Feeling REALLY Alive: Why Summer Seduces, Tantalizes And Intoxicates

Something magical happens at this time of year.  The morning breeze whispers the promise of longer and brighter days, seducing us with their radiant glory and enticing us to shed our winter layers and come out to play. If winter is our jailer, imprisoning us in the coziness of our homes, then summer is the rebellious inmate who finds a clandestine way to set us free. Even the most well-behaved prisoner who has become resigned to his fate will struggle with the temptation summer proffers. Liberation and summer go hand in hand. The two glide together on a motorbike fuelled by adrenalin, whizzing down open country lanes and  with the wind whipping at loose hair.  As the warmer days heat our mind, our body and our souls, we acquire a certain lightness and  have a new spring in a step. Like sunflowers, our faces are upturned to receive a kiss of vitality that only the sun can bestow.

The sense of liberation started when I was a child. Summer holidays were eons filled with carelessness and frivolity. Each fiery sunset melted into a fresh new day, though no particular day stood out from the rest. Time was a blurry concept, starting out as something whole, but later melting like the sweet vanilla ice-cream trickling down the cone and onto my fingers. I had no concept of past, nor of any particular future. Life was all that was unfolding at that very moment, and I was quite sure that I would be young forever.

That is the summer paradox: on the one had the continual days of sunshine lull you into a false sense of eternity, yet on the other hand we are victims to the short night that tantalize with their brevity. This is why summer is so intoxicating. We yearn to get our fill, desperate to cling onto these fleeting moments of perfection.  We often live out our teenage summers in a wild, unbridled euphoria. Hormones and heat provide a heady catalyst from which unfurls an inexplicable desire to experiment with alcohol and the opposite sex.

Summer. You provided the most wonderful backdrop to many a love story. The short and intense variety. Long and languid days full of fraught desire, culminating in a thunderstorm when all passion was unleashed. The love would last until the autumn leaves fell, yet I could not see beyond those glorious days. The most vivid of all my memories can be found, etched in the  albums of my mind. The times when I have felt so wonderfully alive. The time when I knew I could never die.

Why not create a little summer in our lives, whenever we choose?

 

 

 

My Twenty-First Summer: Part Eight

 

Story Time

Alex’s love of literature meant that his handsome face was often concealed by some cumbersome great work. From a distance I would see only an inquisitive dark eyebrow peeping over the top of the page, always on guard, raised slightly in surprise, expectation or both. On closer view his eyes would dart from side to side, playing tennis with the pages, devouring the words, the characters and the plots. He submerged himself into the world of fiction, always greedy for more and more escapism. He also enjoyed reading aloud, always the showman, the entertainer. Very often I was the only member of the audience and he would perform for me, only me, by no means his sole fan. He relished the theatrical role, taking on different accents much to my amusement. He could flit between age, gender and personalities with remarkable ease and I have to say I loved every single version of him. I would lose myself in the story as I was mesmerized by the movement of those sensual lips uttering the tales of times gone by.

Sometimes he would beckon to me to come closer to listen to the story. There was something so wonderfully reminiscent of childhood in that act, the tenderness and love of parent reading to child. Overwhelmed by such fraternal affection, I might have almost missed the hand resting on my thigh, not really adding anything to the story, but nonetheless present.

There was no doubt that Alex was a born actor and it was almost impossible to know when he was or wasn’t on stage.

The Three of Us

Some of the days were just perfect in their idle splendour. The three of us would just loll around, drinking, smoking and listening to music. There could be a perfect harmony between us and sometimes no words were necessary. We would all lie together on top of that mattress on the living room floor, talking about the books we’d read and philosophizing until the early hours. One particular night I was sandwiched between the two of them, but I could feel Alex’s arm sneak across my bare back, a light caress from his fingertips sending shudders of excitement running through me. It thrilled me so much that I was sure Amber had to know. What was he playing? So there I was, in between my new-found brother and sister, wondering how I could fantasize about my sibling.

The Water Fight

The intense afternoon sun found me sprawled in submission over the lounger, baking under the rays being fired at me. An occasional mischievous breeze rustled the pages of my dormant novel, making me stir from time to time. My senses were somewhat sedated by the heat and my logical mind had practically melted. So there I was lying face down and in the deepest state of relaxation. I have no idea just how long I’d been lying there for when I heard the crunching of his footsteps coming towards me, but I was a sitting duck to his playfulness and within seconds my body was tingling in response to the fresh cold water trickling down my naked back. Some wicked laughter accompanied the deed and my bikini-clad body flipped around to meet a semi-naked Alex who had just emerged from the shower and was still dripping wet. He grinned at my irritation, though he knew as well as I did that I was not-so-secretly thrilled. He asked me if I felt refreshed, knowing he was declaring war. My eyes shot to my nearest weapon, an ice-cold bottle of water recently taken from the freezer. Able as ever to read my thoughts, Alex darted away towards the tree, ready to take refuge. Armed with the bottle, I jumped to my feet, prepared to soak my attacker. He sniggered from behind the tree tantalizingly inviting me to come forward, yet ready to leap away. By now my heart was pounding, both in desire to avenge the act and in deep longing to touch the torso I could see glistening before my eyes. As I ran towards him, he naturally made his escape, taking cover in the house.

I thought that was game over, but within seconds he was back and running towards me. I froze, not with the cold water he was showering me with, but with the most heated desire I felt at being so close to him. He took advantage of my weakness, grabbing me from behind, imprisoning me with one arm so that I was glued to his chest. With the other arm he poured water right over me and I squealed with indignation and delight. He asked me if I accepted defeat. It was a rhetorical question and he knew it.

His Girlfriend

He seemed to have been preparing for her arrival for weeks, cleaning the house, buying her favourite food and making an agenda for when she came. I tried to keep my distance, so as to maintain as much indifference as possible. I had never been a skilled liar, nor was I very good at covering up my true feelings, so my best bet was simply staying away. He didn’t at once pick up on this. However, as her visit crept up on us, he kept a notable distance from me and this was torturous to say the least. On the day of her arrival he filled the room with beautiful fresh summer flowers and this time I couldn’t help but let slip the most childish of envious comments, ridiculing his efforts. He took this very gracefully and now his maturity and indifference were really starting to rile me.

I was very curious to meet her, to see what kind of person could have captivated this boy’s heart. Yet at the same time I was filled with dread; I had that sinking feeling that something awful was just about to happen. Amber must have noticed my imbalanced state of mind, for she whisked me out to the cinema to see a film, afterwards convincing me to a have a drink on a terrace. Thinking about it later, I’m sure she was simply collaborating with her brother, giving the lovebirds a little extra time together alone. Not even the wine could calm my pulse tonight. I was filled with the desire to return, to walk in on them, to see what was going on. Now I was feeling like the parent wanting to check up on the children.

Amber finally gave in and we made our way to the house, strolling by the sea. Tonight the sea was rough, the waves were lashing against the tide and I felt like a storm could be making its way over to us. Amber knocked at the door before entering, which seemed strange as she had the key to hand. I later realized she was protecting their privacy. She needn’t have done so, for there Alex was parading himself in his dressing gown with a smug glow. I cringed and not so subtly. The girl too was fairly exposed, flaunting her nakedness around our house as she came towards me to shake my hand. I tried to keep my face and intonation as neutral as possible. I tried not to mention how her boyfriend had spent the last couple of months playing with me both physically and mentally.

I managed to make my excuses and slipped away to bed.

I would like to say that her stay with us went smoothly, but it really didn’t. There seemed to be tension hanging in the air, everyone slightly on edge. I guess it didn’t help when Alex blurted out in front of everyone that he had had a dream in which he and his girlfriend were holding hands and I told them off. His girlfriend looked at the floor, I took a sip from my wine and Alex held my gaze for just a second too long. I had no idea what was going through his mind and an air of confusion, obscurity and awkwardness lingered like a cloud of smoke above our heads.

 

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Have you ever wished that time could stand still and allow you to stay locked in a moment forever? Have you ever been helplessly, deliciously in love?  Have you ever felt REALLY alive? Have you ever been seduced by a time, a place and by the most charming and inappropriate of suitors? Have you ever been twenty-one and living out an unforgettable summer? If so, you may like my memoir.

 

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My Twenty-First Summer: Part Six

 

Have you ever struggled to resist someone that you really should have resisted?

 

As the summer heat intensifies, so too does the connection between Alex and I…

The next part in a tale of physical, emotional and psychological awakening, heightened by sparkling wine, a spectacular landscape and youth itself.

 

 

Paper, Scissors and Stone

Alex was an expert tease and one of his ways of seeking thrills was in offering a game of paper, scissors, stone. This sweet and innocent game from my childhood had a different edge when coming face to face with my new competitor. This game would usually begin after dinner as we were sitting around the table and not quite knowing what to do with our restless but idle selves. So Alex would suggest the game and any dinner guests, usually Tim (a friend of Alex’s) and Charlotte would be more than keen to join in the fun. One by one Alex would summon his next victim to come and sit opposite him. His innate confidence meant that he never faltered under any intense gaze; he always rose to the challenge. His beginner’s luck never quite ran out, much to all our astonishment. These little matches were enjoyable, light-hearted and very much fun…until he beckoned to me. This would normally come at a time when the conversation had come to a lull and the guests had woozily drifted away. He would call for me with a cocky half-smile, which was threatening yet highly enticing. I would feel my body involuntarily gravitate towards him.

Once I was perched as comfortably as I could on the edge of my seat, the match would begin. His eyes were glued to mine and he counted to three over and over again, turning his hand into scissors, paper or stone. I was almost hypnotized by that rhythmic counting, practically whispered to me in secret in that soft accent. A little smile of victory would creep across his face as he cupped my hand after having chosen paper when I was stone. He just knew he’d got me in the palm of his hand.

Amber and I

I had at one time been worried about how his arrival would affect our friendship, but I was pleased to see that if anything, we became closer than ever. I had never before had a friend like Amber. She showed me a warmth and tenderness that I had only ever experienced in boyfriends. When I was feeling a little blue, she would instinctively put her arms around me, embracing me with her all-enveloping love and I would feel at such peace with the world. Yes, Amber’s touch could calm me and some nights we would give each other massages or brush each other’s hair. The feeling of her fingers running through my hair was so pleasurable and made me feel so serene. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it could send me into some kind of hypnotized state.

One particular night Alex had gone out to make a telephone call. It was late; the two of us were exhausted and as usual were sprawled on that good old mattress. Some French TV channel was playing quietly to itself in the background and Amber whispered to me to play with her hair. I proceeded to do so, letting my fingers luxuriate in her soft, thick locks, trying to touch her as gently as possible. She closed her eyes to heighten the experience. I looked at her, studying her long dark lashes sitting on the edge of prettily painted eyes. I realized just how beautiful she was. So perfectly feminine, I understood the attraction of female charm in its entire splendour. Her favourite fragrance lingered in the air as I edged closer to her to use two hands instead of one. She uttered tiny sighs of pleasure as I let my fingers move more freely on her scalp. I have no idea how long this lasted for, though some time later she seemed to awaken from the blissful state I had evoked, whispering that it was my turn. She started to return the favour. Her delicate hands felt so good, so skilled; I felt the whole of my body relax under her touch. It was heavenly. I had drifted away to some far-away place. I was at my most tender, vulnerable and would have done anything at that moment. That is, before I heard the key in the door. Alex was back. I had no idea why, but I felt like he was interrupting.

Italy

Amber and I had been given a week’s holiday from our schools. To be honest, we were by no means over-worked. Quite the contrary, as you may have gathered by now. However, we decided to take full advantage of this break and arranged a little trip to Florence, to soak up the beauty and the cultural wealth of such a historically and artistically important city. Or else we really wanted to be wooed by the cadence of such a musical language, to treat our palates to the most exquisite Italian cuisine and to let our eyes flicker over the most handsome and well-reputed lovers of Europe. In the end, we managed to strike a balance between the two.

Of course, we were accompanied by Alex, who saw this trip as an opportunity to see for himself the artistic muses behind the great literary works he was ploughing through. At all times he carried around a notebook and a pencil, just in case some divinely inspired thought leapt to him from the great statues and works of art hanging in the endless museum corridors.

The three of us were staying in the same room in some charming little guesthouse tucked away in a winding backstreet. We had received very strange looks from the owners of the establishment, who seemed to find something scandalous about two young women and one very handsome man sleeping in the same space. In turn, I felt a twinge of guilt and I had to remind myself that we were practically family after so much time spent together.

The trip flew by blissfully. It was but a whirlwind of sensory delights. We were stunned by the breath-taking views from the top of the majestic Duomo feeling so small and insignificant when gazing down at such beauty. We were swooned by the setting sun, the reflection of which shimmered over the ever-flowing river Arno. I don’t think I had ever felt so overwhelmingly consumed by a desire for life. Or for another person whose eyes reflected this beauty back at me.

I knew I was besotted.

The Skirts

It could have been the onset of summer that started it, each day bringing a surge of endorphins whizzing through my body. Or maybe it was the heated exchange of our teasing and banter making my green eyes twinkle back at me through the bathroom mirror. Whatever the stimulus was, it was making me hold my head high and strut across the old boulevards as never before. Yes, for the first time in my life I was starting to feel somewhat sexy. I noticed heads starting to turn, as though in direct response to my new-found confidence and as I walked by the seafront feeling the breeze flickering through my hair, I could have been the protagonist in a rather glamorous old French movie. I cannot emphasize how novel and welcome these feelings were, having never really stood out in any sense.

So, I started going to little boutiques to dress my petite curves. I let Amber guide me and inspire me with her natural, feminine glamour. I even entrusted my long blonde locks into her delicate hands, armed with a pair of steel scissors. Such was my desire to shine with style and confidence, so as not to miss this opportunity.

He noticed, I know he did, even if he didn’t say so explicitly. I could feel him sneaking little glances from time to time when I was speaking to Amber, ‘accidentally’ brushing past me, or, a little more obviously, leaning his head on my shoulder (centimetres away from my semi-exposed breasts).

I was starting to go crazy with so much pent-up desire.

 

My Twenty-First Summer: Part Five

The next part in a tale of deisre and physical, emotional and psychological awakening..

Cocktails with the Waiter

The evening was still light as I applied the final touches of make-up to my face, blushing slightly in anticipation of the date. I sipped the glass of wine by my side and then spritzed myself with a subtle yet sexy fragrance, instantly dried by the evening breeze tickling through the open window. I rose to my stilettoed feet to take a look at the final result, and facing me in the mirror was a rather enticing blonde-haired girl, clothed in a figure-hugging red silk dress, smoky-eyed and with glossy ruby lips upturned in satisfaction at her work. Yes, tonight I looked good and I knew it. He seemed to know it too, for as I finished my wine in the living room, he floated around me asking seemingly pointless questions. I felt strangely confident that night; I didn’t need to impress him so much, as my handsome date was awaiting and would be arriving in just thirty minutes. He must have picked up on a little of this indifference, as he showered me with attention, coming and sitting right next to me on the sofa, reading his horoscope and then mine. He made some off-hand reference to our destinies intertwining. I could feel the heat from his body as his forearm sat next to mine and I felt that familiar chill running through me so I took another quick sip to buy a little time and remind myself my date was another. He joked about what I would get up to later on. Amber, who was in the middle of some colourful salad creation, turned around in surprise at his comment, warning her brother to leave me alone. With that, he gave me a knowing wink, got up and headed out into the garden. Within minutes the doorbell rang and my waiter was there, a single rose in hand and an inviting smile on his face. I kissed my brother and sister goodbye and was escorted to the horse-drawn carriage (disguised as a car) to be chauffeured to the cocktail bar.

As he was driving, I could secretly admire Gianni in profile. He was undisputedly handsome; his features looked as if they had been sculpted with great care. His body was long and lean as only the French can be and his tan was ever-deepening as the evening started to fall. We arrived at the bar and he took me by the hand, leading me to a table on the terrace with an understated chivalry. This was fairy-tale style romance and I was relishing every moment. The tea light at our table had gone out so he magically produced a lighter from his pocket, ignited the fire and then glanced at me with a smile creeping across his face. I let him choose the cocktails we were to drink, for it seemed he was familiar with the place and as a waiter himself he had to be well up on this subject. Our conversation flowed as easily as did the sweet drinks and very soon he was leading me onto the beach to take one final look at the glorious sunset on show just before our eyes. Seeing the golden glow drifting down into the great expanse of the sea, I realized that it didn’t matter what language we were speaking at this moment – it could have been French, English, or any another for that matter – for no words could begin to do justice to just how perfect the world seemed to me right then. Taking a peek at the attractive almost-stranger by my side, I felt a thrill flashing through me…but for just a few seconds I imagined Alex in his place, how familiar yet exhilarating his company would be. He must have picked up on this distraction and proclaimed that it was time to take the final drink at his place, did that suit me?

On entering his flat I was struck by the tidiness and order that reigned in there, what a contrast to our chaos! He escorted me out on to the balcony, where I was served with some sweet homemade wine, which was presented in the most majestic of glasses. ‘What would you think if you saw me in the street?’ I was taken aback by the question. ‘Would you stop and turn around?’ he persisted, in that could-only-be-romantic French accent. ‘Okay, let me ask you one more thing…how would you feel if I were to kiss you?’. It may have been the sweet intoxication of the wine, or the fact I was here in the summer on the French Riviera and living out the best time of my life but that kiss really did seem to happen in slow motion. As his lips met mine so softly, his hand started to explore my body tentatively but with determination and in perfect synchrony with his kiss. I reminded myself that I was not thinking of Alex, well, almost not. Slowly and seductively he led me by the hand to the bed, where I was overwhelmed by the desire to intertwine my body with this most alluring stranger. He seemed to reciprocate that desire and what happened afterwards was that which can only happen when you’re so young, so free and so blissfully unaware of anything but the present moment.

The next morning I was greeted by the relentless glare of the Mediterranean sunshine, streaming at me through the open blind, reminding me that another day had just dawned and it was time to totter away and leave my sleeping prince. So without making too much noise I retrieved my clothes, and within seconds was out of the door. I felt a strange mixture of euphoria and sadness as I replayed the sequence of last night over and over in my mind. I was so delighted to have had such an amazing time, yet already craving more and more. Then there was Alex of course. How had last night changed my feelings and desires towards him? I decided a chocolate-filled croissant could help me think this through. So, there I was, letting the divine chocolate melt in my mouth as I walked by the beach in last night’s clothes and hoped I would never have any other preoccupation in this world…

The See-Saw

A couple of weeks after the vodka incident, our relationship had somewhat drifted back to its see-saw of sweet, playful affection and something a little naughtier. Depending on the day, I could be greeted by a big bear hug or else a sneaky wink. I never knew quite what to expect, and this was starting to drive me crazy. I was becoming more and more indulgent. I craved only the sweetest of pleasures. I needed to be seduced by flirtatious bubbly, to be caressed by silky chocolate that melted so slowly on my tongue. As the days drew out, so did my hopes and expectations. With the onset of summer, I couldn’t help but feel like something new was springing up from inside of me. I had a yearning and longing for something that I had never before realized. I was overwhelmed by my desire for this boy. I was overtaken by the pleasure of sensuous delights. I would wander down by the seafront late at night trying to soak up all the beauty that lay right before me. I would gaze up at the moon, beaming down on me like a grand torch in some theatrical setting and feel so blessed to be living this moment. Goose bumps prickled my whole body, reminding me of the transience of this time. I already knew that one day this would not be the present, so I was determined to live every second of it with as much intensity as I could. I yearned to feel his skin next to mine, no matter how fleeting the moment would be.

The Card Games and Such

With so much free time at our idle disposition, we had to find a pleasant enough way to wile it away. I don’t remember owning a watch back then and our house was certainly free from the ticking constraints of time. So one sunset would melt into the next dawn, bringing with it a day like just before. Time could have seemed suspended, were it not for my racing heart that grew more and more impatient in his presence. Perhaps he had picked up on my restlessness, because he had started ‘entertaining’ me, proffering card games here, dominoes there. Now, I hadn’t played these games for many years so I delighted in the childlike glee that came with a win, so much so that these games became increasingly competitive. This was played down when we were in the company of others, but left to our own devices these games became charged. Many a night would find us outdoors, taking refuge in the cool and still candle-lit garden, a pack of cards and glass of wine in hand. He might also have been swinging a cigarette to and from his mouth in-between knowing smirks at the cards I was being dealt.

The garden was positively magical at night, illuminated by the shivering flames. The overgrown wilderness seemed to come to life, making me feel that we were somehow being watched. I felt slightly guilty, though I wasn’t sure why. After all, we were just playing a card game, weren’t we? His eyes would gleam with mischief as he threw his cards down in victory and he held my gaze for just a couple of seconds too long.

The Wink and the Eyebrow

Alex was extremely well-read, cultured and exquisitely eloquent in his verbal expression. Yet, somehow his words had taken a backseat to the subconscious signals given off by his body. When he spoke to me I didn’t hear the vowels and consonants dancing through their sentences, nor did I focus on the cadence of his lyrical pitch. That said, I was not entirely indifferent to the pitch of his voice. It would be dishonest not to add that such a soft tone uttered from his great masculine height was indeed as surprising as it was thrilling. Both Amber and he had been blessed with the sweetest of voices, which were annoyingly charismatic regardless of whether they were being used in song, lively debate or else just recounting their daily activities.

However, I digress from the matter at hand. Powerful as the words could be, there was something that could trump this force. This involved a micro-movement of those long dark lashes batting down on his lower eyelid: yes, none other than a wink. This most furtive of signals could be fired at me from both near or afar, but would inevitably hit me for he bore the bow and arrow and I was the most willing of targets just standing there, helplessly paralyzed by desire.

Let’s not pretend he didn’t know this; he was no fool. He was intuitive but most of the time chose to turn off that skill, for the truth may not have been in his best interest. So he would use this wink to play with me or to have his wicked way and I would inevitably find myself taking a beer out to his glistening and beckoning body, sprawled in the garden. Or else I might sacrifice the last morsel of some delightful creation in direct exchange for that wink. Yes, this was his method of payment and I was an eager cashier, always smiling gracefully at my customer.

With that wink I felt like I was his accomplice. We were real buddies and in ‘this’ together, whatever that meant. Sometimes it was playful and other times it was outright sexy. Like the time when Amber, Alex and I were dining in our favourite Italian restaurant and Alex waited until Amber got up before putting the following scenario to me: ‘Imagine if we were on a hot date now, how would you feel?’ I was visibly taken aback by this imagining and so he lowered those lovely long lashes for just a split second to show me that he was in jest. It was too late, I could already feel my body responding to the question and as his fingers skimmed over mine whilst grappling for some condiment, I felt my body shuddering in anticipation of what a hot date might just imply.

My Twenty-First Summer (Part Three)

This is a the third part of a tale  of awakening and desire, heightened by the onset of summer, sweet wine and youth itself…The previous parts can be found here

My Twenty-First Summer

and

My Twenty-First Summer (Part Two)

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Brothers and Sisters

I had never before observed at such close hand the intricacies of the sibling relationship. Of course, I assumed that having a brother or sister gave you a guaranteed friend for life, if only for having the common ground of genetics and upbringing. I supposed that the first ever person who played so many different roles in your life (playmate, tease, rival, confidant) would hold a special place in your heart and I was not mistaken. These two had an incredible tie. Not only did they look a little like each other, had many of the same facial expressions and general traits, but they also seemed to care so much too and have an innate defence mechanism ready to protect the other. I was very much endeared by this, though I have to say that I felt some occasional pangs of jealousy. Unwarranted, I’m sure, but having grown up without having to share meant that I was somewhat unaccustomed to this. I craved more time alone with both Amber and Alex, for together they were a united team, but left alone with each of them I felt much more in control. For sometimes when they were together, they would ‘gang up’ on me, teasing me over trivial matters – all in good humour – and I would wish I had a brother to stick up for me. Or else I’d wish that he were my brother and would give me his unconditional support too.

So, whilst I loved the time we all spent together, I longed for time alone with both. With Amber that would mean indulging in divine chocolate creations and letting our emotions spill out into the open in some psychoanalytical session, recounting past loves and losses. With Alex there would be far fewer words involved, more exchanges of glances, innocent touches and innuendo, or else indifference, depending on his mood. I was always kept on my toes, poised in eager anticipation and ready to respond to whatever humour passed over him. In any case, when I was spending time alone with one of them, I would sometimes have the feeling of interruption, like the other had just walked in at an inappropriate time and seen or heard something they shouldn’t have. Such was the feeling of guilt that was starting to take hold of me and I consciously didn’t know why.

The Gaze

It was late afternoon, probably around six. This was my favourite time of day, when the glaring sun started to give way to a softer light. It was usually the hour to rise from a gentle but deep slumber, slinking out of my room to find his bemused eyes resting on me, glancing up from some novel or other. Today, however, I didn’t feel like sleeping. I was too restless. Instead, I opened my bright shutters to let the garden seep into my room, bringing with it a pleasant, carefree breeze. I must have been totally absorbed in whatever book lay across my lap, because I didn’t notice his insistent look upon me. Not a rude and threatening stare, but an unresisting, inquisitive gaze. I immediately blushed. How could I not? Being penetrated by those eyes left me paralyzed with excitement and fear. My body reacted involuntarily, the treacherous rush of adrenalin colouring my cheeks, neck and chest and giving me away. I could usually control myself, but not this time. He had taken me by surprise; he had stood in front of the window, smoking sensually and ‘accidentally’ just peering right into my room. I must have held his gaze for a few seconds; neither of us looked away. A half-smile crept upon his face, his left eyebrow slightly raised and without saying a word, he just walked away. Now he was trespassing into my physical space, not to mention my mind.

At the Beach

We would often go to the beach, where I could admire Alex’s tanned and toned body shamelessly. I loved to watch him pull himself from the sea, so gracefully, so blissfully unaware of just how appealing his body was, shimmering and fresh from the dip. I imagined tracing those drops with my tongue, drinking him all up until my thirst had gone. Quickly, I would avert my gaze, but never quickly enough. I would feel my cheeks colour up and have to run into the sea and hide. Perhaps when we got a little restless we might play tennis at the shore. What a pleasure it was to watch his body dart from side to side, responding to my every move. Overwhelming as this was, I might have gone to get myself an ice cream to cool down. Peering just over his book, I would have been met by those eyes, furtively watching as my tongue twirled around the glorious fruit and cream flavours. I knew there would never be any greater paradise.

My Twenty-First Summer (Part Two)

This is a the second part of a tale  of awakening and desire, heightened by the onset of summer, sweet wine and youth itself… The first part can be found in the previous post

My Twenty-First Summer

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I would like to paint the portrait of my life before this time, for every story must be told within its context. Perhaps the best way to do so would be to describe three photographs taken the year before embarking upon my new journey. In the first snap I am surrounded by family, drinking champagne and pointing to the glittering Christmas tree. All is very familiar, warm and comfortable in this photograph and I am as happy as I think I can be. I am by no means dreaming of another life and most certainly cannot foresee what is about to come. On the contrary, I seem happy to be part of these annual rituals, leading a safe but predictable life. The second picture is a university shot. It was taken in the house I shared with five other girls. I am not radiating the same kind of confidence and well-being in this image. In fact, I’m hunched in the middle of the group looking shy and slightly out of place in my dark clothes. I’m gazing into the distance as though I’ve just caught a glimpse of something better than the present moment. Of course, I can’t see that quite so clearly yet.

In the third and final photograph I am being enveloped by the typical tall, dark and handsome man, whom I know that I would be well-advised to marry. In this picture his love and protection towards me is almost three-dimensional, jumping out from the shot. His arms are wrapped tightly around me and the grin on his face is that of a child who has scooped a big prize. My expression is of quiet contentedness and you might well think we are perfectly happy, were you not to notice that my shoulders are rising a little, perhaps as though I really want to shrug him off.

That is where the next part of the story begins.

The Routine

The long, languorous days promoted very little constructive activity. Amber and I worked very little, some twelve hours per week teaching English at local primary schools. The work was relatively well-paid and funded our basic necessities, with a little money left over for any whims that may sweep upon us. Bottles of wine, French cakes filled with chocolate and cream, the odd meal under a starry terrace; we felt that nothing we wanted was beyond our reach. Free time was therefore in abundance. Being restless by nature, I spent much of this free time pacing local towns, stumbling across old bookshops and chatting with the odd local to practise my French. Amber and Alex took a way more relaxed approach to their spare time, spending much of it asleep! Not even the sun soaking through the house and bathing them in bright, morning rays could awaken them. Occasionally I might feel a little lonely, for it was really just the three of us versus the world. When I got this feeling I’d whisk myself down to the seafront and just gaze out at the horizon taking in the vastness and splendour of this great blue expanse. Suddenly being alone never felt so bad.

From time to time Alex would sleep in the living room on the abandoned mattress in the middle of the floor, having stayed up late composing a little something on the guitar or reading some classic until the early hours. I would pass his sun-kissed body, practically motionless in deep slumber, and be filled with an almost overwhelming desire to awaken him so gently, for his presence tantalized me. He was spontaneous in a way that I’d never quite known before and I was always intrigued as to what he might say or do next. Besides which, he looked so temptingly vulnerable and perfect in his sleep. Of course, I could not stare for too long, for that would have been an intrusion of his privacy, so begrudgingly I would drag my eyes away, creeping out so as not to make him stir.

Amber had similar sleeping habits. She too would stay up late, reading, writing, listening to music or just thinking. She was never really in a hurry to do anything and most of the time she just radiated serenity. Sometimes in the afternoon friends would come around and bask in the shade of the trees, playing card games, drinking sparkling wine, telling stories with words that floated into the breeze. Though I enjoyed the company of others, it was when I was with Amber and Alex that I felt most at home. In fact, were I to be honest, I sometimes even slightly resented the presence of others. For being an only child meant that I had never had to compete for attention and now more than ever, I really wanted his.

The Music

The afternoon heat could be so intense that sleep was the only refuge. So I would drift in and out of consciousness, floating through different realms of reality, hopes and dreams. The soundtrack to such moments would be the strumming of Alex’s guitar, the notes carried to me by the late afternoon breeze whispering through my open window. At such times I was never sure if I was awake or dreaming, but it was of no concern to me whatsoever. Be it real or imaginary, life seemed pretty perfect to me and I would not occupy myself with any deeper analysis of this new-found happiness for fear of what this could destroy.

When I finally came round I would wander over to the window and take a peep at him. He would be there, sheltering in the shade of the good old palm tree. His guitar was always perched precariously on his knee, fingers strumming intuitively, eyes half-closed in concentration and a half-smile spreading across his face in the euphoria at being able to create such a beautiful sound.I was somewhat mesmerized.

My Twenty-First Summer

There are certain transcendental moments in life; moments of great intensity lived out by unsuspecting protagonists. In the wake of these experiences is often a life-changing revelation and from this moment on nothing will ever be quite the same. Often these times are accompanied by a mystical feeling; a sense that time, place and people have been divinely united. An invisible wheel of fortune has been spun and we are at the mercy of this force, whether we realise this or not.

I’d like to tell you the story of my twenty-first summer, broken down into small parts. I’d like to tell you about the summer when I really began to live. It was because of him, the time, the place and the luck that they just happened to coincide for a fragment of my life. The story goes like this:

Time and Place

The Mediterranean summer is intoxicating, with its long, languid days and twinkling nights which tantalize with their brevity. This was the place I found myself all those years ago, when time had no hold over me. The past, present and future were all lived in the same moment: joyfully, fearlessly and without any thought of the consequences. Maybe that’s just how it feels to be twenty-one in the summertime, but that season is etched in my mind as eternal, filled with freedom, desire and discovery. It awoke dormant longings deep inside me, buried deep as shining treasure and meant that I would never again settle for anything less, anything mediocre…anything that failed to set my pulse racing and send my cheeks aflame.

The backdrop to this experience was romantic and charming in itself. We were living in a small coastal town, in the very south of France. The villages that line the coast and stretch from France to Italy boast old-school glamour, timeless and tireless. Pastel-coloured villages line the harbours with shades of pink, orange and yellow that melt into soft, sweet candy-floss as the sun descends into the sea. A train track connecting these heavenly places runs parallel to the sea, always sparkling in the midday sunlight, luring you to take a dip in its cool delights.

Our house was located very close to the sea. A five-minute meander down a quiet lane led us to the smooth golden expanse of the beach, a place where suddenly all worries melted away. Yes, one could always gain perspective by gazing out at that endless horizon; petty troubles were dwarfed by such splendour and just seemed to float away. The sea seemed to understand and echo our emotions, at times offering a greater empathy and compassion than any human could manage. For this reason the sea became the backdrop to many a pensive or emotional time.

The house itself had probably once been glorious and it still bore the mark of French style with its shiny green shutters, opening out on to an expansive, wild garden. In the centre of this wilderness stood an expressive old palm tree, its branch arms uplifted in constant questioning. The doors and windows were almost always open, so the house and garden just merged into one open space and a constant stream of summer light flooded our living room, its hue gently fading as the evening drew near. Amber and I spent much of our time draped over old sun loungers, lolling in the late afternoon sun. Chilled sparkling wine was always flowing so easily, but never quite quenched the insatiable summer thirst, so more and more was always on hand. Plates of cheese or olives were always by our side to nibble. Soft music forever lingered in the air, for this was Amber’s great passion. Her CDs covered our living room floor, such was their abundance. Conversation always flowed so easily, the first day I had seen her I just knew she was going to be my friend. She was so beautiful and fairy-like, with her wide brown eyes, her shiny hairclips glistening in the sun and her long, flowing skirts that fluttered in the breeze. Her presence was so light and her smile came so easily. She seemed so liberated and so at ease with herself that I felt she was almost missing some beautiful angel wings to fly. Any person in her presence would be bathed in the calm she radiated and would relax in her company. So this was Amber. My good friend and housemate. A person with whom I could laugh, cry and simply feel at ease whilst being the most authentic version of myself. She was very much the sister I had always longed for, but never realized before this moment.

His Arrival

When a person comes into your life and undoes all of your previous thinking and planning, you wonder how you weren’t able to foresee this arrival. This was how he crossed my path, blissfully unaware and casual, like a passer-by chancing upon some stranger in need. Please don’t misunderstand me; I was by no means waiting to be rescued. In fact, at that time many summers ago, I was doing pretty well. Let me explain a little about where I was and why. By some good fortune I had found myself living on the south coast of France, in a somewhat bohemian (or at least by my standards) existence. At the age of twenty-one and completing a university degree in French, I had been sent abroad as part of my education. Our task was simple: to perfect our French and to learn how to cope living in a foreign country. At this tender age nothing is particularly daunting as a prospect and the whole experience had so far proven to be pleasant. Of course, Amber had a lot to do with that. The moment we met and decided to move in together, I felt somewhat ‘at home’ in this foreign land. Her warmth and good humour meant that there was always plenty of fun to be had and there was certainly always some fine wine flowing! She was a very open and kind person and felt somewhat like a sister to me, so when she announced that her brother would be coming in the spring, I was naturally a little envious that I would have to share her with her real family, but also very intrigued. Being an only child, I had never had the experience of growing up with siblings, so the mechanisms of these relationships baffled me. Would he be like Amber, my good friend?

My question was answered one day in late March, when I arrived back from a trip to England. I was greeted most unexpectedly by his warmth as the rusty old door creaked open, letting me in to what had been the place where I’d been living very calmly. He shook my hand with real enthusiasm, telling me he’d been waiting to meet me in person after so long. I felt like he might have been some long-lost relative, such was his kindness and interest in me. I was so distracted by all of this that I almost didn’t notice just how attractive he was. Of course, I’d previously seen him in some old school photograph, but with the passing of some awkward teenage years, the man standing in front of me was striking. His stature gave him a certain authority and distance that his friendliness somewhat belied. His dark hair spoke of a foreign land to which he’d never been and his eyes shimmered in the evening light in a colour that was both grey and blue depending on the time of day.

Before I knew it, the three of us were sitting on the old leather sofa, sharing our stories and making toasts with our sparkling pink wine to new beginnings and the spring! After just a couple of hours, I felt like I’d become a member of the family; here were the brother and sister that I’d never had and we were going to have so much fun! Pretty soon Amber slipped off to bed and I was left alone on the sofa with Alex. Our conversation drifted off a little, so I decided it was time to read. As it was still March, the evening had taken on a chill, so I went to get a blanket. I asked him if he’d like to share it, because that’s what brothers and sisters do, and he said yes. I was slightly surprised by this, thinking he would decline such proximity due to my being a relative stranger. However, sheltered there with him I felt warm and safe as I started reading my book. As he picked his newspaper up, I felt his gaze pass over me, so I turned to him slowly and he just smiled. No words were necessary. Some complicity seemed to pass between us, though I had no idea what that was, nor what that implied. The surge of electricity passing through my body defied the fact I really should be feeling very comfortable in his presence. I made my way to bed feeling slightly dazed.

 To be continued…

Relishing The Present Moment

There was a moment of my life in which I found myself blissfully happy. It was a time when the past and future faded into insignificance and I was able to savour the present with all the intensity it deserved. That was the summer I lived in a pastel-coloured village in the south of France, minutes from the glistening sea, always enticing in the midday heat. It was the summer when I fell hopelessly in love with the most charming, yet inappropriate of suitors and the summer to which none ever did compare.

 

What made it so special? Was it the evening wine, its bubbles making me woozy and blurring my vision of reality? Was it the falling in and out of consciousness during my afternoon siestas, taken in an attempt to escape the intense afternoon rays that heated my body and my mind? Or perhaps it was the sound of his acoustic guitar playing, his fingers strumming some familiar old melody, his eyes flickering over mine, as his lips caressed the soft lyrics that soared through the evening breeze.

 

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that I allowed myself to live this moment so completely. At first I worried. I wondered what the consequences might be. What would happen when the summer was over? I knew that whatever we had wouldn’t last. I also knew that the spark between us was nameless; there would never be a label for this. If I wanted to define what was going on, then I could just forget it. So I did just that. I let go of all control and I let the moment flow as naturally as did the waves under the winking moon, the only witness to our naked night-swimming.

 

Every sense in my body was heightened. I felt alive like never before. I surrendered myself to the beauty of the present and I hope you can do the same. The surroundings do not have to be as romantic as those which I am describing; you simply have to become aware of the tiny fragments of perfection in daily life. Moments that you could perceive with any one of your senses. The world is full of delights, we just need to shift our focus and become aware of them. It may be the smell of fresh rain, a dramatic and fiery sunset, the chuckle of a baby or the sight of an old couple walking hand in hand down the street. The possibilities are endless and the world is a great theatre, the seats of which are free, should we choose to take them.

 

Feeling grateful is a real strategy in the process of obtaining lasting happiness and the more you’re able to give thanks for these micro-seconds of perfection, the greater the satisfaction you will feel. Living in the present means finding time to notice all that can all too easily fade into the background of daily life. So please, take you seat and prepare for one of the richest and most evocative shows you’ve ever seen; life.