CHAPTER XVI : LOVE, SEX, AND UNEASINESS.
I walked home missing her direly. Not only that, the Edgar question remained unresolved. I tried not to think about it. Somehow it was enough to believe that she loved me. I thought perhaps she did not want to surrender her grudge without a minimum of retaliation, or still had a fading need of revenge and invented the alternative formula of being fond of me instead of in love. I felt Edgar did not matter after all and that he was ultimately unimportant. That he would soon fade from our life. It was neither a normal human reaction nor realistic but that is how I felt. Her whole bizarre story pointed to that conclusion and if I had to share her for a while so be it. I went home, put on my pajama, pulled the curtains and went to sleep. When I woke up I called Annie and told her I had some studying to do and I would see her tomorrow. She said she would be going to Aunt Agatha in the morning and would be in her room in the afternoon. I felt bad whenever I neglected her but Omar went a long way to keep her from getting lonely. I went down to a coffee bar for a bite and returning to my room I did some studying interspersed with thoughts of Diana.
On Sunday I heard Omar moving about next door and knocked at his door. Since his attachment to Annie we saw much less of each other. He seemed to hold it against me that I defended Annie’s decision to marry Tasos and it was strange that his attachment to her grew as the time approached of her departure while she appeared to be ever more detached. I offered to make us some of my nice Darjeeling tea and he said he would prepare some toast and butter. We often cooperated with our food and drinks. Lately there was a decided awkwardness between us because I could not help criticizing him for neglecting his studies. Not that he paid much attention. I told him it’s a good thing Annie is leaving so he could concentrate on them. He said, oh shut up, mind your own business, and I replied that I thought I had the right of a friend to warn him. You’re not going to Cairo this summer, are you? No, he answered, my father is coming to London for business so there’s no need. Omar’s mother had died a few years back when we were still in Cairo. It’s a good opportunity to catch up with your work, I said. I told you to mind your own business, he repeated. Then he smiled cunningly. I saw her yesterday, he said. Who? I asked. Who do you think, you sly ass? Big deal, I said. Sure it’s big deal, he said. She’s the second woman in your life and probably your last. He burst out laughing. The second woman in my life was when I was thirteen. She was a plump, sexy servant girl at home. She always pretended she wanted none of it even while taking off her knickers. You should write your memoirs, I said. They are bound to be fascinating.
I went back to my room and tried to study. I did concentrate for a while but got tired and started thinking of Diana again. She would spend time with Edgar today. Where? Doing what? She told me a lot about him, would she tell him about me? What was there to say, anyway? Not much. Surely she would not tell him we made love. Unless the relationship was an open one, as she said. Wide, wide open. With Omar I went for lunch to South Ken. At the station newsstand I bought the Sunday Observer and the What’s On in London. Omar bought the News of the World, the smuttiest journal available. Keeping an open mind, I see, I teased him, on all the finest acts and sentiments of humanity, thefts, rapes, divorces, blackmail and murders. And you, he retaliated, are you looking at which opera to go to this week? In a good mood we entered Barino’s and ordered spaghetti al burro. Omar started chatting the pretty waitress. That’s the spirit, I told him. One lost, ten regained. He glared at me. Is that a new proverb? he asked. It’s not a proverb because it does not apply to everyone, I said. We joked and laughed and he jotted down the girl’s phone number. Did you remember to ask her name or will you ask on the phone for the waitress at Barino’s? It’s Kate, you laggard, he said. Wake up. We returned home and I read some articles in the Observer and searched the What’s On for a play. I thought I found just the thing.
At four-thirty I went to Annie. She smiled and kissed me as soon as I entered. I missed you, she said. And I’m so happy you made up with Diana. How did you know? I asked. Omar told me. He saw Diana going to the bathroom in your bathrobe. I think she is a lovely person. Did she finish with Edgar? No, I replied. Never mind, my down-to-earth Annie said. You must have a little patience and suppress your ego. I am sure she loves you. Annie had more or less finished her courses and in about two weeks would be leaving the room. I suddenly realized what a loss it would be for me. We talked and watched some television and at about nine I left. I walked slowly and a little sadly towards Queensgate. I was sure I would miss Annie much more than Omar would.
On Monday, college again, and when I finished went to the Globe Theatre at the West End for tickets. As usual the play was booked solid for the next weeks. Many famous actors were in the cast. I tried at the usual ticket agents. Nothing there for Friday so I bought two tickets for Friday week. On Tuesday coming home late, as usual, I waited for Diana at the South Ken station. My heart was thumping more animatedly than usual and my eyes searched anxiously the emerging hordes. She came out, my adolescent-looking darling with her light gait, her pretty, barely made up face, her blond hair slightly disheveled by the underground air currents and the eyes giving off the aura of a clear Greek sky. I smiled, would anyone possibly guess that this demure little girl was a sexual athlete? A sexual expert, a Kama Sutra aficionado with tendencies of kinkiness and two current lovers? And yet, not a slut but a gentle, thoughtful and, I believed, moral person. I smiled at the incongruity. Diana, I called. Her head jerked in my direction. She recognized my voice. George, she exclaimed, hello, my darling. We rushed to each other and kissed. No longer on the cheeks but a mouth to mouth resuscitation. Yes, it was almost that. Let’s go for a coffee, I suggested. We walked enlaced, my hand around a dainty waist and hers around mine. To Sarabia, the first hang-out of our on-and-off romance. Ordered the usual cappuccinos, talked animatedly with the aplomb of mutual adoration. With Edgar’s shadow hovering above us but fading. Yes, I hoped and believed it was fading. Could it be otherwise with all that happiness in her face? I told her I had tickets but not for this Friday but the next. Oh what a pity, she exclaimed. But we shall see each other, won’t we? Of course we shall, I said. And please book all your Friday nights for me. I am overflowing with the need of you and the need to learn from you. She laughed. You make me out a sex guru. But I am not. The secret of sex, she said, is that it has endless variety while the act itself is basic and unchanging. It is the erect penis penetrating the woman in one hole and sometimes the other. God, that was crude, I said laughing. She smiled amused. And do not imagine I know everything, or that Edgar did. He went after the deviation of his vice, the pain and humiliation. I don’t think that would suit you. Whatever you say, mistress, I replied.
What play did you book? she asked. It’s a play by Graham Greene called The Complaisant Lover. I think the title suits me, I said with a laugh. I am after all a complaisant lover, am I not? Or perhaps, worse than that, I am a compliant lover. But there was no play by that title so I booked Graham Greene at the Globe theatre. Oh please George, don’t exaggerate. I do love you. There, I said it, I do love you. I dropped the word, fond, because it was false and contrived. It was defensive, keeping open an option of self-respect for me. But Diana, darling, Edgar is circling in my mind. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night. I keep seeing him mocking me with his tongue out. Can he be ignored? Give me time, George. If you love me, give me time, she pleaded. And let me tell you that you are complaisant in the sense that you are gracious and inclined to acquiesce to others’ wishes, in this case mine, but you’re my lover. You love intensely and sincerely. I laughed. Will you stop buttering me up, I said, so that I’ll accept the unacceptable. This bloody Edgar sharing you with me. She looked at me exasperated. You must give me time to work this out. There’s no other way. I did not labor the point since the only other option was to leave her and I couldn’t do that. So I shut up. We were so happy to see each other and further argument would have spoiled our mood. We talked some more and after a while I accompanied her to the bus stop and we kissed good bye with desperate hugs as if we were parting forever. I reluctantly went home because I had work to do. It was difficult concentrating though, as my thoughts kept veering to her. I was starting to experience what wiser men than me called, the malady of love. She phoned me on Thursday night and we made an appointment at our usual rendezvous, South Ken station, at eight.
There was still daylight when we met. Instead of a coffee bar we went to a pub and drank white wine. We spent an hour talking and standing in a noisy crowd of mostly regulars who knew each other. When it got too warm and too crowded we moved out of the pub on the street just outside the entrance. A man kept looking at us and asked me if Diana was my wife. He was thin and tall and perhaps in his middle forties. Hair curly and plentiful and just starting to turn gray. I said, no, she is my cousin. He kept eyeing her and told me she was beautiful. I said, isn’t she a bit young to be married? And he answered, yes, decidedly, she is. He must have had one too many or was just lonely and needed to chat. But we are engaged to be married, Diana told him. What? Cousins? he was shocked. Distant cousins, she clarified. You’re pulling my leg, he told her. Your fiancé doesn’t sound English. I want to ask you a question though. Do you remember me? No, Diana answered, should I? Not necessarily, he said, though we have met before. Did we? Diana asked. Your face is familiar but I can’t place you. Never mind, he said with a smile. He moved to the bar for a second drink and to avoid further conversation we returned our empty glasses and walked to the Chanterelle which was close by.
Like last Friday we sat at a small table opposite each other. The place was well lit. No gimmicks of low lights to create atmosphere. Their strength was their cooking skill and recipes. The furniture, tables, chairs and benches were of massive, well-polished oak. There were no tablecloths but individual straw mats for each plate, expensive cutlery and gleaming glasses for water and wine. Once again the restaurant was practically empty but this time it was due to the early hour. The waiter remembered us. Hello, he said, nice and early today. The wine had opened our appetite and we ordered again a specialty. This time chicken instead of meat in their delicious spiced sauces and a Beaujolais. As we were eating and chatting the restaurant kept filling up. The loud upper-class accents and laughs that were indifferent to their surroundings and so confident in their pecuniary wealth were a little tiresome. It is a peculiarly English trait. Perhaps an enviable one, this vociferous self-confidence. It is something I haven’t got. I talk to Diana quietly, careful not to be overheard. We clink our glasses and sip the wine. It goes straight to our brain, our sex centers. I can see it in her eyes. That lost, dreamy look into the future, the near future of my bed, of my naked body and erect penis. But it is not only she that is dreaming. I look at my darling eating her chicken and crave her lovely lips and skillful tongue, her adolescent body, thin legs, the silky, blond hair in between and the warm opening of life. I think of my obsession that was kept cowed and hesitant for so long, finally exposed. But life bids its time, we are not always its masters and for this we call it fate. Why are you so silent, love? I ask. She smiled. I was daydreaming. So was I, I said. Perhaps of the same thing. Yes, she said, of the same thing. So let’s skip the dessert, I suggested. In any case we are so full of wine. Yes, ask for the bill. I want to share it.
We hurried to my room. We felt lucky it was so close. Up the stairs quickly and silently. I hoped Omar would not be in. There was no sound from his room. I switched on the light, ushered Diana in, shut the door and took her in my arms. Oh the bliss of her kiss, the shudders of her desire. We undressed quickly, embraced and kissed standing for a long time. Adam and Eve after the fall without the fig leaf. Hands roaming on our naked bodies. Hers as inquisitive as mine. We kept our moaning to the minimum but could not suppress our love words. We just tried to keep them whispered, distinct and separate from our sighs. She detached herself from the embrace, switched on the bedside lamp and shut the ceiling light. I hope you have adequate condom supplies, she said. Yes, mistress, I said. She sat on the bed and put my penis in her mouth. I wondered at what point in the development of the human species did the discovery of this exquisite ritual occur. Did the cavemen do it? Her mouth was a wet dream of sensuality. Oh my Goddess, Diana, you are divine. Let me return this delight. Teach me what sensual pleasure I can give you. She pulled away, lay back just as she was on the bed, lifted and spread her legs. I looked at that center of femininity that eluded me since the age of thirteen, for I was no Omar, that elusive mystery I dreamed about, not knowing its shape and structure. I looked at it, opened the blossom and put my tongue to it. She held my head and guided its movement and my tongue. Her agonized breath and subdued moans aroused me even more. She pushed me away. The condoms, quickly, she said. I opened the drawer in agony, as if the house was on fire, gave one to her, she fitted it on, got up, pushed me on the bed and, straddling me, slid me inside her. She bent and kissed me and sucked my tongue and started moving in all directions, up and down, left and right, forward and backwards. She was the amazon riding a stationary stallion yet galloping over rolling fields of voluptuousness, desire and pleasure given and taken. In calmer moments we kissed, smiled and talked and she reposed on my chest and I felt her small breasts and taught nipples on mine. I smelled her fleshy body odor which differs from person to person and the lingering smell of shampoo in her hair. Then the need tore into her and the galloping resumed and her frantic kisses hurt my mouth and sucked my tongue. Was she so passionate always? With Edgar? Carol by comparison was as cool as a cucumber.
We changed to the classic position after a long and vigorous journey with her the rider, and to all appearances main beneficiary, but more than pleasurable for me as well. I still held strong and after a little movement on top of her to savor her surrender to lassitude and assert my masculinity, we rolled sideways facing each other and kissed and talked with a perpetual smile on our faces. She kept me firm and interested with slight movements and sly, probing caresses. I told her I would probably go to Egypt in summer mainly because Annie is almost certain to be married. She asked me how long I would be staying there and I told her two months. That long? She exclaimed almost loudly. Long enough, I said, for you to decide whether you want me or Edgar. Fair enough, she said. By the way, do you know what we are doing is called? What? I asked. It’s called coitus reservatus. It is when there’s little movement to avoid ejaculation but enough to sustain an erection. Meanwhile the woman may continue to have orgasms. I laughed. You amaze me with your knowledge and you disprove what seems to be common knowledge, that women tend to be frigid. Maybe you’re an exception. I don’t think so, she said. Common knowledge is sometimes uncommonly mistaken and if women are frigid it’s the man who is usually at fault. His drive is stronger but he must control himself, he must be patient and gentle and arouse the woman with caresses and tenderness. There is nothing worse than selfishness in lovemaking. I should have said in fucking because the word lovemaking presumes love and in love there is always sensitivity and consideration. I understand, I said, but don’t talk too much. It preoccupies you and you neglect your orgasms. I want you to enjoy our fucking. She laughed. Our lovemaking, you little joker. You are still nice and hard inside me and that’s all I need.
An hour had gone by and we were still in the throes of lovemaking, sometimes violent but for longer spells in the reservatus mode, cheerfully and tenderly joined and chatting about everything under the sun. The Beaujolais still held sway. We kissed and petted in perfect bliss between short snippets of dialogue but she eventually pulled away and asked me if I would like to do it doggy style. Sure, I said. We rearranged ourselves and she crouched, her behind high up and her head on the pillow. Put it in from behind but lick me a little if you like. Another view, another thrill. I began licking her vulva and, legs apart, she opened the petals. I saw her puckered anus and wondered if I should include it. I licked it and she took a sudden breath of surprise and agitation. I entered her and the novelty electrified me, built an unbearable tension and I ejaculated. We separated and she kissed me and told me I was her only true love, a wonderful lover who was normal, tender and she was madly in love with me. I said I would not believe her until she left Edgar and she said Edgar did not matter. He was like an extra in a movie. I said that was a very peculiar way of thinking and she laughed. Let’s go to sleep, she said, you have knocked me out but first I need to go to the toilet. It was round about midnight and the house was quiet. She took my bathrobe and went upstairs. I urinated in the sink and when she returned we cuddled together and slept. The bed was narrow and we did not sleep comfortably. I woke up a few times in the course of the night and saw Diana breathing regularly and peacefully next to me and my heart overflowed with happiness. If I believed in God I would have thanked him for this gift.
Daylight stole in through the drawn curtains and woke me up. The traffic noise was sparse on the street below. I remembered it was Saturday. I had a warm body in my arms with a face nestled on my chest, fragrant blond hair under my chin and perfect, thin legs intermingled with mine. A mental disquiet at the back of my mind would not let go but I chased it away. What did it matter if she had another lover? At this moment she was mine. Was mine yesterday too. And the times before that. She said she loved me and for the first time I believed her. Wasn’t it this that mattered? My hand swept the length of her back, returned to her neck and descended to her bottom. Fondled it tenderly and strayed between her legs. She opened her eyes, yawned, smiled, said, good morning, and her hand reached impulsively for my penis. A narrow bed has its advantages, she said laughing. One doesn’t sleep very well but everything is temptingly within reach. We kissed and fondled a little but other bodily functions asserted their need. We took turns at the bathroom, Diana drank her two glasses of water, we brushed our teeth with one brush and I shaved in a desperate hurry because Diana lay naked on the bed in various impishly sultry poses telling me to hurry up. Laughing away. What’s so funny, I asked. It’s you. Shaving away, naked, with an erection. Can I help it, you siren? If you’ll just behave yourself and stop showing me your cunt, I’ll finish in a jiffy. And you stop being so vulgar, she said laughing. First time I hear you using four letter words. I rinsed my face with water and a drop of after-shave lotion and moved to our bed, to her impatient embrace and fiery kisses. We made love in broad daylight, Diana gloriously nude, juvenile and uninhibited and I dressed with the essential Durex that her lovemaking protocol required. The foreplay was progressively bolder and salacious and we enjoyed with infinite delight the struggle of passion that led us to a violent finale. Our morning joust was fiery and speedier in comparison to yesterday’s relatively self-controlled coitus reservatus, which was enabled by ample time and a bottle of Beaujolais. We rested for a while to shake off our soporific sexual satiety and then started dressing.
On the street I was so proud to have her next to me. To have her reach for my hand. She was not glamorous nor sophisticated. In any case, I would not know what to do with such a person even if I had the means to offer an appropriate lifestyle. Diana was all I wanted. She was lovely, lively and intelligent. I asked her, would you marry me if I proposed? She stopped and looked at me. Don’t play with me, George, she said. These hypothetical questions tend to trouble unmarried girls of a marriageable age. Aren’t you happy as we are? Not quite, I said. Oh, I understand. Okay, she said. I thought you were happy. All of a sudden, her cheerful look clouded. I realized I was bringing unnecessary dilemmas into our relationship. There were things that were not easy to change. Neither for her nor for me. I could obviously not marry her at present so I had no right to make theoretical proposals nor to be exigent on the slightest bit of her life. I’m sorry, Diana, I brought this up, I said. It was maladroit. I adore you and I’m very happy with you. I was thinking about it just now as we were walking and this silly thought just crossed my mind. I feel so fortunate that I have even managed to convince myself that Edgar does not matter and I promise it is the last time I shall ever mention that name. Okay, she said. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I picked up her hand which had released mine, kissed it, and we walked slowly in Saturday’s quiet streets to the Gloucester Road station.
There was a small sandwich shop next to the station. It had a counter taking up a third of the shop and just a few tables inside of yellow formica and similarly mingy chairs, which today being a Saturday, were unoccupied. We sat and from the counter I brought our usual breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast and tea to our table. Diana had not recovered her good humor and as I sat down I said, that was a major tragedy. She was startled. What was? she asked. That ridiculous proposal. She smiled. Stop teasing me, you ninny, and anyway, make your proposals when you grow up. All I wanted was to book you for my life, I said. She laughed. At the moment you have me booked for Friday night, Saturday half day, and Tuesday afternoon for coffee. Okay, I said, no objection. I am grateful for whatever crumbs you might throw my way. She smiled. I do love you, George, and I often wonder what the future holds for us. That was the nicest thing you have said to me today, I told her. But do not neglect your tea and eggs. They are getting cold. She smiled and started eating.
I keep referring to her smile. It was always ready to break out. It was my reward for every silly joke I told. Every outrageous comment that came out of my mouth. She accepted with her smile my love of books and the fascinating and different worlds and ideas it opened up for me. Considered with a smile my contempt for religion, which is the scourge and slaughterer of mankind through the ages for it tries to subjugate and rule through the fear of God and the Devil, of Paradise and Hell. Through the savage rooting out of ethical or intellectual divergence. Through the unremitting and poisonous hatred of other religions. Shared with a smile my abhorrence of fanaticism that draws strength from it and from the ignorance it propagates and lack of tolerance for the progressive sexual permissiveness of the West. Smiled in agreement at the emergence of feminism and the fight for women’s equality. I told her I did not like the bossiness of the American women because feminism was not a fight for female superiority, which sometimes seemed to be its goal but the harmony of equal coexistence and opportunities of male and female. Listened with a smile when I talked to her of the ancient Tantric philosophy in the thirteenth century India, where for a spell of two centuries, sexual liberalism was the rule together with the worship of woman as the superior sex and how this was wiped out by the Moslem conquerors and the Victorian puritanism that followed. And it was always there for me this mellifluous smile with the thin lips and perfect teeth, the twinkling blue eyes and eager responsiveness to new ideas.
Shall we go for a walk? I asked her when we finished our breakfast. Where to? Where else? I answered. To one of London’s jewels, the Kensington Gardens. It looks as if it might rain, she said. Oh come on, maybe God will have mercy on us, I said and we set off down Gloucester Road. It was a longish walk and there was a bookshop half way there and we entered for a look. It was a small bookshop but I always seemed to find something to buy whenever I happened to enter it. Sometimes I even bought a book I did nor really want because the girl who ran it was young and sweet and she was obviously a fanatic reader as she always had an opinion on most books I chose. We browsed at the shelves for a while, Diana mostly indifferent and indulgently patient. I bought a book by J.P.Donleavy called Schultz. He was an author that amused me. He was funny, absurd, and mocked our modern society. I also bought The Female Eunuch by the Australian feminist Germaine Greer for Diana. It had come out recently and had become an instant best-seller. I told her that Greer’s book started me thinking about feminism but a feminism that is very particular. She asserts that her goal was women’s liberation as distinct from equality with men. It meant embracing gender differences in a positive fashion. That women must define their own values and priorities and determine their own fates. Among other things, I told Diana, Greer asserts that women should give up celibacy and monogamy. I think you have already achieved that, I said smiling. She laughed but refused to be drawn into an argument, saying, let’s not go into that just now. It might spoil our day. Thank you anyway, George, I shall read the book. Oh, I said, I remember another thing I read. She said that of all the four letter words in English, the only one that still has the power to shock is the word cunt. Diana laughed. Well, it did shock me this morning when you uttered it. Strange, I said, because it is the most elusive and fascinating physical body-part in our sexual life. And what a truly enthralling woman this Germaine Greer is. She was an avid reader ever since she could read. She said, reading was my first solitary vice. I read while I ate, I read in the loo, I read in the bath and when I was supposed to be sleeping, I was reading. Another true and amusing thing she said was that a library is a place where you can lose your innocence without losing your virginity. And she had a passion for libraries. She loved them. How many women can claim the same? I think you will appreciate the book.
When we reached the park and walked a little way on that magnificent manicured expanse of green, we sat on the grass to rest. I slithered and held Diana in my arms and kissed her. I could never get enough of it, of her. There was no satiety. I would be twenty one in September and Diana was nineteen. I did not know how many boys she kissed in her life but I had kissed just two girls. Carol who taught me how to kiss for sexual stimulation and Diana who taught me that the kiss was the language of love. It is a wondrous thing this tactile meeting of wet tongues, of the passionate entry and exploration of each other’s mouth, the reluctance of the lips to let go of the beloved’s tongue, the sucking and the exchange of saliva. And the messages infinite; love, tenderness, desire, passion, compassion, sadness, joy, reluctance, uncertainty, submission, even frigidity and rejection. It is a language that never lies. It is the only completely honest manifestation of the human being. I kissed Diana again and again and tried to interpret her kiss. I could have asked in words, do you really, really love me but I did not want to become tiresome. Her kiss always gave me her answer.
We got up and walked inside that green wonderland holding hands and enjoying the quiet and uncluttered ambiance of the gardens. The weather was cloudy and fresh and perfect for a stroll. For a while we walked parallel to Kensington Road and saw the majestic Albert Memorial and then we turned north towards the Long Water with the statue of Peter Pan and the Italian Gardens. On the way we came across the Physical Energy monument and then we crossed into Hyde Park by way of the Serpentine Bridge. We walked on the northern bank of the Serpentine and sat for a while to look at the rowing boats and skiffs gliding on its surface amongst the ducks and the stately swans. On the opposite bank, some way off, there was a swimming club but no one seemed to be swimming on this cloudy day. We talked, commented and laughed at the incompetent efforts of some of the rowers. I suggested we try our hand at it but Diana refused what, as she said, would be a similar humiliation, and we began walking towards Hyde Park Corner. There, we boarded the number fourteen bus which arrived after a while. We crossed Knightsbridge and at South Kensington kissed her, with almost an aching heart, and got off the bus. My goodness, I thought, being in love is indeed a sickness. I walked dejectedly towards Queensgate and when I arrived home, feeling terribly guilty put my four pennies in the phone box and called Annie. She seemed hale and hearty and asked me to go with her to Aunt Agatha next day as it would probably be her last visit before she left for Cairo. I told her I would be there at ten.