was and is far more Rubinesque.
I was amazed at my lack of shame and fear as I lay there totally naked on a public beach. Thoughts of George and Martha walking their dog evaporated as Jasmine stood over me and stepped forward, her crotch seeming to grow larger as it got nearer and nearer to my face. As the first soft tickles of her curly bush touched my nose, I reached up and put my hands on her legs, cupping them around her slender calves, stroking up and down her silky smooth skin. As I caught Jasmine's scent, it was as if someone had turned up the volume of the oceans own odour, clean, slightly fishy, but oh so clean. I felt Jasmine's fingers plowing through my hair, then clutching handsful and pulling my face insistently into her sweet smelling bush. Her hair was lightly abrasive as she moved herself against my face, and I moved my hands higher to the backs of her thighs, lightly trailing my fingers over the sensitive skin, then reached the firmness of her small, rounded buttocks. Although I felt a rush of desire, a compulsion to pull her hard against me, I resisted, letting her control the pace and direction of what was happening.
When I felt the first drops of her wetness touching and streaking my face, I knew without doubt that this was not a kid, that Jasmine was a sexual being and most certainly did know what was happening here. Her wetness grew, and as she slid herself up and down against my face, her juices covered me from eyebrows to chin. Without realising it had happened, I found my hands had moved around to the front of her body. With open, flat hands I explored her, feeling the sharpness of her pelvic bones, the flatness of her belly, the ridges where her ribs rippled her skin, the soft underside of her breasts. She quivered at the first touch of my hands on her breasts, and I thought she was going to collapse, but instead one of her hands let go its grasp of my hair and clutched my wrist. Pulling upward, Jasmine guided my hand to her breast and pressed it hard against her. Then she grabbed my other wrist and moved my hand to her other breast. I heard Jasmine sigh, her soft exhalation lifting her chest and pushing her breasts into my hands, and I held them carefully, softly as if I were holding a fluttering bird in my hands.
And oh, my hands were filled with her soft flesh and her hard nipples. I had missed this so, the touching, the weight of a woman's breasts in my hands. Jasmine pressed my hand against her breast harder, then pressed it against her again and again, and I responded, beginning to rub her breasts and squeeze them gently. I heard her whispering, "Oh Jan, that feels so good, so good."
Epilogue
We lay together in exhausted splendour, letting the soft night air tickle and dry us. Jasmine's head nestled between my neck and shoulder, and I circled her with my arms drawing her close, just holding her, letting her hold me. We spent the rest of that night together on the beach, watching the moon descend, watching the stars give way as the morning light overtook them. We didn't leave until the first early morning joggers began to pass by, their heads snapping around to look at us when they noticed us tucked away in the haven of our sand dune. As we walked back to the car, I stopped and turned to look once again at the ocean, now flat and green, and down the beach to the place where our sand dune made a small inconsequential hump in the white plane of sand. Then I put my arm around Jasmine's shoulders and pulled her close against me as we walked away.
That was six months ago. My relationship with Jasmine has grown, and although I'm too much of a cynic to believe in happy forever afters, I'm not worrying about the future. I'm just enjoying each day as it comes. That's one of the many things that I have learned from Jasmine. The most important thing she has taught me is that fear has no place in a loving relationship. Fear of asking, fear of rejection, fear of what might happen, fear of hurting or being hurt, fear of what people might think. Those were baggage that I had carried with me from relationship to relationship, but no more. I love Jasmine dearly for the person she is, for forcing me to let love rule instead of fear, and of course for the gift of moonlight and warm nights.
The End