"We snacked on those delicious fruits, drinking in the
juices and getting them all over ourselves. "
Gurzuf, by Konstantin Korovin,
1916.
Tonight, I ate a tangerine for a snack. While I tried to get out the pits, the yellow acid drenched my fingers and dripped down, completely soaking a Kleenex underneath. I chewed the orange mush, slurping with delight. I swallowed every bit of it and licked my fingers dry. I rinsed them with cold water before returning to type a long letter I was trying to finish. I didn't really have my thoughts together; now and then I would stop and think to rephrase a sentence. It was well past midnight, and my concentration was scattered across the whole universe.
When I think at a computer desk I don't really pay particular attention to my body movements. But I know I scratch my armpits, rub my hands, move my toes, pinch my cheeks, and play with strands of my hair, in no particular order.
So I was moving about trying to finish my tedious task when a very familiar sheer smell hit my nose and brought up a curious recollection from the depths of my memory bank. At that moment my right elbow stood on the armchair rest, my chin rested in my palm with my fingers sliding across my nose and cheek. I must have touched my own armpit with my tangerine-drenched hand; the scents mixed and I inhaled a sweet, dizzy scent of a man I once loved.
There was no mistake – my hand held a tang of his exotic, spicy sweat. Considering I hadn't heard or thought of him in twenty years, I thought this link rather strange. Funny, but no man I have ever hugged, kissed or touched since ever smelled quite like him. That smell was one of the best, sexiest things about him. It drove me crazy, dizzying my mind, making me breathe deep and wanting more. That was the sweaty tangerine scent of my first lover.
I remembered how we strolled along the narrow paved road towards the beach on the night of my eighteenth birthday-the big night when he announced his love to me-his arm around my shoulders, nothing but the darkness of the night and acacia bushes around us. Only a warm, delightful breeze caressed our skin. I would turn my face toward him and lean my head on his chest. And there would be this sweet spicy smell coming from him. I would inhale it and feel completely safe, peaceful and happy.
When we reached the beach, we threw off our flip-flops and ran into the shallow waters, splashing each other with salty Red Sea mist. The midnight soak was majestic. Still dressed in our shorts and loose t-shirts, we floated on our backs, gazing at the tiny jewels scattered across the pitch-black sky. Strands of my long blond hair floated around me like sticky sea-weed. He asked if I could read a message the stars spelled out for me, and I said no. He said he'd read it for me.
"A humble human is madly in love with a beautiful mermaid. She makes his heart sing," he declared and laughed. Then he swam up to me, grabbed my hair and kissed it. His eyes smiled, but his voice was very serious: "I love you. Love you."
My heart stopped beating for a second. I didn't know what to answer, so I waved my hand and splashed his face, and laughed loudly in mischief. He tried to get back at me but couldn't catch me. We climbed out on the shore, and played tag all the way back to town, on the outskirts of which was a small tangerine plantation. We snacked on those delicious fruits, drinking in the juices and getting them all over ourselves.
I was a naïve virgin then, and he was quite a few years older and definitely more experienced. I never really knew his age, but he was my first real, conscious love. He was the first man to really kiss me. We were hiding in a dark shed trying to develop a strategy for exchanging secret letters on the days we couldn't see each other. He pressed me to his hot chest and rubbed my back. We sighed and nuzzled against each other's faces.
I felt cuddly and happy; his smell wafted to me and permeated in my brain. His full lips brushed against my cheeks and pecked every inch of my flushed face. They caressed my mouth and played with my lips. I felt quite comfortable being kissed that way and offered him entry into my soul. He didn't hesitate to accept it.
A large and wet muscle darted between my lips and started a crazy dance. My jaw must have dropped from shock but I didn't protest. I just stood there and allowed his tongue to invade my mouth. And invade it did-sliding fast in and out, all around, pushing against the roof of my mouth and polishing my teeth. I don't know how I didn't choke. It was very weird. But beautiful in some way. My face was burning and glowing crimson for the rest of the evening, but I've grown fond of kissing since that night.
I thought he was my love and lover, although we never had sex per se. We kissed, he touched my breasts and once left me blushing and wondering for years about what exactly his fingers did in my young cunt — explored for pleasure or probed for virginity.
He came for a visit at my house, but my parents weren't home. We sat in the kitchen making small talk. Then I went to the bathroom to pee. When I pulled my jeans up and was going to wash my hands, he walked in and hugged me from behind. It felt so tight and cozy. He kissed the back of my neck. That was ticklish, I wanted to turn around and kiss, but he held me tight. Breathing hard in my ear and pecking at my neck, he held me close and rubbed his crotch against my jean-clad bum.
He never undressed me. But he opened the zipper of my jeans and slid his palm inside. His hands were so fast — I didn't even get a chance to realize what he was doing. His fingers crawled in my underwear and played with my pubis. Fidgeting, I tried to turn around, but his deadly grip held me propped for his exploration. His arms were firm around me and his smell so sultry and insane. I tried to say something but was out of breath. The protests died in my throat as his two fingers massaged my clit.
I was enraged and bewildered, just waiting for him to let go. But he didn't; all the while his hips danced around and his crotch slammed into my buttocks. He whispered something I couldn't comprehend through my fury. Then he gripped my body and when I least expected he dropped his arms and untangled his hands out of my panties.
I ran to the kitchen, and stood there breathing hard, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. He fixed himself and appeared before me as if nothing had happened. That's when I started to shout. I yelled that I didn't like him being like that and if he ever did that to me again that would be the last time he ever saw me. I opened the door and shoved him outside, still yelling and finally mumbling. I slammed the door and cried, bitterly spitting out my indignation.
I saw him a few times afterwards; but soon my parents decided to leave that small town by the sea and I had to go with them. Eventually he and I lost touch.
Now, with so many years, events and lovers between us, I replayed those moments in my head with a rather favorable smile on my face, as my fragrant hand stuck just under my nose. Next week is my thirty-ninth birthday. I shall buy more tangerines at the market.
(c) Inna Spice
