Unquenched (14 page)

Tristan looked at me again, almost with disbelief and in awe of
what he, and what we, were feeling.  As he suddenly embraced me with an urgency
and force, he erased my worries from earlier and replaced them with the
confirmation he was giving to me. 

"I thought of a couple of fun places to go to tomorrow, if
you're up for it after we eat," I offered. 

I was bursting with life and had the desire to maximize my time
and share all that I had with him.  Despite how we spent it, the next day would
be memorable and I was excited to show him New York through my eyes. 

"I'll see you in a few hours," he said, then he kissed
me softly on the side of my cheek and slowly walked out the door to the
elevator. 

I felt my heart race as I inhaled everything about him.  His scent
still lingered, and again, with equal strength, it stirred a steady pulse in
parts of my body that had not recently been moved as easily.  His strong but
lean body sauntered with an air of confidence and natural and effortless
grace.  I had not closed the door as I watched him walk away, and as if he
could feel my eyes upon him, he turned back to give me a smile.  It was his
infectious smile, strong and sexy, that had come to fill my heart.  The elevator
came, he waved to me, then disappeared as quickly as he had come.

The morning came quickly and I had slept soundly, but it was only
8:30 a.m.  I had been eager to wake up, knowing that shortly after I did, I
would see Tristan.  It was all so crazy, the feelings, the situation and the
fact that it would all be just a distant memory in another few hours.  And then
what?  Where would it leave me?  In a place where it no longer seemed possible
to give myself to Jordan, and, unrealistic to share, even moments with Tristan. 
Our worlds were so different anyway, I tried to convince myself.  By 9:05 a.m.
I was dressed and ready and my adrenaline had been keeping me going.  The phone
rang suddenly as I was neatening the apartment and it was after I answered, "Hello?"
that I heard the voice that I had learned to appreciate. 

"Hi, it's me, are you awake?" he asked cheerfully with
his wonderful foreign accent. 

"Hi, and yes, I am, but what are you doing up so early?"
I responded happily, although I was surprised to hear from him almost an hour
early. 

"Well, I couldn't sleep and figured that if I had to be tired
today, you would just have to be tired with me," he said playfully. 

"Oh reeeally," I responded teasingly, as I mimicked the
way he stretched out his "e's." "Well", I added. "You,
my dear, just happen to be lucky because I am up, dressed and ready, otherwise
I would have taken revenge on you for waking me up." 

"And what precisely did you have in mind in the form of
revenge?" he challenged. 

"As I said, this time you're lucky," I teased, avoiding
the bait he intentionally sent me.

"Well, I'll let you off the hook this time, but only this
time," he chuckled.

"So, are you leaving now?" I asked, not wanting to wait
another moment before seeing him.

"Yes, I'll take a cab and meet you at your apartment in about
ten minutes, is that all right?" he asked. 

"Yes, that's perfect," I confirmed.  "See you in a
few minutes,"

I waited anxiously for Tristan to arrive, feeling confident and
excited.  It was progressively becoming more difficult to contain my feelings
the more he shared his with me. 

Just get through the day,
I thought to myself.
 As
soon as he leaves the feelings will dissipate and you will feel more settled
,
I tried to convince myself.

The doorbell rang. 

"Coming," I yelled out. 

"Hi," I said, as I opened the door and he whisked me
into his arms. 

"I have been thinking about this moment all night," he
said, as he pulled me closer to his body. 

"Well that's a nice greeting," I said to him, as I smiled
from ear to ear feeling happier than I had in a long time. 

This is how it should be,
the thought ran through my
head. 
No decision to make, just a secure, innate feeling that makes you
want to go with it,
my thought continued.

"Are you ready, I'm starved," he said with a grin that
conveyed his hunger was not strictly related to food. 

"Good," I said. "Then let's get out of here
quickly, we wouldn't want you to die of starvation," I replied, playing a
little hard to get.

The weather was freezing but the sun was shining brightly and the
warmth from Tristan's arm around me penetrated deeply.  We hurried through the
streets looking for a restaurant, but because it was early, there were not many
places open.  The breath from our mouths formed smoke-like clouds as we
searched for a place to eat. 

"This one looks fine," he said, after noticing someone
inside as he looked through the window. 

"Great, anything to get us out of the cold," I
responded. 

But despite the painful chill in the air, each new minute with Tristan
was an experience that I was thoroughly enjoying.

"Is brunch in the U.S. like brunch in Germany in that you can
you order breakfast or lunch?" he asked me, after we had seated ourselves
at the table.

 "Yes, usually," I responded, as I smiled to myself,
thinking about how wonderfully refreshing it was to be with him and to see
things through his eyes. 

He was in no way naive, innocent or childlike, but he enjoyed
examining circumstances.  He looked at me then, and the smile on my face must have
given away my thoughts, propelling him to chuckle a little out loud. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asked me.  "Are
you laughing at my question?" he inquired, again the inflection in his
voice sounding very British. 

At that, I laughed again and we both got lost in what seemed to be
a perpetual state of laughter.

"Hello," the waiter had said to us.  "I'm sorry,
but we are not open yet.  We open in about a half an hour, can you come back
then?" he asked. 

Tristan and I looked at each other, then around at the restaurant
noticing that it was still completely empty, and for some reason found humor in
the whole situation.  We were riding a high that made everything feel positive
and nothing seemed to bring us down. 

"No, that's OK, we'll just wait here until you open, if you
don't mind," Tristan said. 

"Sure, if you wish, that's fine," the waiter replied.

Tristan took my hands into his, and rested them on the table.  He
caressed them and held them tightly, letting me know with his affection how
much he cared. 

"I don't want to leave, you know," he suddenly looked
more serious than he had been all morning. 

"So, what are we going to do?" I asked, not sure that I
wanted to expose myself any further and contend with the unknown intricacy that
I remotely feared would at some point surface. 

"I don't know, but I'll be back here soon".

Tristan was wearing a preppy purple sweater, with two little
buttons at the collar.  Yet, there was something about him that made the
clothes he wore take on a whole new image.  His image.  The process, by
definition, was referred to as "
transference
".  His character
had the ability to portray his clothes in an entirely new light.  Most people
chose clothing to give them a style.  Tristan clearly had his own.  The sweater
that he wore did not categorize him, it just enhanced his unique demeanor.

"I really like the sweater that you are wearing, it makes
your face look so alive," he said, with ease and a confident smile. 
"And it looks quite good against your long dark hair, the contrast is very
appealing," he added, almost as an observation. 

My sweater was purple, coincidentally, but I loved being
complimented by him in spite of the fact that I knew that the color might be
the impetus behind it. 

"Yes, and these jeans really enhance the rest of my outfit,
don't you think so?" I said, trying to sound British, but also with a hint
of sarcasm as I attempted to make the situation somewhat comical. 

The jeans I was wearing were torn at both knees, a fashion of the
times that was supposed to be sexy.  And they were.  They exposed my tan skin
and had a casual look that shaped the curves on my body. 

He laughed and said, "Well, it looks good, but don't you think
you might be a little cold?" he teased. 

"Well, you might just have to warm me up, do you think you
can handle that?" I challenged. 

"I don't think that you want to test me on that, let's just
say we learn things where I come from too," he said in retaliation while
slipping his hand inside the hole at the knee of my jeans.

He had been taken by me, the way I had been taken by him, and
because of how we viewed each other, our egos swelled at the thought of it.

"Would you like to order?" the waiter finally asked. 

Neither one of us had even looked at the menu yet, and we began to
laugh again. 

"Please give us just a few more minutes," Tristan
requested, as I hid a smile behind my hand.  "Can I bring you something to
drink in the meantime, sir?" the waiter asked almost impatiently as we
were still the sole customers in the restaurant while he had been trying to
prepare to open.

"Yes, pleeease", Tristan said.  He looked at me then and
asked, "The menu says the brunch comes with a
Bloody Mary
, would
you care for one?" he asked. 

"Sure, that sounds good," I said, wondering how we would
survive on almost no sleep and more alcohol. 

"OK, two please," he informed the waiter.  We giggled
like children when the waiter walked away, knowing that he probably wasn't
thrilled with us being there.

As we sipped our drinks, our heads felt light and the world around
us felt dreamlike.  His eyes captured mine as he stared once again, freezing
the energy between us.  He lured me in, as a willing prisoner to a place I did
not want to escape.  Almost a minute had passed, and suddenly, as if he had caught
himself, he shook his head bringing himself back to reality. 

"G-d," he said, "that is unbelie-e-vable."  I
knew he was referring to the intoxicating power and strength of the feeling
that existed between us. 

Despite my fatigue, I felt a surge of desire, a throbbing that
made me want him.  And at that moment, he lifted my hands, found my fingers and
put them into his mouth.  The warmth from his breath and moisture from his
mouth sent a shiver through me to the core.  My eyes closed suddenly and involuntarily
as I held back the desire to moan.  He sucked on my fingers in an affectionate
way that did not appear tasteless in public.  The wetness I felt was no longer
being secreted solely from Tristan's mouth.  I took his fingers to taste them
too, as we experienced heights that were almost unbearable.

"Oh good, the food is here," he exclaimed happily with a
genuine look of relief. 

"And, I am starved," I said, in a manner that matched Tristan's
enthusiasm and what I interpreted to be his belief that we had just been
rescued.  Rescued from behavior that at the time would have been inappropriate,
but conduct we knew we both wanted to pursue.  It was all too good to be true. 
The emotion, the intensity, and the sensation of desire.  And yet time was limited. 
In a few hour's time, he would be gone.

"So, are you ready to tackle Manhattan,
Mr.
International?
"
I asked playfully.  "Oh, and don't worry, if you have difficulty
understanding anyone along the way, I'll be here to help you with your English,"
I abused him, knowing very well already what his hot buttons were. 

"Well
Miss
, I think that you are clearly at the
disadvantage because should we come across something that requires knowledge of
the German language, you, might I remind you, do not know any, and I have not
yet agreed to assist you," he gleefully took revenge. 

"Under the circumstances, I guess that's the risk we both
face, should we choose to spend the afternoon together," I stated with
confidence, knowing full well that there was no other option, for either of
us. 

"Yes, that is true, so shall we...?" he said, as he
extended his arm indicating that I should loop mine though his.  We left the
restaurant without a care in the world and hopped into a cab toward 94th St.

The
International Center of Photography
was perfectly
located for what I had hoped we would do after visiting it.  I had already
known that Tristan loved photography, it was one of the passions that we
shared.  There was a colorful exhibit on China and its culture, something I
knew we would both appreciate. 

"This is excellent," he said animatedly, pointing to one
of the photos that portrayed a traditional Chinese celebration.  "The
color is so vivid," he continued, "I'd like to know what kind of film
this photographer uses." 

He was so interested in everything he involved himself with, down
to the very last detail.  It was a pleasure to be with him, as I too thrived on
the particulars of life, and it was easy for me to share with him.