The Fall of Chance (19 page)

He got as far as unbuttoning his shirt and laying it over a chair. When he turned around, Crystal was already under the sheets. Only her head and the tips of her fingers were visible and those fingers gripped the covers like a protective shield.

As he stepped closer, he saw a slither of yellow on the bed’s far side. She’d shed her shoes and dress quickly and left them on the floor, eager to get under the sanctuary of the sheets.

She was watching the ceiling, not him and he quickly dropped his trousers and slipped into bed. He still had his underwear on but figured he’d deal with that in a moment.

It was odd, the sensation of another person in there. It felt like the bed wasn’t his own. Having clothes on in bed was a strange sensation too. He was an alien in his own habitat.

Normally, at this point, he’d wrap himself in his sheets and get comfortable but now that wasn’t allowed. Instead, he found himself mirroring Crystal: back to the mattress, eyes skyward, stiff as a board. They lay there for long minutes.

At last, he turned to her and spoke in a near-whisper, “Look, about what we’re supposed to do…”

“Yes,” she said dully.

“We don’t have to, you know. I, er, mean there are plenty of others who won’t be up to it,” the words tumbled out. “I mean, we needn’t do it tonight, if you don’t want to.”

She turned her head and her eyes bore into his. Such lovely eyes. They were filled with quiet determination, like she’d tapped a resolve deep inside her. “It’s ok,” she said. “If we’re able to, we ought to do our duty.”

Ok, thought Unt, what now? She’d given him permission but she wasn’t exactly welcoming. She wasn’t moving either. She was leaving instigating things to him. Great.

Nervously, he moved his arm toward her. He felt her stiffen like it was a deadly creature moving under the sheets. He tried to glide his arm, smooth and reassuring, but his heart was pumping adrenaline through him and he felt awkward as an industrial machine.

Then his hand touched flesh and it set off a ripple of explosions through his body. It was the greatest exhilaration he’d felt in his life. Her skin was as smooth as the finest fabric, just asking for his hand to slide along it. His brain was in paralysis but his hand moved of its own volition. The magical touch of her body had given it a life of its own.

It slipped over her hip, gliding snugly around its contours, curling down the flatness of her back, skating along the surface.

He stopped at the bottom of her spine, feeling like a thief who’d stolen into a palace and was surprised to have not been caught. His arm was at the extent of his reach. He needed to close the gap between them and she wasn’t going to help him. He would have to make the move but first he’d have to lose his underwear. How he was supposed do that without looking obvious, he didn’t know.

His fingers drew circles on her back as he mulled it over. He hoped it was tender but she didn’t relax any. Finally, he realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere without shedding the last of his clothes and there was no subtle way to do that.

Reluctantly, he recalled his hand and wriggled out of his underwear. He could feel the elastic curling them up as he rolled them over his legs. It felt oddly childish, especially in contrast to the way his body was behaving.

It was a natural bodily function and obviously essential to the act but no-one had ever seen him like this. It was embarrassing: so much so that his mind refused to put it into basic words. It refused to accept what was happening and he found himself thinking in polite euphemisms, as though he was talking aloud.

It sprang out across the bed at her: the tip rested against her leg. It felt like a crude finger pointing across the bed and saying, “I want to fuck you.”

He was ashamed by his body, ashamed how it betrayed his feelings and at the same time, he was fearful about how it was about to be judged. Surely women had an idea of what they expected from a man? Did he measure up? Did he have to worry how he compared to Rob?

No, he mustn’t think of that now. He had to focus on what was good in this. Everything was functioning properly: that was the main thing. Despite all the pressure and the day-long drinking, it was all working like it should. That was the greatest barrier overcome. With that worry out the way, he could focus on winning her around.

Pearson had assured him it was all very simple: take care of her before taking care of yourself. That, he said, was all there was to love-making. Make her happy and it was nicer for her, nicer for you, nicer for everyone. Simple.

Ok, thought Unt, let’s give it a try.

Pearson had been very expressive about what Unt should do and the way he told it, it all sounded easy but Unt was planning a journey off a description of a map he’d never seen.

He took his hand from her back and dropped it between her knees. He started to slide it up between her thighs, edging toward its target. But her legs were unyielding. She might have said “yes”, but her body was responding like she’d said “no”. Her legs weren’t exactly clamped together but they weren’t making things easy. His fingers were trapped in a warm pocket where they couldn’t move and they couldn’t part the barrier unless he put some blatant strength into it.

As they faced this impasse, this silent, unacknowledged battle, he began to think of his other arm, trapped under his body and going numb. He shifted his weight to release it and reached up the pillow to touch her hair.

It was indescribably smooth, almost weightless. He wanted to bury his face in it. Instead, he curled it round his finger, traced it over her cheek, describing the curve of her features with the back of his finger.

Her lips were peppered with the sparkle of moonlight and he moved his mouth in to kiss her. Her lips parted to let him but it was just a doorway held open out of politeness. The passion was all his but he pressed into her as though a kiss could transfer some of that lust into her.

At last, he was rewarded when he felt her give something back. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He tried a little pressure with his right hand and managed to move his fingers an inch. With his left hand, he teased her hair behind her jaw, down the length of her neck and over the ripple of her collar bone.

He knew where he was leading her. She had to know it too. He tried to disguise it, to go slower, but he couldn’t stop himself from racing on. He stroked his finger over the curve of her breast and cupped it. It sat neatly in the palm of his hand like an apple. He felt himself getting more excited, his tip digging into her belly in earnest.

She stopped being an active part in the kissing but she didn’t turn away. It felt like she was waiting to see where he would take them.

With a finger, he found her nipple, hard like a little bullet tip. Unt had dreamt of this moment but now he was here, he didn’t know what to do with it. Pearson had been full of techniques for this situation but Unt stuck to the one basic that seemed to make sense. He drew circles around it, brushing as much as he could at any one time. Round he went, again and again.

Was it having an effect? She didn’t make any sound of pleasure. He tried between her legs again. Another half-inch, nothing more, and then those thighs went tight as ever. Growing impatient, he tried to edge and wriggle further up, hoping that the kissing and stroking would persuade her or at least distract her.

It was more of a fight than he’d hoped or expected. Every half-inch gained seemed to make further progress more difficult. He worried that his technique was monotonous, that the action was dry and chafing. As he stressed over that, he found it hard to keep his attention on the kissing: the front of least resistance.

At long last, his hand got to the top of her leg. It felt like a great mountaineering triumph. His relief was so great that he almost missed the new sensation his fingers were delivering. This was something he’d imagined from the day he’d first noticed girls and now he was lost as to what to do. He felt a confusing furrow of folds and trenches, like a ploughed field and he didn’t know where to go.

Pearson had promised it would be damp, moist and inviting but this new world was as dry and resistant as the legs that guarded it. Again, he put aside all of his friend’s advice except the one, most simple instruction: work your way to the front and begin from there. It was the only advice he had a chance of following in this baffling terrain.

Blindly, his fingers found the front and they started to probe for the area Pearson had described. Would he know it when he found it? Pearson said she’d let you know but doubt ate at Unt. Was Pearson playing a joke on him? It seemed so far from where he should be focusing.

But Pearson was right, when he found it, she let him know. Her fingers closed around his, stopping him.

“No, don’t,” she said.

“But I-”

“It’s all right,” she cut him off, “It’s fine.”

What had he done? Had he got it wrong? All of a sudden, she was retreating back in on herself, shutting the doors that had only just started to part. She rolled away from him; away from his hands and away from his kiss. All of a sudden, she was on her back, head turned to the wall away from him.

Unt just lay there, stunned. When his emotions started to return, they arrived all at once. Confusion, embarrassment, anger, guilt: these and more were all yelling in his head, each proclaiming their own answer to the single question: why?

She was reluctant, she’d made that clear from the start but confronted with such an attitude, so was he. She was the one who said she consented and then she’d left him to it, like she was the one who needed to be won over. So he’d tried to impress her but she’d blocked him at every turn. If she meant “no”, why did she ever say “yes”?

His hurt and confusion must have reached out across the bed because at last she turned her head to him - not her body - and said, “Look, Unt, I-”

“It’s fine,” he repeated her words from before, shrugging off her consoling hand.

“It’s just-”

“It’s fine,” he said again and rolled over onto his back. He blinked back tears. He wouldn’t be weak in front of her.

After a while, he felt a ripple in the sheets. The tips of her fingers closed around his.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “Can we just…get through this tonight and then we can see what happens after.”

Her voice had tears of her own behind it and Unt felt them but he also felt bitter disappointment. Come in, get back, come in, but I don’t want you. What did she want from him?

“Unt?” she pressed with her fingers and words.

Unt had lost the power of speech. There were so many things that he wanted to shout at her, love he wanted to declare to her and things he wanted to talk about with her. If he opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure what would come out.

He answered by squeezing her fingers. It conveyed as much as all those words together could and wrapped them up in a neat conclusion: ok.

This had stopped being a courtship, a romance or a piece of love-making. Now it was a trial that they both had to pass through together.

He rolled back to face her once more, raised himself with his elbow and rolled further over so he was holding himself above her. The sheets were warm and clingy and tried to smother him. He shook them loose but still they clung.

He could see nothing of her but her head and shoulders. Everything else was under the sheets and under his body. He could feel her knees on the outer side of his and knew his elbows were either side of her waist. His hands rested beneath her armpits. She lay there, expectant.

Gently as he could, he nudged her legs apart, little by little. They both knew what was happening but it still felt like it had to be disguised. It was even more absurd, given how undisguised the rest of him was about it. He might not know what he wanted but his body certainly did. It hung above her, ready to strike. Now he had only to use it.

He lowered himself like he was doing a press-up and tried to guide it in but it wasn’t easy. People talked about it like it was a gaping hole and maybe it was supposed to be but Unt felt like he was pushing against a sealed fissure.

He needed a third eye down there, or at least a hand to find the way and guide it but how could he do that and hold himself up at the same time?

Balancing his weight on one hand alone, he brought his other down. He probed for an opening, found several candidates but nothing seemed right. It was all so dry.

Then he felt her hand on his and for a moment, he forgot his confused emotions. But like the rest of her, this hand wasn’t trying to give pleasure tonight. It was just being functional, guiding him toward the target.

When she got him to the right spot he thought it no wonder he couldn’t find it. It was tight and unyielding. If she hadn’t shown him the way, he’d have thought he was in the wrong place.

He tried to push it in but it was difficult. Was she fighting or was it meant to be like this? Little by little, he tried to wedge his way in. It felt wrong, like each push was tearing her a little. She hissed with every small thrust. Pearson had told him that the cries that sounded like pain were really cries of delight but this felt like it was genuinely difficult.

All the while he was fighting his way in, he was fighting to stay upright and struggling against the weight of the sheets. Pressing close to her made pushing less difficult but the trapped warmth of their bodies was making things very hot. The sweat was wringing off his back, sucking the sheets against his skin so they clung like a shroud. He’d thought he’d be enjoying her body right now - the look and smell and feel of her - but instead it was just a press of flesh beneath him.