Warmer Climate

Her skin felt moist already. Although the train was air conditioned, she felt her legs, way too hot in her jeans. Her heart was beating just a little too fast and her hands were a little too cold for a hot and humid day like today. She was utterly and noticeably nervous and hoped he would at least pretend to not notice, so she could suffer in silence just a little longer.

When she left the train station, the rain had lightened up just enough, so she didn't need her umbrella anymore. After getting her priorities straight -- iced coffee over anything else- she strolled through the streets. She felt alive. And scared. And maybe this was exactly what she needed.

When they had started talking, she was unsure of what she wanted. She wanted to meet people; she wanted to find good conversation, connection. What she had found was him. Something in his face had drawn her to him, although he wasn't what she would typically consider "her type".

She hadn't expected what happened next -- he had her wrapped around his finger with his creativity, humour, eloquence and wit. Of course there was the enthusiasm of the first flirty messages. But when she began to look closer, she saw something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her face tingled and her stomach sank a little bit. Anxiety was what she expected to kick in, but it was butterflies she felt instead.

When she had reached their designated meeting point, her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She felt afraid and delighted at the same time. Sitting down in a relatively dry spot, she tried to calm down by turning up the volume listening to her favourite song. When Jeff Buckley was just about to stretch that falsetto that little bit too much, she noticed a tall figure standing in front of her. Embarrassed, she clumsily got up and looked at his face, smiling with a mixture of insecurity and curiosity. His smile was different from what she had seen on the pictures. He had told her how tall he was, but in person it was that little bit more impressive. "You are short!" he exclaimed, making her laugh. She was used to that kind of banter and tried to show that she could take it.

Having admitted to their shared nervousness about their meeting for the first time, they had decided to hit a bar and take a shot before dinner. Trusty tequila hit that sweet spot just right, sending a warm, comforting feeling down her belly. But her insecurity didn't subside quickly enough. She tried to calm her nerves, but all that came out of her mouth were too many anxious, bad puns and clumsy flirting that didn't seem to have too much of an effect on him.

She was glad when he offered her a cigarette, which managed to occupy her hands and enabled her to study his features a little more closely. His hands were much bigger that hers, his shoulders broad and his face started to glow in passion every time he started talking about his writing. She could have listened to his passionate descriptions of his characters for hours. She also felt his exhaustion from work, his discomfort in his probably way too hot shirt and his insecurity regarding where they (this?) was going. She kept on reminding herself that all she did was interpreting what she saw, quite possibly over interpreting all of it.

The food was delicious, the beer nice and cold as her lips touched the glass. When they talked about his fatal allergies, her love of pickled ginger and his "day job", she started to relax a little. She decided that she wanted to be friends with him, if nothing else. Reading people was something she usually considered herself good at, but she was out of her depths here. Maybe it was her insecurity, maybe the cultural differences between them. But she was glad she had met him, fear and delight making their dinner taste ten times better than it probably was.

His back prohibited them from walking all the way to the cinema they had decided to watch the movie in. She was a little worried about him when he requested a short break, probably to relax a little and show her an interesting church he liked. Sitting next to each other under a Frangipani tree, she registered his cologne for the first time. She had noticed it before, but just now she realised how well it worked with his body chemistry, creating an invitation she didn't feel like resisting if he brought it up actively. When she put a fallen flower behind his right ear, she registered a scar running down his jaw alongside his ear. Careful not to cross a boundary, she touched it lightly. He shivered, producing an exquisite, deep groan. This was when she knew she wanted to kiss him if he let her.

They didn't get too far after leaving this spot. Thirst and desire for rest made them seek shelter in a close by bar. She enjoyed her icy cold cider standing next to him while he showed her pictures of his work on his phone. This was when the rain started to pour down aggressively, as it seemed to in this country at least twice a week during February -- at least according to her limited experiences. Looking out onto the street, listening to music in the background, being acutely aware of his presence next to her, she felt alive.

Her: This is one of the best moments I've had in Australia so far.

Him: Because of the cider, right?

Her: Yes, of course, only because of that. No other reason at all.

Standing in the rain, waiting for an impulsively ordered Uber, she started to feel cold. He stood there, his back against a wall, using both their umbrellas as support for his tall frame; all she wanted was to be close to him, as vulnerable and naïve as this made her feel. She considered her options for a moment, and did what she had always been good at. Making impulsive decisions following her heart recklessly, being afraid of the fall, but craving the high.

She stepped closer to him, leaning on him, her back against his chest. Their very significant difference in height would probably have enabled him to rest his chin on her head. Instead of stiffening up or seeking more space, he put his arms around her shoulders, using an umbrella as a kind of fence against the rest of the wet world around them. Her heart almost leaped out of her chest, she felt the blood rush to her face, warmth pooling in her belly. Carefully feeling the waters, she started stroking his arms. He didn't protest, and she was able to admire his tattoos a little more. Some little voice in her head reminded her to make a mental image of this moment. It could be a one time thing to be this close to him.

The Uber driver registered their chemistry in the backseat, silently drove them to their destination in the rain, which they reached just in time for the movie.

Sitting down in the dark theatre, she immediately felt a chill creeping up her arms. Damned be this extremely air conditioned country. She quickly registered the lie she told herself. She loved every minute on this continent.

He watched her putting on socks, a jacket and take out a blanked she had brought -- she felt scanned by his amused eyes that combined green and grey in an exquisite way. She was surprised by her own courage when she snuggled up to him and rested her head on his shoulder. God damn this man smelled good.

M: "What happens in a cinema stays in a cinema, right?" he remarked in her ear. Well shit, did he really just say that?

The movie went on, a weird experience she ended up appreciating. Not because of the artistic cut, atmosphere or brilliant actors. It was the way she was able to be close to him, hold his and, stroke his arms, legs. She felt like a dark force pulled her towards this stranger, which he essentially was. She had read his work and felt a pull towards him that was made worse by the way he had shown interest in her in more than one way over the last days.

The old Sailor asked the younger one for coffee, and sure enough they both agreed coffee is always a good idea.

Him: "We should have some coffee."

Her: "I don't think coffee would be a good idea right now."

Him: "Why not?"

Her: "Because my heart is already beating fast enough."

Him: "What?"

Her: "Because my heart is already...."

When she had turned her head to repeat her concerns into his ear, he leaned in to kiss her, so quickly she swallowed her words and all that came out was a satisfied moan.

All that followed ended up being a blur of feelings and sensations in her memory. His lips on hers, his tongue playing with hers, his hand on her neck, on her waist, in her hair, his body radiating warmth, his smile when she moaned into his mouth. He seemed to enjoy the effect he had on her. When he started to kiss her neck, she felt the familiar pull in her belly, heat pooling in her lower abdomen, a shaky groan escaping her mouth. When he nibbled her ear, she knew that she would have climaxed in a heartbeat should he start to rub her clit. She was wax in his hands, and she resented and enjoyed it way too much to care. Was he taking advantage of her? Did he just do this for his own satisfaction? Did he feel the same way she was feeling about him? Not just the raw lust she clearly felt, but also a fascination that went beyond that? Would she be able to find any of this out? Was she way too vulnerable, too naïve, too inexperienced to see what was going on?

Overthinking was her specialty, and she clearly felt like a fool when she stood in front of the cinema talking to him about his badly broken heart, his creative journey, his passion and disappointment. He didn't touch her again, he kept a distance. She felt cold again.

The rain had picked up severely, and she realised that she would have to catch a train soon.

He looked up their general direction and they started walking. First next to each other and her heart sank. "What happens in a cinema stays in a cinema..."

She tried to come closer to him, maybe holding his hand. Somehow they started talking about kissing.

Her: "Can I maybe try again, just to see...."

He stepped into the shelter of a shop's roof and leaned against a window. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her. She had hard time breathing. Not because of the humidity, the heat or the cigarettes she had been smoking. She cupped his face with her hands and felt his skin, his soft hands that he obviously took good care of did the same every now and again. She decided that she would store away these memories, in case this was the only chance she would ever get to kiss him ever again.

The train station was not crowded, but full enough to make them want to wait outside smoking a last cigarette before their train would go. When she turned her back to him, he hugged her from behind and kissed her neck, which made her feel soft, warm and shaky. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it annoyed her. She was too proud, to careful, usually way more reserved, more composed, cleverer, more eloquent. This man turned her into a moaning schoolgirl and she wondered if that was all a game to him. What was it to her, anyway? Hadn't she just told him days ago what her situation was? How much she had changed over the last months leading up to this moment. She was willing to leave her old life behind like an old sweater that didn't fit her the way she wanted anymore. In this warmer climate she wouldn't need a sweater anyway.

Him: "Self-control. Self-control means not to take you to a hotel room right now."

She remembered her curfew. Far gone. So was her doubt. She would have followed him into the dark if he had demanded it. What was left of her wits protested against this outburst of passion bordering on stupidity. He can't possibly be interested in you.

When the train reached his stop, she felt a pang of pain and desire. She didn't want him to go. The deep sense of peace she had felt when they had sat on the bench waiting was long gone. No more stroking his hair, inhaling his scent, being kissed and touched.

Him:"See you again soon?"

Her: "Next week?"

Him: "Next week."

She felt a pang of doubt. Men had said things they didn't mean before. And she was aware just how much she wanted to see him again. Did he feel the same way about her? (The voice spat out in scorn: of course not, silly girl. Why should he?)

Whatsapp him: "It was so fucking hard to leave this train."

Her lips were swollen; her whole body tingled, ached for release. She was aware that she might not see him again. Maybe he would reconsider once the chemicals in his blood had left his system. Maybe he would wake up and realise that she was not that desirable, too much, too fast, too complicated, too foreign, to loquacious.

When she walked home, she enjoyed the cool evening breezy and considered her options.

Most of them didn't look that attractive on second glance. She decided to just breathe, to give this, whatever that was, space. She doubted that she could ever even come close to having a real shot in this. But she was willing to just be herself and admit to herself that there were too many variables she couldn't control, too many odds against her.

The rain had stopped when she stood in front of her house. His smell still lingered on her skin, her hair, his taste still on her tongue. Her doubts mixed with greed and together they would keep her awake for many hot, humid nights to come.

Maybe she was the wrong kind of flower in this warmer climate.