The curtains sway rhythmically in the sea breeze entering the room from a few blocks away as his breathing quickens and quickens: his fingers exploring the pubic hair of the young woman whose face is obscured. A single dust particle hovers, emphatically undecided whether to fall on the floor or ascend to the ceiling, just as the breeze; a feeling of ambivalence hovers in every minuscule or gigantic existence. On the terrace, the first glimpse of the day dances a slow tango and breaks its new eggshell as he's panting under his bed sheet with his dream caressing his hardened penis; not awake, yet the thin pubic hair feels so soft in his fingertips and his erection crafts itself as if it were under the same auspices of the moon hiding someplace behind the lonely cloud. The faceless Kore stands in front of him like a naked aura or a nymph, and as his legs touch her buttocks, the orgasmic unleashing of a few million spermatozoa cascades down as his pelvis moves once, twice; such is the movement of a wave, rising up then down, once, twice, and as a result, the sea foam remains.
Suddenly, his eyes open and the Kore vanishes like a diaphanous dream, as the breeze playfully embraces his small room with a sweet murmur. Another beautiful dawn is morphing to his right, outside the twenty-third floor window. Vaguely, he deciphers the familiar sights once again: the print of a Picasso imitation on the left wall of his bedroom, a small flower pot on the table in the corner and, lo, there is a gardenia in it, the pride and devotion his buddies can swear to. Under the fake Picasso a small candle on top of the dresser has been collecting dust for a while; how long has he been in this place? Two and a half years ago, he moved to this apartment; a few of his friends, Donald, Abir, and Mounir, helped him move in, along with his younger brother Alex. It took some time for him to adjust to the idea of being alone for the first time, yet the freedom just to be on his own kept him going, to the point of slowly putting his life in perspective, as most young men may do in Vancouver. Who was this beautiful woman in his dream? Oh, yes, she is the hot brunette from 2306, the corner unit on the same floor of the building...
She turns in her bed and a sudden desire overtakes her as her gaze is fixated on the handsome, half-naked soldier standing in the front door entry: Is she dreaming? Whose house is this and how did she get here? An overwhelming warmth swells inside her body and a sweet lust builds slowly and steadily from the top of her spine to her pelvis. Her hand travels between her legs, and the touch of the cool breeze coming from the half-opened window arouses her, as well as the swirling between the thin hair and her hardened clit. The red nail of her middle fingertip is like a drop of blood on top of the orchid petal, soft and red, so much warmth, no shadow to be seen in the conscience or the almond tree to the right of the front yard; where is she? Who is this ephebe with the wide shoulders and the most ever-handsome smile? How she would love to taste the contour of his lips. Her finger slowly moves upwards and down; the legs of the young man move closer to hers and she locks herself onto his. Then suddenly the brightest sunray reflects on the river's retina and her finger intensifies its movement in a circular fashion, like when you feel the touch of the softest fabric and your shiver creates a spasm throughout your whole body. Why do her cheeks turn red at the sight of this young man who keeps on smiling at her? The strongest feelings are absorbed by her skin as her hand moves rapidly from left to right, south to north, and when, suddenly, the moment of truth comes like a thunderous violin hitting all seven notes in unison, in harmony, in perfection, her pelvis moves up and down, from side to side, and her legs squeeze the legs of the young naked soldier so tightly that her orgasm shudders every little molecule of her skin—an avalanche engulfing all nature on its way down the mountainside.
Dawn leaves like an abandoned kiss and the light slowly overtakes the four corners of her bedroom. Over her dresser to the opposite wall is a small print of a young woman dipping her leg in the translucent water of a small pond as an osprey looks down at her full of envy. The breath of the light wind still comes unabated and her mind wakes slowly to the image; who was this young soldier with the wide shoulders and the sexy lips?
Oh, yes, the handsome dark-haired guy from 2302, on the other side of the hallway.
He gets up and hops in the shower. A tune in his mind is verbalized as he lathers himself quickly. His mind travels to the pretty brunette with the luscious contours of her buttocks. What a dream; was it her or someone else? He prepares his breakfast: whole-wheat toast, a banana, and a cup of coffee, percolated just in time. He sits by his small dinette, turns the TV on to CNN, broadcasting the usual death toll in Iraq, bombs, genocide, and assassinations. The news and sounds of the city emerge slowly as the blue crest of the sky dresses itself with another cloudless morning, meditating its good fortune. Jonathan's mind runs to his neighbor with the sweet eyes and the sexiest butt. He loves the way her shoulder-length hair bounces when she walks by him in the hall, that promiscuous smile on her lips, her earrings that dangle along her soft olive skin, and her neck that he loves to imagine kissing again and again. What he would give to have her in his arms and in his bed, or hers, for that matter; yet, how this will become reality, he doesn't really know. He finishes his breakfast and cleans up the dishes, wishing his mother was here to see how well he knows to take care of things now that he lives on his own … When you need to do things I guess you do, and a smile spreads on his face. His mother and dad always wondered how he would cope living by himself, because, as a teenager, he never bothered doing anything they asked him to do and they always did what he wanted without ever asking questions. Yet now he lives on his own and he knows very well how to deal with everyday matters. How nice it would be if he met the woman again this Saturday morning on her way to the Starbucks at the opposite corner of the block.
He puts on a T-shirt and walks to the elevator. The shock which the rose petals feel when diving for the first time into the hoarfrost of dawn hasn't arrived yet as the last days of August keep gracing the city with hotter temperatures hovering around the low thirties. People frequent the beaches around Vancouver and the city laments under the pressure of car fumes—a subject of many people's daily conversations. Something has to be done with all these cars. Something has to be done with all these people. Where do they come from? But, of course, Vancouver is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and, quite rightfully, myriads of people like to live here; therefore, the city grows at a very fast pace, compared to other cities in North America.
She dresses then stands in front of her mirror putting makeup on. She observes her features and smiles at the satisfaction her reflecting image. Her eye-line done, her mascara applied, and there is a bit of glow on her lips and protection on her skin from the heat of the day. She puts on a pair of panties; her hand touches her pubic hair and a soft murmur hovers in the air between her legs. How she would love to meet her neighbor again on her way to Starbucks. He goes there almost every day, just like her, and, every day, they exchange only brief words. She wonders if he'd like to be with her? His glances at times show her that he likes her, yet a certain ambivalence makes her feel so unsure of herself. She loves the way he walks in his jeans, or in his casual work attire for that matter. She has noticed his sexy smile and these two lips of his—how she would love to explore him with her tongue; his body is so well built, almost athletic, and his dark eyes, probably of Middle Eastern origin, make her feel so warm that she always shivers at first sight, until he gets closer, sometimes says a compliment, the accent in his voice so melodious and sweet, making her feel that she is being dipped in honey. Krista buttons up her shorts, puts her flip-flops, grabs her purse, and, after locking the door, heads towards the elevator.
He is there in the hallway waiting for the elevator car to come up.
Oh, God, all this warmth overtakes her again; yet he is there and she gets closer.
"Hello." His melodic voice caresses her earlobes.
"Hi," she utters. A broad smile reveals a promising mouth and a straight line of white teeth.
"Time for that first coffee." He smiles at her blushing.
"Yes, and you of course," she adds, making him feel naked for a while. She knows his moves.
They get inside the elevator car, which suddenly seems too small for just the two of them. His eyes cast down to the floor for a nanosecond, eager to peek at her beautifully-shaped alabaster legs; what is this dark spot between the legs that drives the male existence crazy and what is this phenomenally angelic contour where the legs join the pelvis and hips? What a pity, his hands cannot touch these spots, yet even a stolen peek is sometimes as great as touch. She stands in one corner of the elevator car, as graceful as a swan with her hair up, revealing a straight neckline he would love to spend hours caressing and kissing. He takes his place on the opposite side of the enclosure. They seem to be like two soldiers carving out their territory, where one is not allowed into the other's space; a battle is taking place here, yet the eroticism between their bodies seems like a different kind of war, as it flames both of them with equal parts of heat and as they stare at one another. The urge to embrace and devour each other's lips suddenly is so difficult to stop when, lo, the car stops at the eighth floor and an older woman enters. What a waste, Jonathan thinks, and Krista sends him her sweetest smile.
They reach the ground floor and the woman goes out first. Jonathan stays in the car until Krista walks out, and he follows, taking a good look at her butt. Outside, they face the coffee joint on the corner of the block, across from the new Vancouver library. Krista delays crossing the street for a moment and all of a sudden he walks next to her.
She observes, "You don't work today."
"No. And you?"
She shakes a no, and then brushes herself on to him as they walk past a tree on the sidewalk. He loves these small things, signals, he calls them, that women give to men, like when a woman's shoe suddenly finds a man's under the coffee bar or restaurant table. She looks so pretty in the tiny shorts and her greenish blouse, Jonathan has to admit. He is so attracted to her that he cannot think straight.
A car with four teenagers drives by and the driver honks the horn; three of the car occupants push their heads out of the windows and yell some slur, laughing and shouting at them.
Jonathan smiles and, turning to her, says, "There you have it."
They arrive at Starbucks and she stands first in the line to give her order. Jonathan imagines what it would feel to have her naked on top of him, with the back of her head to him right now. His turn comes and he orders his tall non-fat latte and a slice of pumpkin loaf while she takes her grande americano and a piece of blueberry pie. She stares into his eyes and loves the sweetness engulfing her as the melody of his voice floats in the air: "Want to share a table?"
She agrees. They sit opposite each other, and, like in a labyrinth of unanswered questions, she lifts her eyes to dive her gaze deep into his.
He smiles his best, gifting her with a little encouragement like a spring birdsong flying her way as he asks, "Want to go to the beach later on?"
This warmth overtakes her again and she would love to lean over and kiss his lips; why are all these people are around when she wants them to be alone? The thought makes her blush a bit, yet she cannot leave him waiting for her answer for too long. She wants to tell him how melodious his voice is yet she hears herself saying, "But yes, of course."
Her fingers touch his hand while trying to grab the handle of her coffee mug. Jonathan turns around and checks the place out. There are always a lot of people in this joint; the coffee bar is always so busy, a goldmine, a goldmine selling coffees and indulging sweets. The blond on the other side of the room takes a sip from her coffee cup and frowns, showing how hot her beverage is. The tall man with her laughs and leans to whisper something in her ear when Jonathan takes the courage to put his hand on top of Krista's hand, staring into her eyes. It is as though all the busyness of the coffee shop pauses for a moment as he pulls her hand away from the cup.
"I detect an accent. Where are you from?" she asks.
He looks at her and wonders why she wants to know this. "I'm Lebanese." He turns and sees a boy across the street with his skateboard.
"Is this the only thing you'd like to tell me?" she teases.
He smiles again and leans a bit closer to her and says that he comes from Beirut, from a family of eight, six siblings, whole family came to North America when he was twelve, big family relations at home in Lebanon. He is a data analyst for a small computer company in Richmond, he loves to travel, "and spend time with the prettiest girls, just as I'm doing right now."
Now she is really blushing, and her lips open in the shape of an "o." His mind wonders how pretty of an "o" her lips may turn into should he have his penis in them for a while. He wants to tell her that last detail, yet his mouth shapes a different sentence: "What about you? Is there anything you like to share with me?"
"What about you? Is there anything you like to share with me?"
Krista says she works as a legal secretary for a law firm downtown on Georgia Street. She is an only child; her parents live in West Vancouver, closer to Horseshoe Bay. She stops talking and he is mesmerized by her lips, which blow him a kiss that his eyes catch midway. He laughs, turns his face towards the library where a bunch of youngsters go about their skateboarding, points her to the crowd, and says softly: "I've got to go to Richmond for two hours to get a few things. I can meet you later on, early afternoon, and we can go to the beach, if you like."
"Yes, that would be fine. Meet you here, say, about two?"
"Why here? I'll knock on your door at two."
"Well, two o'clock it is then."
They walk back to their apartment building. The city traffic is more congested as the day rises slowly and the sun benevolently smiles at everyone from above. As they stand in front of the building on Hamilton Street, she looks at him, as if asking for something, and he laughs softly before he says, "I'll see you at two, okay?"
He walks to the parking-level elevator and she heads to her elevator with a disappointment written over her face; she just wanted him to kiss her. Why didn't he? She gave him plenty of signals, Krista thinks; why he didn't try?
On the terraces of the buildings, the little flowers in tiny pots absorb the sunrays like little babies suckling on the breast of a celestial mother who never refuses nourishment to her beloved. On the sidewalks and in the parks, the colors of the rainbow unfold in the form of grass, tree leaves, flowerbeds, shrubs, and the other delights gracing the people with an antidote to the car fumes and the sewage smell rising from the various manholes. People go about their day and nothing is done for the blush of the gardenia's flower or the sigh of the sick wind going in and out of the dying lungs of the cancer patient at Saint Paul's. Fall is approaching, with its well-known signs of marketing for back-to-school shopping, then Halloween shopping, and right after that, Christmas consumerism, when the fanfare of city life dresses in a different costume.
At two o'clock right on the dot, Jonathan holds a small bag with a bottle of water and a couple peaches and knocks on Krista's door. She opens it with a wide smile on her face. She is attracted to him. He is dressed in his shorts and his eyes have a certain stare; why is he staring so intensely at her? She is wearing her shorts and a modest top, her bathing suit is underneath, ready for the beach, yet, she feels his eyes are undressing her naked, and she would love to be like that in his bed right now. She is holding a small bag as well, with the sunscreen in it, a couple of bottles of water, and a magazine.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
He takes her arm as they walk to the elevator. She feels a lot better with his arm in his as they enter the elevator car. As the doors close, he leans close to her and the melody of his voice dances in her eardrums: "How was your morning then?"
"It was good," she replies, "and yours?"
"Very productive, although these certain two eyes kept my mind so busy for a while." He says and points to her eyes with his.
She blushes and the elevator car listens to her wish for a smooth stop at the ground floor. He kisses her hand before they go out to the street to flag down a cab. Her mind travels to Peter, a guy from her office who she dated for a while before she broke the relationship two months ago. Peter is a nice guy, yet her heart told her that their relationship was going nowhere good; it was for the best of both of them to end it. He agreed and they have remained friends since. Now, she has this new melody inside her that mesmerizes her whole essence every time it speaks.
They walk to the second beach by Davie and Denman Streets after the cab drops them off and they find a nice spot where they unfold two beach towels and put their stuff down next to them. She admires his body in his bathing suit; his olive skinned muscles remind her of Greek god statues she has seen in tourist magazines. She takes her shorts and shirt off and his mouth opens at the sight of her beautiful legs and her full breasts, almost fully exposed to the hungry eyes of all the envious men around them. Jonathan doesn't hesitate to show her his admiration and she is completely taken by his look. She lies next to him on her towel, takes the sunscreen, and pets some on her arms, shoulders, and legs. He can see every little inch of her body, even the part which is covered by the bathing suit, which is so tiny. He feels a hardening in his trunks and turns to his stomach to sunbathe.
There are a lot of people at the beach today. The temperature is around the twenty-six degrees and the beautiful trees of Stanley Park are to their right; even Cypress Mountain to the north is visible, with all its green beauty and the expensive homes of the British properties below. A vendor is behind them to the left and a bunch of seagulls argue about something in front of them. There must be at least ten big commercial boats moored in the bay waiting their turn to get in the harbor and get loaded. A red tugboat is pulling a big barge full of wood chips for the paper mill near Squamish.
Krista lies on her side, her eyes staring at him when he opens his eyes, and she blushes and turns the other way. He smiles.
"What else would you like to know about me?" he asks.
Turning her head his way, she laughs: "What is your name?"
"What is your name?"
"Do I need to have a name?"
He turns his head to the other side and drifts in his thoughts: one, in particular, of him hardening inside his bathing suit and unable to turn onto his back until he manages to relax himself and think of something else. Yet, the figure of this very pretty girl next to him cannot let him be and he decides to turn a bit to her when she looks at him and her eyes catch his obvious erection, making her blush once again.
"I'm Jonathan," he says.
"I'm Krista."
She turns to her back and as that happens she brushes the outside of her thigh on his hardness. She is only ten inches away from him. Suddenly, myriad thoughts go through Jonathan's mind, she touches him there. Her hand moves slowly, caressing him, and he goes wild.
"Oh, Krista. God, how much I love this right now, here."
As if she isn't listening to him, she carries on, playing slowly with his erection until he just cannot take this anymore. He sits up. He sees the bay and his attention turns to the ships, the seagulls, the many people on the beach, and to relaxation. Turning to her, he admires her shapely body. His eyes devour her flesh. How he would love to explore every inch of it.
"What do you have to do later on tonight, Jonathan?"
"I don't have any plans really, why?"
"It is my dad's birthday party at eight and I would like to go to it."
She turns his way a bit and looks in his eyes. Her legs open slightly and the sun from behind her shines between her legs, giving him a view of perfection.
"Your legs are gorgeous, Krista. The sun is peeking through them."
He turns to her and touches where the sun shines on her legs; his erection becomes very obvious once again. He gets up. Krista gets up. They put on their shorts. They flag down a cab to take them home. They cannot wait for his apartment and they kiss passionately in the elevator. They slowly walk sideways to his door. When they get inside his apartment they undress as they move to the couch. The fire of their bodies overtakes the afternoon, turning their day to a crowing consummation.
At eight o'clock, Jonathan and Krista stand in front of her parents' house. He is not surprised at all how she introduces him to them: "Mom, Dad, this is Jonathan, my boyfriend."
"Mom, Dad, this is Jonathan, my boyfriend."
"I"m Cathy Henderson," her mother, says as she hugs Jonathan, "Welcome to our house."
Krista's father, Max, shakes Jonathan's hand.
"Happy Birthday," Jonathan says to him, breaking the ice.
Somehow Max's gut feeling is that his little girl is doing just fine: his princess will be alright with this young man.
As the two walk hand-in-hand through the foyer, Krista turns his way and Jonathan sees in her eyes the warmth of newfound love. His heart tingles. He knows, this is it. She is the one for Jonathan.