The Neapolitan Question

That gives me pause. Really? I'm going to have Janey in my bed? The surge of heat is almost too much, and I briefly have to resort to mental arithmetic to reassert some control. Over my emotions as much as my cock. I need to think about how to do this. I want it to be good for her. More than good. Wonderful. Loving. Worthy of waiting so long for.

In the meantime, I realise my hands have, despite my best intentions, made their own way underneath Janey's blouse, and I can feel the pattern of more moles speckling her hips and lower back. I blink. Reaching up to push her hair out of my face, she responds, sitting upright, causing me to wince a bit and shift my hips to force her into a less uncomfortable place for me.

'Sorry,' she apologises.

I press two fingers against her mouth. 'No apologising.'

I shift her again, she's so light on me. 'I have a few more questions.'

'Do you?'

'Yes. I do.'

'Such as?'

'Uh -- just about how much experience you've had? How much is going to be new?'

I feel uncomfortable asking, but I don't want to go into this blind. It's too important. Bless Janey, though, she ploughs into her answers, using the kind of straight talking I think must be from the sex education materials she uses with her students. Anyway, it amounts to heavy petting, wanking her high school boyfriend off on what seemed like a regular basis (promising, I can't help feeling, and inevitably my cock twitches with delight at the news), fingers inside but not so often. She didn't particularly enjoy it (less promising, I think, but at least now I'm forewarned).

'Do you think --,' I begin, but she beats me to it.

'Do I think I'm technically a virgin? Intact hymen and all that? I doubt it. Tampons and various medical exams etcetera.'

'Right.'

She laughs. 'I'm not sure I've seen you look embarrassed like this, Frankie.'

'Hmm.' I run the palm of my hand straight up her thigh until it's within a hair's breadth of her underwear, watching her eyes widening with anticipation. She drops forward, planting her hands either side of my head. It's a lovely sight, and I flick my fingers along the front of her knickers. Nice and hot.

'And contraception, Janey?'

The air goes out of her, and a frown pulls at her eyebrows.

'Umm, no, nothing. I --,' she stops.

'Ok then. So we'll have to get something tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow?'

'Yes. Tomorrow.'

'Oh.'

Her face falls with disappointment. I use my arms to coax her back down onto my chest. She feels good there.

'Kiss me some more, Jane, before we send ourselves off to bed. And get some sleep.'

+++

Breakfast the next morning is a nervy affair. We both skitter and slide around the kitchen and the conversation, not quite connecting with each other. It's only as we wash up, busying our hands, that I pluck up the courage to raise the subject of what happened last night.

'Janey,' I begin (imaginatively), 'if you'd rather we forgot about last night, I --,'

She emits a nervy kind of sound.

'Oh God, I've been sitting here absolutely torn between hoping you'd completely forgotten about it and yearning for the exact opposite.'

She spins the tumbler around and around, polishing it dry with the tea towel, head down so I can't see her face. But I think she's smiling.

'And?'

The spinning stops.

'On balance, I think I was hoping you'd remember every single word.'

Without thinking, I bend down and press a kiss to the top of her head.

'Well, I do. But --,' I gently push the very dry, highly polished tumbler down onto the countertop to take her hands in mine, 'it'd be ok if you've changed your mind, Janey.'

'Is that a kind way of saying you'd rather not?'

I tighten my hold on her hands.

'Nope. But I'm giving you an out. Do you want to take it?'

Now she looks up at me, head to one side.

'Nope.'

We smile. She stifles a giggle, bites down on her bottom lip, then spins away from me before I can react, denying me the chance to try out another longer but more sober kiss.

I sigh.

'How about going to Herculaneum today? It's going to be cooler today, whereas the forecast threatens hotter days and storms towards the end of the week --,'

'Yes, good idea,' she interrupts me before I bore on too long about the weather.

I sigh again. Good. I wasn't sure I could spend a day just hanging out with Janey, thinking about how we'd fulfil our agreement of last night. Our "agreement"? What am I thinking? To be brutally honest, I haven't been able to think about it in any productive sense at all. I'm nervous. I've got nothing in my experience to match it. Even though, as Janey's pointed out already, I've been lucky with women, I've never been in anything like this situation before.

'Right then, let's get into the car. It's probably easier to drive to the station and take the train from there. We can stop on the way home to get some food,' (and condoms, I think to myself) 'for dinner tonight.'

It's agreed. We tidy the kitchen rather better than we managed last night and after packing bags, cleaning teeth and checking for bottles of sunscreen, we set off.

+++

We wander through the site, filling our eyes with the beauty of Roman architecture. Jane's wearing a floppy hat to keep the unrelenting sun at bay which makes her look even more British against the Italian landscape.

It's distracting.

She's distracting.

More than a match for the beauty of this historic place.

I watch her pick her way over the uneven cobbles, her long legs lean and delicate. She's wearing a big white shirt over dark shorts, her hair hanging in a straight line down her back, the contrast of it made even sharper in the bright light.

We're back to being jumpy with each other. I alternate between two torturous thoughts. The first -- that she's regretting the whole thing, now we're out in the harsh light of day, and doesn't know how to tell me. The second -- how she'll look and feel as I press myself inside her. Both thoughts cause my throat to close over.

But I'm still struggling with the prospect of it. Of going through with it. It feels all wrong to just get down to it straightaway. A lead-in; the flirting, the eye contact, the touching -- all of that's part of it, before any kissing; and the rest. I want that with Janey. Is that what she wants from me? Or is it just a contractual sort of thing for her? What had she said last night -- she'd thought I'd "be nice about it", and she trusted me. Not much in that to suggest anything beyond a simple fulfilment of the task.

I'm theoretically examining the Casa del Salone Nero when she touches my hand to get my attention and points at a pair of brilliantly coloured butterflies eddying and flickering just to the left of us. We watch them dance around each other, their wings fluttering madly.

'Look at all that energy,' she says, sounding as animated as the best bits of last night's conversation.

'Do you know what they are?'

'Oh Lord no! I'm strictly an indoor, library sort of girl, Frank. Economics, history, and literature only. I know lamentably little about the natural world.'

She's looking up at me, her brown eyes shimmering, almost amber in this light. Of course, I'm being an idiot. We simply need to take this one step at a time, like any other flirtation. Almost regardless of what was discussed last night, since if Janey wants to put a stop to it, that'll be the end of it, "agreement" or not.

'What does go on inside that mind of yours?'

I blink.

'Sorry, Janey.'

She touches my hand.

'Are you thirsty? Here, let's stand over there in the shade and get the water out?'

I follow her, still pre-occupied. We lean up against some modern barriers and I pull the water bottles out, handing one to Jane. It spills as she unscrews the cap and she flicks the water off her fingers. She makes even that look graceful. We both drink deeply. It's a warm day, but, I remind myself, we also both drank quite a lot of wine last night.

'Ok? Not too hot out here for you today?'

She looks up at me.

'No, I'm fine for now.'

I bend my neck, closing down the distance between us, seeing her eyes flare just as I touch her mouth with mine. As before, she seems to wait a few seconds before responding to me. It's a relief when she does; when she opens her mouth to let me in, her eyes sliding shut. I'm aware of her breathing; streams of air brushing against my face, her shoulders rising and falling. It's another sweet kiss. Good. I keep it gentle, resisting the urge to crush and squeeze her into my body.

Until she opens her eyes, glowing with heat. It surprises me, how much desire I think I can see there. I pull on her waist, urging her closer and even closer still, adjusting my stance so she can lean her weight against me.

Her shirt may be long but it's loose. I slide my hands underneath it, finding the soft skin of her back, the tiny nubs of her dark moles arrayed around her smooth hips. I play out in my mind what it will be like to see them with my own eyes. Later. When I take her clothes off. My cock jumps at the thought. And again when Janey presses harder against me. I don't want to stop. Kissing Janey is wonderful.

Just then, a grey-haired couple walk by, the bloke murmuring his admiration for our display of passion, not very quietly, to his partner. I don't suppose he thinks I understand enough Italian to know what he's said, but when he catches my eye, he flashes me a complicit grin. I lift away from Janey, my eyes back on hers, prolonging the intimacy of the moment while we re-set to more polite behaviour. I pull my hands away from her skin, smoothing the shirt back into place. And regret the retreat of her hands from my hips.

'Umm,' she seems speechless.

'Time for lunch?'

'Yes, good idea,' her voice sounding a bit shaken.

I reach for her hand, testing to see if I've done something she wasn't sure of, and am relieved that she squeezes mine.

'Ok?'

'Yes! Gosh, yes. But Frankie, you don't need to do -- I mean -- it's --,' and she grinds to a halt, almost comically unable to complete whatever it is she's trying to say.

'Don't, Janey.'

'Don't what?'

'Look, I'm not doing this out of anything other than greedy self-interest.'

That's got her attention.

I decide to take another risk; to bare more of myself. 'Because I want you.' I tug at her hand, pulling it towards me.

She exhales.

'I'm not fabricating anything here, Jane. This is what I want; how I feel.'

She pretty much knocks the air out of me as she falls against me, throwing her arms around my back and making me feel as if I've saved her life. She's talking but I can't hear a word of it because her face is pressed against my t-shirt.

'What? Jane, I can't hear a thing you're saying.'

She tips her head back. 'Sorry. I -- I -- but, what I mean to say is, I hope you aren't just feeling a sense of duty about it all? I'd hate that, really, and would rather stay an old maid if it's going to be just an embarrassing chore, really I would.'

'It's not a chore. Not even close. Not for me.'

She studies me for a few seconds, then nods to herself.

We both stand up and straighten our clothes. I take her hand again as we walk down the path, but I'm thinking about what she's just said. Wondering what this means for her. No -- that's not accurate. What I mean to her. That's what's filling my thoughts.

+++

We opt for an early dinner, walking down into the village where there's a choice of exactly one place to eat -- basically Paloma's front room and terrace overlooking the tiny central square. A modest fountain and a small tribe of mismatched dogs populate the square day and night. It's the sort of village no tourist would ever visit and all the better for it. Because Mike's family has been here for generations, we all get treated as locals. Sort of.

Paloma makes a big fuss over seeing me, and inevitably we spend a good twenty minutes catching her up with the events of little Frankie's broken leg and consequent delay to the arrival of the whole family. She clucks at the news, pressing me for more and more details, all the while giving Jane warm but curious looks. Speculating who she is to me. I'd brought Cate here, briefly, last summer as we'd struggled through our grief. No doubt Paloma is bursting to know what's happened since then. I'm grateful she doesn't ask.

'I didn't know your Italian was that good,' Jane comments as Paloma finally bustles away from us, shooing one of the smallest, scruffiest dogs off the terrace.

'It isn't. I fake it and Paloma is good enough not to call me on it,' I pour some water into our glasses.

'Hm. I think you're much brighter than you like to let on.'

I study her profile as she takes a sip of water.

'Aren't you?'

I still say nothing. She perseveres.

'Your work seems as though it requires a lot of specialist knowledge and judgement. Don't you advise people on how to win complicated engineering projects? Is that right?'

'Yeah,' I shrug. 'But it's just stuff you can learn by rote.'

'The technical stuff, I'm sure, but not the advisory aspects -- that takes intelligence.'

'Nah, it's just common sense, Jane. It's not proper brainy work. Nothing like you. Ellie told me you're halfway to a doctorate?'

Now it's Jane who shrugs.

'I had to stop last year. Part of the whole existentially-challenged Year of Difficult Times, etcetera,' she wafts her hands around, trying to disperse the bad vibes. 'But I'm taking next year as a sabbatical from school to try to write it up and submit. And sort out a few other life issues along the way. I hope.'

'Are you? Taking a sabbatical, I mean?'

'Yes. A whole year. The school weren't too keen at first, but when I was ill the first time, it seemed to push them towards being more generous.'

'Good. You're worth holding onto.'

She lets a small smile curl around her lips before taking another sip of water. 'Actually, Ellie keeps telling me to stay on here. To live here while I write it up.'

'Does she? Seems like a great idea to me. Will you?'

She picks up her hair in one hand, twirls it around her fingers until it's gathered up in a knot at the base of her neck. I watch errant strands escape and float around in the warm air.

'Maybe. It's certainly a tempting offer, especially since the alternative is my dad's draughty old bungalow in Elgin.'

'I'll say!'

She smiles more widely. Again, I watch her as she sips at the water. I'd forgotten she was from Elgin. So far north. Growing up alone with a rather old-fashioned, authoritarian sort of father. I reach into my memory for information about her mother; draw a total, puzzling, blank.

'But I don't know if I could get used to living in the villa here by myself, it seems so big and empty when there's just me there.'

'Maybe you'd get used to it?'

She just smiles, rather enigmatically, and then Paloma's nephew arrives bearing plates of delicious food.

+++

We walk back from the village, picking our way along the narrow lane as the sky begins to darken. Even though it's been a relaxed meal I feel more and more tense the closer we get to the villa. Who knew that being on as sure a promise as this could make me feel more, not less, anxious?

She yawns as we fumble our way into the kitchen, squinting as we switch on the lights, and I determine then that whatever happens tonight, it won't be the whole deal. She looks tired from the day walking around Herculaneum and probably needs a good night's sleep more than she needs anything else. And we have time. Ellie and the kids aren't getting here for almost another week.

She picks up the kettle and sets it onto the hob.

'Anything? I'm going to have some mint tea.'

I lean against the wall, watching her pulling a glass mug out of the cupboard for herself, and a tumbler for me, flapping my offers of help away and pouring a generous measure of whiskey for me. As the kettle starts to boil I open the doors to pick some fresh mint leaves and hand them to her, enjoying the little smile on her face.

We settle in the living room except tonight, I sit on the same sofa as her.

We both sip our respective drinks.

'I've been thinking, Janey, about our -- um --,'

'Agreement?'

I smile at her look of mild amusement, taking the piss out of herself as much as me, I think.

'Yes. That.'

'And?'

'That we can take a bit of time over it.'

She cocks her head, sipping from the mug.

'Get to know each other a bit. It'll be better that way,' I add.

She's listening to me with that intent look on her face. Then wrinkles her nose.

'Ok. That sounds nice, actually. Thoughtful.'

'And I reckon we need to give the most adventurous of your teenagers a run for their money, don't you? Before everyone else arrives and cramps our style?'

She laughs, then. Puts her mug down and moves a little bit closer to me. I lift my arm to tempt her even closer, drawing her shoulders into my side, relieved she wants to do this. To cuddle, I mean. Just to touch.

I sense her body gradually relaxing against mine. The closeness begins to relax me, too. I curl my fingers up and down her arm, enjoying the rise and fall of her ribcage next to me as the spell of another warm summer evening casts itself over us. We talk about Paloma's cooking, about the littlest of the dogs in the village pack; inconsequential things, the villa creaking and settling back into its foundations as the day comes to a slow close.

She shifts her position, drawing her legs up and edging nearer. I turn to look at her to find her face already turned to mine, her lovely eyes regarding me with a mix of curiosity, is it, and appraisal? Still a bit unsure, I bend my head and feel a surge of excitement as she tilts towards me, her lips already parted.

A bit less tentative as we first touch, pressing more firmly against my mouth.

Fleetingly, I hope she doesn't mind the taste of whiskey; nearly laugh when I remind myself she's a Scot and it was probably added to her mother's milk. She tastes of mint tonight. I go a little more roughly this time, pulling and sucking at her lips and tongue; gratified when she responds with matching energy. Shocked at how quickly it drives my heartbeat higher. I shove my hands around her ribs and pull her onto me.

She eases back, surprised. Then presses her lips to mine again, settling into her new position on top of me. I've always loved these huge old sofas, and now I love them even more, as I stretch my legs out underneath her, with room to spare. I let her explore my mouth; letting her dictate the pace for a while, opening my eyes to watch her.

And confirm that this really is Janey.

Kissing me.

And starting to press her body down onto mine in small increments. Which is having its effect, inevitably. I grunt, lifting her just enough so I can use a hand to adjust myself.

'Oh, um --,'

'It's ok, Janey. Just needed to get more comfortable.'

'Hm. I keep thinking I'm going to do something wrong, and make it really crap for you.'

'Unlikely,' I try to reassure her.

'But --,'

I press her hips harder to me, tilting mine up, giving her not much room for doubt.

'I'm not lying here thinking of Emily Blunt and England, Jane. I'm thinking of you. And feeling you. Can you feel the effect you're having on me?'

She looks momentarily winded, then as if she might giggle, and then something else. She snatches at her breath.

'Frankie, God, I think I'm beginning to understand why all the girls like you, so I am.'

'Mmm,' but I'm preoccupied with the feel of her bare skin as I push my hands underneath her shirt for the second time today. Moving rather more boldly, until I reach the clasps on her bra, where I rest for a minute or two, wriggling one finger underneath the strap.

She lies still, maybe making some decisions about what's next, because she begins to sit up, shifting her legs to either side of my hips to do so. I bite on the inside of my mouth to stifle a groan, not wanting to draw her attention from what she wants by distracting her with my desires. My pleasure can wait.