Ten Minutes to Midnight

***

This time, it was not a kiss stolen, but one shared, given and accepted, and given back. Then given back again, over and over. Almost no pressure, just lips moving against lips, tongue tips fluttering by. We didn't cling to each other, did not even lean closer. She just slipped her hands into mine, as a statement, a new casual comfort zone claimed for her. They belong there, just like my lips belong on yours. For minutes, or for years, it was impossible to tell which, we stood like that, exchanging guilt-free gifts with nothing but hands on hands and mouths together.

Then finally, the time had come for words again.

"You bastard," she whispered into my lips. Over the commotion, I could barely hear her. It was more like reading the Braille of her lips brushing against mine. Then louder, in her normal solid and melodic timbre, "You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"No, you're not."

"You're right, I'm not sorry at all."

Anna laughed, leaned forward and rested her cheek on my shoulder. I couldn't quite figure out what to do next. I should have been pondering what to tell her, how to figure out what went on in her head, the codes to the vault, the magic password. But the massive task echoing in my mind was whether I should put my arms around her. The idea had its appeal, but it would also mean that I had to let go of her hands, a thought that terrified me to no end. What if I let go, and she disappeared?

It was the four-year-old's phobia all over again. The certainty that letting go of my mother's safe hand would tear her away from me forever, that if I relaxed my feverish grip even the tiniest bit, she would be swept away, leaving me alone, in a supermarket nightmare full of mean strangers. I thought I had gotten rid of that feeling forever, that obsessive-compulsive bogeyman spook that made me hold on. But there it was again, just as acute and astute as ever before. What did that say? What did that mean?

"Jamie, stop that!"

"What?"

"You're hurting my hands!"

Her hands. Oh, shit. I mumbled an apology and let go. She looked at me with questioning eyes. Still warmth in her eyes, but a little more reserved than before. She must have wondered, is he always like that? I never asked.

"It's, ah—I—I'm sorry." was all I could come up with.

And for the time being, that seemed to be enough. She gave me a quick smile, and grabbed my arm.

"Come, let's get out of here. I'm freezing to death."

"But," I said. "What about the—um—paperwork?"

Anna turned and gave me another one of those Oh, you adorable oaf-glares that made me fall for her, even months ago when they were only seconds of artful silence on a screen.

"There are no papers, Dumbo. And don't pretend like you didn't know that. You know full and well that I was in here ready to bawl my eyes out because I thought you'd decided you didn't like me."

"What?! Why would—"

"But no matter," she interrupted me. "It seems you were just a slow starter. So, who ratted me out?"

Arní and Linux stood huddled over the geek girl's desk when we emerged from the cold noise of the server room out into the warm and tidy silence of the office. Anna strode right over to them and barked something at them in her native tongue. They looked up and looked genuinely afraid for about two seconds, before breaking out into laughter. Anna couldn't help herself, and cracked a wide grin and threw her hands in the air.

"They're hopeless. All right...which one of you told him?"

"That would be me," Linux said.

"And which one let this monster into my lair?"

Linux pointed a thumb at Arní, who winced. He had reason to, Anna's palm hit his cheek with a loud clap.

"Ow!" he said. "I guess I deserved that."

"Damn right you did. You don't let people into my castle. No matter who it is. I'm serious."

"Sorry ma'am," he said with a chuckle. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah right," Anna said and turned to the Linux girl. "And you—"

She grabbed her by the front of the shirt, yanked the girl up from the office chair and gave her a long, sincere kiss on the lips.

"Takk! Thank you!" Anna said as she let go. Linux plopped back into her chair, stunned silent. Arní looked from one girl to the other, and then over at where I was standing.

"Did that turn you on as much as it did me?"

"A gentleman doesn't tell," I replied.

"Good thing I'm not a gentleman then. Cause that was hot!"

Anna just laughed, and led me by the hand out of the office, out into the city, and a swirl of memories that range from sharp and crisp, to satin red and hazy.

The remainder of the day, I immersed myself in every detail of her face, drank myself silly on the smell of her skin and revelled in the perfect blend of strength and balance that was her body in my arms. I got lost in the blossomy lush of her hair, re-lived her life through the stories she told, or sometimes just drifted away on the melody of her speech.

It was one of those nights, when details are redundant, where every breath is arousing, every movement a hypnotic sway. One of those nights when everything was a little bit more colourful than usual, when the food was a little bit spicier, the wine a little bit sweeter, when everything you said was a little bit wittier, and everything you heard was a little bit more right. There was a restaurant, baked clams the size of hands, with a taste that could stop wars, and tiny cubes of pickled fish with a taste that could start them again. Wine so spicy you had to sip it with caution and vodka so clean you could drink it like water. There were carefree strolls along back alleys and main streets of a small town with a big city rhythm. There were flashing lights and pumping base beats of some club, shouted conversations and introductions to new and old friends. There were the sounds and smells of the North Atlantic colliding with the wave breakers of the docks, while we shared a cheap bottle of random red swill and dangled our legs over the edge of the quay as the sun never quite set.

There were so many things, but only one that I remember with clarity. All the places we went, all the things we did, all the faces we saw, and all I remember is Anna's hand.

It never left mine. Not for a second.

***

I woke up to the sound of rain, a crisp white noise of light drops hitting a windowpane. I woke up to a gloomy grey morning sky seeping light in through closed but thin curtains. I woke in a wide bed in a small room, with antique wallpaper and designer posters on the walls. And I woke up to Anna, her warm body close to mine, her head on my shoulder and strands of her hair like stray lava beds snaking across my chest. I was still fully dressed, and Anna had snuggled up against me in an oversized T-shirt. I could see two smooth thighs lazily stretched from the edge of it, one resting over my own legs. One of her delicate hands lay softly on the skin of my chest, bared in a half-unbuttoned shirt.

It was just one of those serene little moments of perfection in an all too hectic world. One that you wish you could cling on to forever.

"Good morning," came a whisper from beside me. Anna shifted a little, and I felt tell-tale shapes and curves rub against me from two sheets of fabric away, and her leg rode up higher on mine.

"Hey," I mumbled. "I thought you were asleep."

"At three in the afternoon? I've been up since long. I just came back for a nap with you. You're a really nice pillow."

"It must be the jet-lag," I grunted. "I lost almost a whole night flying here, and I didn't manage to sleep on the plane."

"Talk about making up for lost time," Anna said and rose up on an elbow to look down at me. "You simply fell knock-down asleep ten minutes to midnight, just when we got home. Poor, tired thing. I totally run you into the ground."

There were new details in her face, features I hadn't noticed last night. The slightest dimples, a fine, pale line across the right temple, one lone freckle high on her left cheek, like a scout to the larger flock further down. Painted and preened up, she had been a porcelain doll yesterday night. She had been too precious to spoil, just too much on the other side of perfection to harbour unchaste lust for. But here, in pale sunlight, in messed up hair and no make-up to hide the actual human, she was beyond beautiful. She was a body and a soul, with all the imperfections and variations that makes them real, and I needed so much to touch them both that it almost hurt. I reached up to brush the freckle with my fingertip. Anna gave me a quizzing look. I just slid my hand to the back of her head, and drew her closer. There was no jet-jag left. There weren't even any traces of wine and liqueur from last night. Only she and me and this perfect afternoon, this more-than-perfect occasion. I had to kiss her. It was more certain than gravity, harder to hold back than tectonic movement. Our lips met like the tide, slowly but with undeniable force, washing away all other notions.

From there on, I couldn't even begin to give a fair description. When she slid her leg over, straddled me and sunk her ass right down to rub against my crotch, I lost all sense of direction and time. While still sucking greedily on her tongue, my hands sought out her thighs, and two palms slid up the smooth backside of her legs to cup and firmly squeeze her buttocks through thin cotton. The immediate reaction was a moaning gasp straight into my mouth, and the secondary reaction even more delightful.

She broke the kiss and stared down at me with an impish smile, her hair falling like a forest around me. It brushed my face as she rose up, unbuttoning my shirt on her way, until she was sitting straight up, literally in my hands. She had something on her mind, I could see it in the way her eyes moved, in the pace of her breathing. It was the same rhythm that I had learned to love in nothing but her typing at first, then in the prosodies of her voice and nervous winks on a web-cam. Only a hundred times more nuanced, a thousand times more wonderful to watch. The days of screens were over. This was the time for touch, taste and smell. To figure out, hands-on, exactly what she was all about.

First went the t-shirt. Just a swift pull over her head, and it went soaring, for a moment filled with air, before collapsing in a pile out of sight. She shook her hair back behind her shoulders, and her full, bare body revealed itself to me. The neck I had dreamed of kissing, the belly-button I longed to flick my tongue into, the shoulders I wanted to wrap my arms around, the breasts, still hugged together in a plain, black bra. I had seen the shadow of this sight before. Once, a tipsy night in front of a fuzzy cell phone camera, when she'd been braver and bolder than ever before, she had sent a batch of bedroom shots with the outline of what I now had in front of, and around me. But this was something else entirely. This was a woman who was not shy anymore, one that had made a decision and was prepared to live by it to the fullest. This was her privacy, and I was invited.

I started to pull my hands from under her, but she grabbed my wrists and pushed them back.

"Stay put," she said and let go of my wrists.

I knew better than to disobey her when she had that tone in her voice. But I couldn't help wondering what she was up to. That question didn't take long to answer. With her gaze locked with mine, and a sly smile on her lips, she slipped a hand inside her panties and started to slowly move her fingers in gentle, circular motions. Her gaze never wavered, but she started to breathe deeper, parted her lips and tilted her head slowly from side to side.

It was staring at a beautiful painting, or a fractal flower developing. A visual scene in front of me that I kept falling into, losing more and more of myself to. Her breath a hypnotic pace that lulled me to a different kind of sleep, the growth of sensations blooming from between her legs, the constant connection between my eyes and hers. It didn't matter that she didn't let me touch her. Yet. That would come soon enough, and I had all the time in the world. For now I drank the sight of her willing display, a visual gift more intimate than most kinetic ones. The hand between Anna's legs was rubbing on in a faster and faster pace, and I could see through the panties a hint that she had at least one finger buried fully in her pussy. The sweet and sharp fumes of arousal filled the air between her sex and my face, and teased my nostrils with its warm, wonderful fragrance.

Anna's silent breaths were upgraded to short, light moans, and she started to attack her pussy with increasing vigour. It didn't take long before she tore her gaze away from mine, threw her head back and gave up a happy, prolonged groan. I could feel her thighs squeeze and shudder at my hips, and her ass tense up in my hands. She came there, climaxed as the grand finale of some vaudeville act with a one-man audience. Her fingers were still fiercely attacking her pussy, plunging inside of her, and milking a string of pleasure waves out of her body.

And all I did was look. All she wanted was to be seen. A little clearer than ever before, a little closer than she'd ever been comfortable with. To let herself go and explore the idea of exposure to the fullest, before she went any further. That's how she explained it to me, later. That it was a final step in the opening up and teasing that had been going on for months, in messages, in pictures, in late night fantasy lovemaking over the phone and in live video streams. Now there was no more revealing left to do. She had shown me the way to her body, given me the key to her sex.

Her breath evened out, her eyes once again sought out mine. She had the most satisfied smile and the most calm and confident eyes I had ever seen on a person.

"Now," she said.

"Now what?"

"Now you can fuck me."

***

It's the little details that stick. Snapshots from an hour, plunging in to the deep end of the pool, letting myself surrender to the carnal madness that ensued. Her fingers tasting of love juices and night-old red wine, her hair meshing my face, strands blending in with her tongue and lips in ravening, almost violent kisses, her forceful inhales as I sunk deep into her so tender and yet so strong body. Her shoulders and spine flexing against my arms and palms, her buttocks clenching as she rode me, slow and thoroughly, her breasts rocking with the pace of my thrusts as I pounded her, fast and forceful, tiny beads of sweat forming on her thighs, tiny beads of tears rolling down her temples from the corner of her eye, a tiny smile up at my concern, tiny words with massive meaning, "Go on, don't stop, it's all right...."

When I came, I poured six months of torturous longing into her clinging pussy, pressed myself as deep, as close to her as I could. It was a love-drunk moment, sleep tipsy, and high on blustering sex, a feeble, feverish attempt to defy both physics and metaphysics, to become one with this angel and occupy the same spot in the space-time continuum. I kept thrusting my aching cock up her soaked hole while she kept her smooth legs wrapped tightly around my waist and her determined arms wrapped around my neck. She came within seconds, arched her back to lift us both off the sheets, hollered something incomprehensible into the air and dug her fingernails into the skin of my back.

Afterwards she didn't let me go. She kept her legs and arms around me, and my soft member resting inside of her warm and wet pussy. I just lay down on top of her, kissed her gently on the lips, and whispered the "I love you" that I couldn't for the life of me realize why I hadn't said much, much earlier.

Another milestone, some would say. But it didn't feel that way. It was more of a vocal extension of something I had said with every breath the last few days. Anna didn't seem to be very surprised either.

"Do you think I'd let you do this if you didn't love me?" she said with a soft laugh.

"Hey, you're ruining the moment. I read somewhere that saying 'I love you' to a girl is supposed to be a sure way of getting into her pants."

"My pants are on the floor. Be my guest. But I don't think they'll fit you."

And there it was again. Her voice, the tempo of her wit, a tone so pleasant it could forgive anything, and could make you forget any misfortunes, just by idle conversation. I realized there and then that it was that, and not her beauty, not the playful grace of her movement, not the intensity of her lovemaking, that was the reason for those three little words.

That was all it had begun with, thousands of miles away, in front of a keyboard and bytes on a screen. That's what had taken me on a journey to a strange and barren land that smelled of sulphur, fish and archaic legends. To a land of little differences. But when it comes down to it, also something glorious in common.