Unknown - Game Over

‘I never stopped thinking about you, Cas. I never stopped wanting you. What I’m asking you now is why won’t you allow yourself to trust me ?’

So he’s worked it out. I’m impressed – it shows dedication. But then I know he’s the dedicated type. I wonder how to answer his question. After all, he’s never let me down, hurt me or disappointed me. In fact, he consistently exceeds my expectations. He has attributes and characteristics that I thought had died out with Merlin and Arthur’s round table. And even they were myths.

I can’t think of a logical reason why I wouldn’t trust him.

I can’t think of a convincing lie. So I do the next best thing. I tell the truth, a part of the truth, something like the truth.

‘I do trust you.’

Darren’s face, previously tight and anxious, melts into the broadest grin. He takes my chin in his hand, tilts my head and kisses me. The kiss is strong, absorbing and complete. Darren is satisfied with my answer; he thinks that his six months’ wait on the sidelines has brought me to my senses. And so we move towards the lifts, to the bedrooms. I trust him but he shouldn’t trust me. I am engaged to Josh. And whilst I know now, for certain, that I made that promise for the wrong reasons, I did promise. Poor Josh. Poor Darren. And if I could bring myself to like myself more, I’d feel sorry for me too. I know I should pull away from Darren, stop him kissing me, stop kissing him back and tell him about Josh instead. But I can’t. I’m a coward. Whilst Darren has been the epitome of reasonableness thus far he won’t understand that my fear of loving him drove me into an engagement with another man. I hardly understand it. And I want him so ferociously that I don’t know how I’d continue to live if he stopped kissing me now. So whilst Darren’s kissing me, and illuminating my skin with his strokes, and warming my consciousness with the words he’s uttering, I am making another promise. This time to myself.

This will be the last time.

One last fling before I return to Josh. I may trust Darren but I don’t trust love. And whilst Darren has arrived in my life with a certificate of authenticity, he’s not carrying a lifetime warranty. Josh does. I plan to enjoy every moment of tonight and I’ll make memories that will fortify and edify me for the rest of my life.

That’s what I plan.

We fall on to the bed and he forcefully and repeatedly kisses me. My legs entwine around his, our hands race to rediscover every curve, crevice, ravine and fissure of each other’s bodies. We shed our sticky clothes in a matter of seconds as our skin burns and bleeds into one another’s. He kisses, strokes, licks every inch of my body. Exploring the obvious parts – my shoulders, my tits, my thighs, discovering the discreet parts, my toes, the crook of my elbow, the space between my fingers. I consume him. Tasting his sweat and smelling his sex. I concentrate on the feel of him, which bits of his body are rough, which are smooth. I become familiar with the texture of his hair, all his different hair. His thick, glossy locks, the downy fuzz growing in-between his buttocks, the hairs on his chest that thicken and become more coarse around his groin, the bristles that grow on his chin, right now whilst I’m with him. I listen to his heart and his breathing. Both becoming quicker and less controlled. I smell him. I taste him.

I see him.

The second before he enters me, he grabs my head in both his hands and he looks at me. He stares.

He knows me. Me with his pubes stuck to my cheek, him with my sex on his lips. I tighten my muscles in my thighs and groin in an effort to cling on to him. To keep him exactly where he is now. In me. With me. I wonder how I walked away from this. I wonder how I’ll walk away a second time.

It’s faster and faster and tighter and harder. I can feel my body responding and the response is rising. It’s coming from my toes, circling up through my legs. But it’s started in my fingers too, which seem to be lost in his hair and then running up and down his back. My arms ache with the exquisite brilliance of it. My head spins with the same shocking ecstasy. The intense feelings of luxury creep up my back and through my heart, meeting in my stomach. The meeting fulfilled in acute spasms of rapture. I jerk with sex. I jolt with sex. And when he screams out that he loves me I brim over with a feeling of gladness.

Suddenly everything is crystal. This is the last piece of the jigsaw, the glass of freezing water on a blisteringly, stifling day, the hot, creamy chocolate after an afternoon on the piste, the sunshine on a wet pavement after a summer storm, the thing the songs go on and on and on about. He’s it.

Exhausted and sweating, we fall on to each other.

I watch him execute the logistics of falling asleep: peeing, putting a glass of water on the bedside table, adjusting the air conditioning, discarding the duvet and selecting a sheet instead, and I’m fascinated. I watch him turn on to his side and see that, as his breathing calms, his shoulders rise and fall steadily. I tuck tightly into him. My breasts on his back. His bum nestling in my pubes. My legs folded into his, finishing with my toes in the arch of his ankle. And it starts to fade. The throbbing anger, cynicism and mistrust that I’ve carried around for twenty-six years start to fade. As does the terrible feeling of loss and grief that I’ve been soused in since January. I am simply full of love and hope and possibility. The revelation that we are imbued with something more interesting than physical gratification is velvety. The recognition that I, too, have a need for and ability to give respect, friendship, love and passion sings around my head. This man is my destiny. This man is my life. Fuck it, I’ll risk it. So he doesn’t come with a warranty – so what? I’ll risk it. And I’m so lucky to be able to.

‘Cas, you awake?’ Darren’s whisper interrupts my thoughts.

‘Yes,’ I whisper back, although I’m unsure who we’re being careful not to disturb.

‘I was just wondering.’

‘What?’

‘Will you marry me?’

‘Yes.’

I know. It’s slightly unconventional that I am technically engaged to two men.

18

Here I am in the middle of realizing a dream, a dream I didn’t even realize I had, and it’s good. Really good. Wow. That shit about better to travel hopefully than arrive. Losers. Better to arrive spectacularly and I have.

I have! I’m drunk on euphoria (and only a little bit of fear). I want to bottle the experience and keep it on my dressing table. I know he is it The One. The only one. I’m not sure how I’ll maintain this constant high. But I believe it will all take care of itself.

We stay in the hotel all morning, excitedly talking about when and where we’ll get married. Darren is thrilled when I admit that there’s nothing I’d like more than to marry in St Hilda’s Abbey, Whitby.

‘You mean the church near the abbey. The actual abbey is decayed. It doesn’t have a roof.’

‘No. I mean the abbey. I want to be outside in the open.’

‘We can look into it. I’m not sure of the rules. I suppose once ground is consecrated, it’s always consecrated, long after the roof has fallen in.’ He pauses and kisses a mole on my back. T didn’t think you believed in God. What are you doing? Keeping a foot in each camp?’

‘No, it’s not that. It just feels right. The abbey is so beautiful. I felt calm there.’

We both confess to a hankering for a winter wedding.

‘Although it will be freezing, so I have to consider erect nipples if we are getting married outdoors. They can ruin a photograph,’ I comment.

‘Can they?’ From his tone it’s obvious that he doesn’t think so.