Fishing for Tigers (16 page)

Is it possible to view your own past with clarity? And if it isn't, then how can you learn from it? How can you hope to get better at life if every mistake is mis-remembered, every decision coloured by its outcome?

There was no first move. I closed the door and then we were kissing against it. He began unbuttoning my shirt before I'd even dropped my bag. We kicked off shoes and peeled off wet, clinging clothes in fits of separation as we stumbled up the stairs. When he took his underpants off, his cock sprang up, straight and hard and I almost lost my nerve. But then we crashed against each other again and his hand was tugging at my underwear and I clutched his arse and pulled him down on to my bed.

His fingers slid inside me easily and we both moaned. I reached out, fumbled in my top drawer for a condom, and when he saw what I was handing him he stopped his probing. ‘Are you sure?' he said. ‘I don't want you to feel pressured or anything.'

If only those who judge me knew the tenderness I felt for him at that moment. I have never found another person so beautiful, so deserving of love.

‘I don't feel pressured,' I said, worried I would laugh and hurt his feelings. ‘Do you?'

‘Are you kidding?' He ripped open the packet. ‘This is like Christmas,
and my birthday all at once.'

I did laugh then, for a second anyway. He started to fuck me. He thrust so hard that my head hit the wall. ‘Sorry,' he panted, and dragged me half a foot down the bed while continuing to thrust, and in thirty seconds it was over. ‘Sorry,' he said again, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

‘It's fine,' I told him, though I was on the verge of tears.

He pulled out, sat on the edge of my bed. ‘Give me a sec.'

I wanted to hug him. I wanted him to leave. I couldn't take my eyes off the curve of his arse. I was half-mad with desire. I didn't know what I might do.

‘I'm sorry,' he said and I thought I might scream, but then he turned around and pressed his face between my legs and began to work at me with slow, lazy strokes of his tongue. I shifted my hips, pushing into his mouth, but he held me down with one arm and continued his gentle lapping. His cock waved stiffly, just out of my reach. I felt capable of terrible violence.

‘Stop,' I said and he did, instantly. He looked at me with glassy, worried eyes. I rolled him over, pinned him down, rode him hard enough to break us both.

Outside, the storm intensified. The windows shook as though someone was trying to get inside.

Some time after the sun had gone down and the drumming on the roof had eased, I left Cal sleeping in my bed and went to take a shower. I didn't think about anything. I dried, dressed and then picked our clothes up off the stairs. My phone rang and I followed the sound to my handbag on the hallway floor. It rang out before I reached it.

I was dialling in for the message when Cal came downstairs. His nakedness punched the breath from me. I took in all the things I'd been too out of my mind to notice before: the way the toasted-cinnamon colour of his face and limbs faded into the palest honey on his chest and stomach; the darkness of the nipples I'd not yet kissed; the fine black trail leading from his navel to the improbably neat triangle above his beautiful cock.

Another breathless moment as the recording played. I forced my gaze to Cal's face and met his grin with a nod. I pointed to the lounge where I had folded his clothes. He watched me as he pulled on his underpants and shorts.

‘That was your dad.'

He took an age to put on his t-shirt. ‘What did he want?'

‘Don't worry. He—'

‘I'm not worried.'

‘Okay. He was calling to invite me to brunch tomorrow. At your place.'

‘Will you go?'

‘I suppose. Why wouldn't I?'

‘No reason. I guess we're having brunch together then. With my dad. How wonderful.'

‘Yes.' I tried for a smile. ‘It's getting late. You should go home.'

Cal sniffed at himself. ‘I stink. Can I at least shower before you kick me out?'

‘I'm not kicking you out. I just don't want Matthew to worry.'

‘As if. This is nothing. I'm out late every night.'

‘Are you? Doing what?'

‘Wouldn't you like to know.'

‘Whatever, Cal. If you want a shower then go ahead. If not, then—'

He moved fast, grabbed my forearms. ‘I'm being a dick. I'm sorry. I don't know how to act around you now.'

‘You don't need to act any differently around me. Around others . . . I don't know. I haven't thought about all that.'

He put his head on my shoulder, his arms around my middle. ‘I don't want to go.'

‘I don't want you to go either. But your dad—'

‘You don't want me to go either?'

‘No.'

Cal pushed me onto the lounge. He smelt like the back of the bus on the way home from high school sport, like my first boyfriend's car, like the starburst orgasms that would sometimes surprise me during inept but passionate poundings by adolescent lovers.

There were no starbursts with Glen; he could make me come in five minutes flat. He could keep me in an oxytocin fog for days if he wanted to. After the first few years, he rarely did.

‘So how long have you been thinking about this?' Cal asked, back in my bed, far too pleased with himself after causing me to kick the bedside table over.

‘I've never thought about this.'

‘Liar.' He kissed my shoulder. ‘I don't mind admitting it. I've been thinking about this since I met you. It's made things very difficult. I've had to keep pretending to be interested in all this Vietnamese stuff, all this history and culture and food and all I've been thinking about is how to get this hot redhead into bed.'

‘Oh, if I'd known I would have slept with you much sooner. I'm appalled at the idea of a young traveller being so preoccupied with getting laid that he fails to enjoy the many wonders of Hanoi.'

‘
You
are the wonder of Hanoi,' he said.

‘And you are a very, very sweet boy.'

‘Ouch.'

‘Man. A very, very sweet man.'

‘You're bothered by my age.'

‘Do I seem bothered?' I hooked my leg over his thigh and nuzzled his neck. I was exhausted but his skin was like caffeine. I licked his throat and wondered how long it would be until he was ready to make love again.

‘No, not now. But before. You kept knocking me back, treating me like a kid.'

‘You
are
a kid. Compared to me, you really are.' His chest and abs tensed and I was slapped by a fresh wave of desire. ‘Hey, hey, relax, listen. It's not an insult, it's just how it is. When you're my age you'll think the same thing about eighteen year olds, I guarantee it. But, listen, Cal, the point is I don't care. You're young and sexy and very sweet and I don't have a clue why you're interested in me, but I'm thrilled that you are. I'm not bothered by anything about you. I'm amazed and grateful but, to be honest, I'm also desperate to finish this conversation so I can suck your dick.'

‘Jesus. You wonder why I'm crazy about you.'

Next morning I woke feeling ravenous. Cal had left just hours ago. Although I would be eating brunch soon, I cracked three large eggs into a bowl and whipped them to a shiny pale gold. I scrambled them as my toast grilled and coffee dripped and CNN played in the background. Many things had happened overnight.

I didn't need to look outside to know that rain threatened. Rain would threaten, in between bucketing down, for the next twelve weeks. I dressed in pearl-grey fisherman pants and a loose, long-sleeved grey cotton top. I plaited my hair and applied just enough make-up to cover the fact I'd barely slept. I grabbed my rain poncho and bag and jogged to the corner to hail a
.

At his front door, Matthew placed a hand on my upper arm and pecked my cheek hello. It was an ordinary thing to do, but it sent a tremor through me. Fortunately he had already turned and was climbing the spiral stairs. ‘I wasn't sure you were coming,' he said over his shoulder. ‘I didn't hear back from you last night.'

‘Of course I'd come. When have I ever turned down an invitation from you?'