Footprints - 2. Chapter 2

It’s the promise of what tomorrow will bring that delights you. You’re expecting William to deliver on that promise. You dance in the waves lapping the shore and you play Matt Cardle all night long because you fell in love the first time ever you saw William’s face. Over and over one word replays in your mind

tomorrow.

Your tummy is aflutter. In those fleeting moments of meeting, the chemistry crackled. Stop dancing. You don’t want to scare him off. Keep your excitement in check tomorrow is just another day. But, not for you. It’s the first day of the rest of your life. Besides, you’re not in a relationship yet so why celebrate what is not?

It doesn’t occur to you that he might not come.

You take your mind off him by adding the finishing touches to the painting.

Grey eyes. The sun rises. Tucked pecs. A heavy mist hangs over your beach. Bulging biceps. Thunder. Washboard abs. Lightning.

The sea is rough. The sweeping, wind blown rain turns into a fine drizzle. You check the clouds. Thick and unlikely to move away.

The hour comes. The drizzle drizzles.

No sign of him.

Trust the rain to thwart your plans a sign that this was not meant to be.

Damn the rain!

You’re so deep in thought that you catch only the last knock on the door. It sounds like a log has washed up against a stilt. But you know a knock when you hear one. The door is open and to your amazement

he’s standing there, dripping wet.

‘Hi,’ he smiles.

Your heart melts. ‘You…you came.’

‘I said I would see you today.’

‘Please….please come in. The house is a mess…sorry….sorry.’

‘Don’t mind me. I’m just a little wet.’

‘You’re soaked. I…I’ll get you a towel. Even better still, why don’t you take….you know…take your clothes off in the bathroom and I…I’ll get them into the tumble dryer.’

‘I don’t mind being wet. But that’s a good idea. The sea is too rough to swim. Looks like a strong backwash from here.’

You lead him into the bathroom where he undresses. You hand him a clean towel, and a long blue robe. You’re on the covered patio when he comes out.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

‘Your clothes are in the tumble dryer. It won’t be long.’

‘The view from here is mint,’ he says.

‘Sometimes….you know…at night…you can see the lights of passing ships on the horizon, and during the day, huge tankers. Would…would you like something to drink? Wine…wine or…I have non-alcoholic beverages, orange juice…a cup of tea? Coffee?’

‘A glass of wine.’

‘Wine. Well then…then wine it is. Sweet? Semi sweet? Dry? Red? White?’

‘Whatever you’re having.’

‘Cool.’

He follows you into the house, and, as you pour his glass you notice he is staring at you. You offer him the glass and his eyes seem glued to your face.

‘You…you’re staring. Is…is there something wrong?’

‘Wrong? On the contrary. Everything seems right. You’re very good looking.’

‘Me? I am? I mean am I? Well, thank…thank you.’

‘Are you angry that I showed up on your doorstep?’

‘Angry? No way. I’m…I’m honoured.’

‘Then you must be nervous.’

‘Nervous. Yes…I…I am.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘I…I haven’t had a visitor here in four years. I…I…don’t really know how to…you know…handle myself socially.’

He places the glass on the bar-counter and reaches out for your hand. His hand is soft and it lingers in yours.

‘Will you relax? I’m not going to eat you.’

‘S…Sorry…sorry. I know I should relax, but this is all kind of too much for me.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I…I know who you are. I know you’re in the South African Olympic swimming team.’

‘I see you’ve done your homework.’

‘I checked last night on the internet. I thought I’d seen you somewhere. In the press.’

‘I would have told you.’

‘I know. But I had to satisfy my curiosity. I couldn’t sleep last night.’

‘Me neither,’ he says.

‘Oh. Why is that?’

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you,’ he says.

‘Oh my god, I couldn’t stop thinking about you too.’

By this time you’re both whispering standing an inch away from each other’s noses. Your lips meet. The taste of wine in his mouth. You kiss him over and over again and soon you’re rubbing against his pelvis and his cock is throbbing against yours as you swipe your hands over his chest, and you realise there is no escape from this. You sweep him up into your arms, mouths glued tongues thrashing, and carry him off to your bed. You hope this is not a dream. If it is then let it be one from which you never wake.

To be continued…