Memories By Our Favourite Spot

This is a short story that just popped into my head. I tried to ignore it but it's holding on like a very stubborn terrier so guess I'm just going to have to put pen to paper...or rather fingers to laptop.

It was partly inspired by someone who I've only known for a short time but whom I now consider a sort of inspiration. This is for you b579. You know yourself. Thanks for reading my poems and sharing yours with me. Meant a whole lot to me.

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I stand looking outside the window and reminiscing. Thoughts fill my head as I remember my life. The good, the bad and the overwhelmingly marvellous. I smile as I go over fond memories and then I cry as I think of how it is now. Then it blurs into a state of the bittersweet. The past clashing with the present. It had been lovely. Not a nicely paved road, but a good journey nonetheless. But now it was over. I stare, my eyes bright and unblinking, yet I see nothing.

***

I was twenty three, he was fifty nine. People saw us walking down the road or going into the supermarket and either sniggered or looked away as quickly as they could. There were those who looked on steadfastly, ignoring us so blatantly that it seemed they had eyes in the back of their heads when they passed. But we did not care. Why should we? We were in love. But in hindsight I guess one could not really blame them. I mean, I was young and he was old; I was dressed in expensive couture and he was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

I was black and he was white.

***

My name is Tamara Nagosi. I am half Nigerian, half Ethiopian. With long wavy black hair, large almond shaped eyes and a very tall, lean stature; I guess you could say I was a beauty. You see, I grew up to be very spoilt. My father died when I was six and I guess his side of the family tried to over-compensate for his death. My mother, who grew up in a strict Nigeria, tried to raise me up the way she was raised. She was stern and smacked me when I misbehaved. Then I would throw the largest of tantrums and my grandmother would swoop me up in her arms and throw my mother an evil glare. I learnt how to play 'the game.' Act in a terrible way, push my mother into raising her hands to smack me and then get my grandmother's doting love and affection. This went on till I was ten and my mother decided she could not take it anymore. She left me with my grandmother and I was pleased. Ecstatic even; now I could get away with anything.

Of course, now that I'm older I understand how my mother had wanted to drill into me that crying to get whatever I wanted was not the answer. That just because I was fortunate enough to have been born into a wealthy family with doting grandparents did not mean I was above everybody. I had been a monster and no one, no one but her had seen the wrongness of my training. Now I wish that I had been better as I grew up without a mother; at the same time I wish she had been stronger and persevered.

***

I was twenty two and slightly drunk when I first saw him. At that time I had not spared him a glance. I had popped into the Starbucks on Hampstead for a much needed coffee. He was there, the only person there actually considering it was as early as 7 am. He was sat by the window, concentrating intently on what he was writing, oblivious to the dreary looking but, to me, wonderfully gray sky. His focus was solely on his notebook. At the time, I didn't care much about this man. All I wanted was my mocha with whipped cream. The perfect hangover cure.

As I grabbed my coffee, waving rather absently at the spotty boy behind the counter, ignoring the wide eyed look he gave me as I left the change from my twenty pound note on the counter for him. I don't think he had ever been tipped that much in his short existence as a 'coffee boy.'

I popped open my flip Nokia phone. It was the phone of the year. Now I laugh to myself as I see everyone with their Blackberry smartphones or IPhones. Forgetting the old Motorolas and Nokias.

I dialled my best friend's number, Alicia and soon was yapping away loudly as I gave her a detailed description of my night with an oil heir in his flat in Hampstead.

I was quickly cut short as I saw scoffed up trainers by my table legs. I glanced up to see the man staring at me furiously. He had the most intense green eyes and for a tenth of a second, all I could do was stare, captivated by his eyes.

Then I snapped out of it as his words crashed into me, 'I'm pretty sure the whole world would love to hear some more about how your man of the night treated your clitoris the way it should be treated, but some of us are a bit put off by your loud descriptions so if you could tone it down a little?'

I stared open-mouthed as he whirled back and marched to his chair, ignoring Alicia's squeaks coming from the phone. I had never been spoken to in such a rude manner in my entire life!

I snapped the phone shut, cutting Alicia off and stared at the man, still shocked. The coffee boy came round and asked, rather timidly, if I wanted him to send the other man out but I shook my head. A part of me wanted to march over to him and demand an apology for his rudeness, but another part, the larger part was intrigued by him. Someone had actually dared to talk to me like that? Especially when I had been surrounded by fawners all my life -- fascinating.

I did stand up in the end. And I did march over to him. But what came out of my smiling mouth was, 'I apologise for disrupting your concentration. Could I buy you a coffee as a proper apology?'

The man looked up. I saw him scrunch his nose a little as if he was trying to place who I was. This caused a little irritation in me. Could he have forgotten who he berated so suddenly? Only later did he tell me that his heart had been galloping when he heard my footsteps coming to him. He had thought I was going to yell or even hit him. We had laughed at this confession.

He shook his head curtly, his wavy brown hair, with a little grey interspersed evenly within it, shaking softly as well.

I was taken aback. I had been told I was pretty -- and I believed it. I was spoilt yes, fawned over yes, probably lied to, but my beauty was one thing I knew for sure was real. I had eyes too, of course.

I could not believe that he had not taken me up on my offer. Was he that appalled by me? I looked at him coolly, coldly even.

'Well, forgive me for being more of a disturbance. Good luck with your writing.' I turned and smartly left the cafe, thinking to myself that it was a good thing I lived far away in Sloane's Square. There was no way I'd be visiting that Starbucks ever again.

***

Two days later, I was there. It had been raining heavily and it was a cold, windy 7.15 am, but I did not care. I had tried to put that man out of my mind but I could not. At first it had been intrigue, then exasperation, and finally arousal. He had stirred something in me. I had never been instantly attracted to anybody. Not whilst sober anyway. My life was a whirlwind of partying and socialising and I always ended up in someone's bed, or in my bed with someone else. But never when sober. This was definitely a first.

It was not even that he was handsome. He was rather ordinary. With his longer than average hair which had grey bits in it, and his alright build and height. But it was the little things that mattered. His eyes. His voice. The authority and lack of adulation. I did not care that he was probably old enough to be my father, and maybe poor due to his lackadaisical dressing; no. I had not even thought to check his wedding finger. He was certainly old enough to be married. None of that. I just wanted to see him again.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, shaking the rain off my umbrella as I did so. I smiled nicely at the same spotty coffee boy whose eyes widened with delight as his face turned red. I looked around, as carelessly as I could, and to my dismay, saw that the only other people there where two middle-aged women drinking and chatting away companionably. I thought briefly of all the effort I had put into my appearance -- my carefully tousled and subtly highlighted hair, my 'natural' makeup highlighting my pronounced cheekbones, my simple looking Pringle of Scotland cashmere jumper tucked rather shabbily into high-waisted Christian Dior trousers. I wrinkled my nose glumly and ordered a large hot chocolate. I needed consolation.

I sat down and slurped my chocolate drink, not caring about the table manners that had been drilled into me by my strict tutors at finishing school. Who cared? As I slurped down the last dregs from my mug, chasing a tiny chocolate piece with my tongue, the door opened and I saw him walk in. I dropped the mug abruptly and tried to surreptitiously wipe my nose; I could feel moisture there and hoped I'd taken care of it.

I saw him glance at me out of the corner of his eye and then he turned from where he had been going and came over to a table next to me.

I tried to smile coolly at him but I think I failed miserably as my face ached trying to accommodate a large grin that it was not accustomed to.

He stared at me for a second, then leaned over to ask me, his voice a husky whisper, 'What are you doing here?'

I looked at him, taken aback a little. I replied as disdainfully as I could, 'What does one normally do in a cafe, dance?'

He smiled with an arched brow. Then he turned to his notebook and began to write.

I sat there for twenty minutes with an empty cup but he never looked up at me.

I got up, resignedly and walked out to my car, telling myself that it was all pointless.

For the next two weeks, we repeated the same scenario: drink, be asked what I was doing there, reply with varying sarcastic comments, sit and stare, then walk out.

The third week I decided enough was enough. He sat down next to me and opened his mouth to ask the same question he had been asking but I beat him to it.

I asked, my heart pounding, 'What do you think I'm doing here?'

He looked at me, surprised for a second. Then he smiled widely and leaned back against his seat, folding his arms across his chest.

I used the opportunity to look at his left ring finger. Bare. I crossed my fingers inwardly.

Then he uttered the words I guess I'd been waiting for subconsciously.

'I live five minutes away from here.'

Score.

I stood up, legs trembling for a second as I put on my coat and walked out of the cafe after him. It was dark outside. The December weather bitterly cold. I thanked all the Powers that Be that I had forgotten where I had left my car keys from the night before. Somewhere in my room most likely. I had taken a taxi instead so no pressure from wondering where to have parked the car now that I was walking silently next to him as he walked, or rather strolled comfortably to his house.

We had barely gotten into the rather dinky flat before he pushed my against the door and ground his lips against mine. Kissing me with no restraint. I clung to him as I parted my lips to let his tongue in. I had never been kissed so relentlessly. So surely. As I got fully into the kiss, sucking his tongue into my mouth and even biting it, he let out a harsh groan and let go of me. It was so abrupt I sank back hard against the door and hit my head soundly.

I rubbed it absently. I did not care about the ache. Why had he stopped it? This had surely been an amazing kiss.

He shook his head as if he could hear my questions and ran his fingers through his hair. He stalked over to the window and stared out of it, to whatever lay below.

'Why?' I asked through swollen lips.

He replied without looking at me, 'Because if I continue I won't be able to stop.'

I waited for him to continue but he did not say anything. So I helped him, 'And?'

He let out a sharp bark of laughter, 'And right now I'd probably be fucking you. Against the door, maybe on the floor, who knows? But I'd be fucking you.'

I shrugged, 'So? I mean, we both want it. And that's the whole point of inviting me back to yours. Why stop now?'

He shrugged too. Although his shrug seemed different to mine. He turned to pin me with his green gaze and replied, 'Because I've changed my mind. I don't want to fuck you anymore.'

I stared at him blankly for a second. Then I got furious, 'You've got to be joking. You bring me here and tease me with an out-of-this-world kiss, then you tell me you don't want to 'fuck' me anymore. And if it was a girl, she'd be called a cock-tease. You stupid prick. Do you actually think you'll be able to get a woman like me ever again?'

He shook his head smiling rather sadly at that, 'You're right. I don't think I'll be getting a woman like you ever again. Which is why I don't think there's any point indulging myself now, when we both know it won't ever happen again.'

I looked at him exasperatedly, who cared about tomorrow? 'How are you so sure it won't happen again? Why can't we just live for now and face whatever happens next?'

He stared at me like he was trying to decide something and I knew he was faltering. I walked up to him sultrily and placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, 'I don't care about tomorrow. Let's just...live now.'

He breathed heavily and I felt the air waft over my forehead.

'I'm probably going to regret this but...' And with that he swung me up over his shoulder, ignoring my delighted shriek as he walked into the bedroom.

It was heaven.

His kisses.

His touch -- my face, my ear, the back of my knee, the inside of my wrists.

Places that had never been paid so much attention before. By the time he got to my pussy, I was panting. Tears streaming down my face, although I was not crying. I felt like my whole body was a pulsing erogenous spot. He merely flicked my clit with his finger before I shattered. I came to with his face above me. Grinning like he had just won the lottery. Guess he had. He had not known it then, but that was the first time I had orgasmed during sex. He smiled tenderly and wiped the moisture off my face. He brought a finger to his mouth and sucked in my tear. This caused my heart to swell. Here was a stranger, whose name I did not know treating me better than all my other male friends whose beds I had shared on several occasions. I could have wept.

He slipped on a condom, then slid ever so gently into me. I held my breath as he did so. Then he slipped out slowly then back in, slowly again. He held me gently as he did so. I had never had sex so tenderly. It was always rough, fast, hard. Him pounding away and me screaming that he moved harder. But this; it was unbelievable. I could feel him stroking every nerve in me. His cock, bumping my cervix gently before withdrawing completely then going back in.

I climaxed again. It was a gentle wave this time, lapping at my lax body softly. I cried as his eyes shut for a second, then opened with a sigh. He had come as well.

This had not been fucking. We had made love.

***

I woke up two hours later. He was standing by his window, smoking and looking outside. I studied him for a second. His face in the light was beautiful. Not in the physical sense. He had lines by the sides of his eyes and his lips, he had a little furrow on his forehead, strategically placed between his eyes. His grey hairs were more pronounced in the weak sunlight. He looked like a man in his fifties or even sixties. But to me he was beautiful.

I think I fell in love with him then.

He turned slightly from the window and looked back at me. For a second we just looked at each other. Then I smiled. After a little hesitation on his part which set my heart speeding a bit, he smiled back.

'I see sleeping beauty has finally tired of snoring.'

I squawked loudly at this. 'I do not snore!'

He laughed and threw his cigarette out of the window before shutting it and coming back to me. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before walking to his wardrobe to get a t shirt and throwing it on.

I looked at him, watching the muscles in back flex as he dressed up. My clothes were on the floor, and when he turned to look at me, sitting up with my breasts jutting out towards him, I felt shy all of a sudden. Like the young twenty two year old that I was. I held the duvet up and pressed it to my chest.

He smiled softly at that. I had thought he would taunt me that he had seen everything, but instead he just smiled. And I smiled back.

That was the start of our relationship I guess.

We met up practically every day. Sometimes we went for coffee at our Starbucks as I liked to call it. Or we sat at his while he wrote away in his notebook and I looked at him tenderly or painted my nails.

He had quit his job as an editor for a newspaper and instead wrote all the time. I asked and asked if I could read but he never showed me. Me, I did not have a job. I hung out with him or went shopping with Alicia or rang up my grandmother if I was in a jollier than usual mood. Or rang up my personal banker to pay my credit card bills. That was my life. Our life.

It seemed alright for the next six or so weeks. Just us in our own perfect little world. Then I got tired of holing up and wanted to be introduced to his friends. And introduce him to mine.

He said no.

I was adamant that we could not stay in his flat forever. He had never even come to mine to visit. He was reluctant but I wore him down. He had no choice but to come with me to Alicia's quarterly dinner party. I had missed her New Year soiree as I had wanted to spend it with him but I was not missing her January dinner party.

On that day, I came round to pick him up as he did not have a car. He was dressed in his customary t shirt and scruffy jeans. The old me would have wrinkled my nose in disgust. Actually I still would have if he was just anybody, but he was my man. My boyfriend. He could wear a burlap sack and I would still love him.

He slipped into my little black Porsche and gave me a half-hearted kiss. I guess he was still unhappy about our foray into the real world, but I did not care. I had told Alicia so much about my man and she was looking forward to meeting him. I had not told that much to our other friend, Paula, but I did not really care about her. She was more Alicia's friend than mine so I owed her no obligation. Plus our friendship was more like a rivalry. She was not as rich as me and she hated it. I could not care less.

We arrived at Alicia's garden flat in Notting Hill and I stretched over to the back seat to grab a cutely wrapped bottle of vintage Armagnac and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

'You ready?' I asked excitedly and he nodded. His excitement was nowhere to be found.

I did not care. I was excited enough for both of us.

We walked together to Alicia's door and pressed the bell.

The door opened and my grin faded to a normal smile when I saw that it was Paula not Alicia who had opened the door. She took in our very different attires. Him all careless casual and me all dressy in a vintage Lord and Taylor dress peeking out from my Burberry coat.

'Tam Tam darling, how wonderful to see you. It's been yonks, n'est pas? Happy new year.' She gushed so sweetly rushing forward to smack the air by my two cheeks. This was my normal way of greeting but I guess I was not too enthusiastic as I was sure he could see the falseness of it all.

I smiled quickly and turned round to him. 'This is Matthew Greene. The guy I told you about.'

Paula widened her eyes dramatically like she had not seen him before. 'Guy?' She tinkled lightly, 'He's more of a man, dear. But he is rather dishy so one could understand, I suppose.'

The blood drained from my face at this rude remark but I could not call her out on it as she leaned forward to smack the sides of Matt's face before leaning back and yelling, 'Alicia darling, Tam Tam's here.' Then she walked off leaving us by the door.