A noise that sounded sadly like a whimper escaped my lips before I could pull it back, and my ears burned as I took in what he’d said about
“each night,” as in sleeping together each night. Oh my…
We ate a quick breakfast at the house, then headed into town. I fell in love with the village instantly: the old stone streets, the whitewashed walls glimmering in the blazing sunlight, the beauty that poured forth from every open archway. From every speck of azure that peeked through from the coast to the friendly smiles on the sweet faces of the people who called this enchanted spot home, I was hooked.
It was market day, and we wandered in and out of stalls, picking up fresh fruit to snack on later. I’ve seen beautiful places on this earth, but this town was heaven for me. I’d truly never experienced anything like it.
Now, I had been traveling alone for years, finding my own company quite pleasant. But traveling with Simon? It was…cool. Just, cool. He was quiet, the way I am when I’m seeing something new. He never felt the need to fill a silence with chattery words. We were content to soak up the scenery. When we did speak, it was to point out something we thought the other shouldn’t miss, like the puppies playing in a dooryard, or an old man and woman talking back and forth over their balconies. He was a great companion.
We strolled back to the rental car, the afternoon sun toasting through the thin cotton covering my shoulders, when my hand tangled with his in the most unassuming way. And when he took the time to open my door for me, and leaned down to kiss me in the warm Spanish sunshine, his lips and the smell of olive trees were the only things I needed in the entire world.
In the time I’d known Simon, I’d committed several images of him to memory: seeing him for the first time, clad only in a sheet and a smirk; driving back across the bridge with him the night of Jill ian’s housewarming, when we called a truce; warped and blurry Simon as seen from inside an afghan; backlit by tiki torches, wet, and looking devilishly handsome by hot tub; and a recent addition to my Best of Simons? The sight of him underneath me as he clutched me close, his warm skin and sweet breath all over me as we nooked in the Giant Bed of Sin.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, was hotter than watching Simon work. I mean it. I actually had to fan myself a little—which he took no notice of, because when he was working he was delightfully focused.
And now here I sat, watching Simon work. We’d driven up the coast to get some test shots at a place a local guide had told him about, and the perilously handsome Simon now concentrated completely on the task at hand. As he’d explained to me, it wasn’t about the actual pictures he was taking, it was about testing the light and the colors. So as he scrambled his way from rock to rock, I sat on a blanket we’d dug out of the trunk and observed. Perched on cliffs high above the sea, we could see for miles. The rocky shoreline stretched and curled back in on itself as millions of waves poured in from the deep sea. And while the scenery was gorgeous, what had my attention was the way the tip of Simon’s tongue poked out as he surveyed the scene. The way he bit down on his lower lip as he puzzled over something. The way excitement broke over his face when he saw something new through his lens.
I was glad I had something to do, something to fixate on, as the beginning of a battle was starting to wage inside my body. Ever since we’d acknowledged the pressure that giant bed could have placed on us, all I could think about was that very pressure. As well as the pressure of an O
long denied, waiting patiently—and sometimes impatiently—for her release. The pressure was so strong, so intense, that every single part of me could feel it.
Currently taking sides in this internal debate were my brain, Lower Caroline (speaking for the distant O), Backbone, and although she’d mainly kept quiet lately, letting Brain and Nerves take control, Heart was now weighing in.
It should be noted that LC (Lower Caroline wanted a hip but abbreviated name) had somehow drafted Simon’s penis into the fray, and even though his penis didn’t have direct access to her yet, LC felt it necessary to speak up on his behalf. While I didn’t much like the term penis, internally I felt strange about calling him dick or cock, so penis it was…for now.
Now, Backbone and Brain were solidly in the wait-for-sex camp, believing this essential to the foundation of this burgeoning relationship. LC, and therefore Simon’s penis, were in the have-sex-with-him-as-soon-as-possible society, obviously. O, while not officially in residence, could be counted among LC’s supporters. But I felt a twinge, and just a twinge, of her floating above both camps, along with Heart, who was currently singing songs about everlasting love and warm, fluffy things.
Take all this into account and what do you have? One totally confused Caroline. A Caroline divided. No wonder I had sworn off dating. This shit was tough. So was I glad to have something to think about other than the pressure cooker of sex indeterminate? Yes. Could I spend a little more time trying to come up with a more clever name for Simon’s penis? Probably. It deserved it. Mammoth Male Member? No. Pulsating Pill ar of Passion? No. Back Door Bandit? Hell no. Wang? Sounded like the noise those doorstopper things made when you flicked ’em…
I said it out loud to myself a few times, cracking myself up a little. “Wang. Wang. Waaaang,” I muttered.
“Hey! Nightie Girl! Get yourself over here,” Simon called, breaking me out of my wang study. I left behind the mental battle, picking my way carefully across the craggy rocks to where he was poised.
“I need you.”
“Here? Now?” I snorted.
He lowered his camera just enough to raise one eyebrow. “I need you for scale. Get over there.” He pointed me toward the edge of the cliff.
“What? No-no. No pictures, huh-uh.” I backed away toward my blanket.
“Yes, yes, pictures. Come on. I need something in the foreground. Get over there.”
“But I’m a mess! I’m all windblown and sunburned, see?” I pulled down my v-neck just a little to show him how I was beginning to pink up.
“While I always appreciate you showing me your cleavage, save it, sister. This is just for me, just to give me some perspective. And you don’t look windblown. Well, only a little.” He tapped his foot.
“You’re not gonna make me pose with a rose in my teeth, are you?” I sighed, shuffling over to the edge.
“Do you have a rose?” he asked, looking serious except for the shit-eating grin.
“Shut it, you. Take your pictures.”
“Okay, just be natural. No posing, just stand there—facing the water would be great,” he instructed.
I complied. He moved around me, trying different angles, and I could hear him muttering about what was working. I admit, even though I was shy about having my picture taken, I could almost feel his eyes, through the lens, watching me. He moved around for only a few moments, but it felt longer. The internal war was beginning to wage again.
“You almost done?”
“You can’t rush perfection, Caroline. I need to get the job done right,” he warned. “But yes. Almost done. You getting hungry?”
“I want those clementines in the basket—grab me one? Or will that mess with your masterpiece?”
“Won’t mess with it. I’ll call it Windblown Girl on a Cliff with a Clementine.” He laughed and headed back over to the car.
“You’re funny,” I said wryly, catching the tiny orange he threw me and starting to peel.
“Are you sharing?”
“I suppose so, the least I could do for the man who brought me here, right?” I laughed, biting into a wedge and feeling the juice dribble down my chin.
“You got a hole in your lip?” he asked, capturing the moment as I rolled my eyes at him.
“Do you actually think you’re funny, or are you just assuming you might be?” I countered, beckoning him over with the peel. He shook his head, laughing as he took a wedge. Of course, he took a bite and no dribble. He opened his eyes wide in feigned amazement, and I took the opportunity to smash another wedge in his face. His eyes remained wide open, as juice now ran freely off the tip of his nose and on to his chin.