Chapter 6

Still Rob.

So. Lisa and I facing each other across the room – not that we were that far apart in a studio flat. After an endless silence, her face crumpled. I took a step forward, she did the same, and she was in my arms, crying.

“Baby?” What am I saying? Baby? Pet names?

“Rob ... I ... my Dad ... he’s ... Oh, God...”

So I held her until she calmed somewhat. “Lisa, I need to sit...”

“Oh! Rob! I’m sorry...” She relaxed her hold and I followed suit.

“Don’t be.” I made my way to the nearest seat, a two-place sofa, and she plonked herself beside me.

“Rob, I don’t know how to say this...” she sighed, but stiffened and stood abruptly, went to a drawer in her sideboard which I knew contained a tangle of personal documents. Once I’d seen more or less what was in there I hadn’t gone in it again. She rummaged and produced a thickish diary and thumbed through the pages. “Read this,” she said, handing me the open book.

It was handwritten, neatly and very legibly, in pen and ink, not Biro.

‘May 23^rd. I met someone today, and had my first ride pillion on a motorbike. I loved it. Dad would be so cross. Rob was so different to anyone I know, and I really like him. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and kind of shy. I wish I knew how to get to know him better. I don’t think he’s likely to make a move on me. Not like Norman Rudnal, or Charles Smythe ... or any of that set, for that matter. I gave him my phone number and told him to call. I hope he does.

I only glanced at the next entry and looked up at Lisa. She took the book, flicked a couple of pages and pointed.

‘May 30^th. Quite by accident I saw Rob in the Waterstones Café. Told him off for not calling, and made sure I had his phone number. We’re going for another ride! I promised to treat him to lunch for thanks.

“Lisa, I ... don’t understand.” I handed the book back to her. “But, you know, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since we met.”

“Me too. That’s ... what I’m trying to say.”

Deep breath, Rob. “Lisa, I think ... I love you.” There. It was out. What would she say?

She quirked a smile. “You think?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been in love before. I’ve never thought about being in love before. And I’ve known you, what, three months?”

Her smiled broadened and she leaned in to kiss me gently. “It is quick, isn’t it? But I think...” she paused, holding position a few inches from my face, “I think I love you, too.” Kiss. “Actually ... I’m pretty sure I love you, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have confronted my father like that.”

“I don’t want to make trouble with your family.”

“That was inevitable. While no-one would have been good enough for his daughter, those men he considered prospects were never going to make the grade for me. My father, though I love him, is arrogant, bigoted, and a snob. He’s prejudiced against people who indulge in sports like rock-climbing, and dislikes motorbikes on principle; he can just remember the, um, problems between mods and rockers in the sixties. Bikers just got a really bad reputation. Possibly worse than anywhere else in the world. The weird thing is he’ll get excited about a football* game, or international cricket or tennis. He plays golf for heaven’s sake and, I think, actually enjoys it. Of course, golf is a necessity in business. But, Rob, for you, I will fight. I need to fight if I’m going to marry someone at all compatible with me.”

*Football. If I really need to emphasise this, in Britain and much of the world, ‘football’ means soccer, not that brutal, complicated variation of Rugby played in America.

“I’m not well off, you know. I earn enough to keep me, but not much more. If I’m to support you, I’ll need to get a ‘proper’ job.”

“Not really. You like what you do, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“If you feel you need to support me, that’s a different matter, but I am quite well off, even when Dad cuts off my allowance. I got access to my trust fund when I graduated, and that’s enough to live on even if I never work another day. Archaeology is never going to be a great income, but I knew I could afford to do that. With my doctorate, I’ll be able to teach, too.”

We were silent together. I, for one, was assimilating the idea of losing my independence, but gaining a very special partner. “Lisa, will you marry me? I’m...”

“Yes!”

“ ... old fashioned.”

What had I done? Married? To Lisa? And she said yes? But any questions I may have had were silenced by her lips on mine, and soon we were too involved for me to pursue them.

My mobility, of course, was limited by the light casts on my right arm and leg, but my left hand was free to roam. At first, over her back and shoulders, but when I brushed the side of her breast, she pulled away. For a moment I thought I’d overstepped the mark, but she grabbed my hand and pressed it, firmly, against her breast.

I had never, ever, felt anything so good, despite the outline of her bra, clearly perceptible through her thin shirt. She groaned and pushed against me as I squeezed, then abruptly whipped the shirt over her head and unhooked the bra.

Oh, my.

Soft/firm. So firm that despite their weight, they hardly sagged at all. Hard nipples. Smooth skin. She snuggled against me as I explored her contours. Her hand tugged at my t-shirt so she could get at the skin of my back.

Please understand, this was so far out of my experience, and so ... instinctual? Is that a good word? That I was not, absolutely not thinking ‘whoo-wee – I’m going to lose my virginity’ – or even ‘let’s see how far she’ll let me go’. Thus it came as quite a shock when she stood and skinned down her jeans and panties, then the long socks she wore underneath, to stand naked and magnificent before me. Any impression of power or control, though, was undermined by a sheen of sweat and a perceptible tremble.

I struggled to my feet, unable to resist taking in her beauty. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re over-dressed.” She stepped closer to me. “I don’t do this, you know.”

“I’m amazed you’re doing this with me. I just think you’re too beautiful and too intelligent for me.”

“No, I’m not.” She stepped right up to me and took the hem of my t-shirt in both hands. It wasn’t easy to strip it off, because of having to work it over the cast. My jeans, rather baggy, were easier. I was naked for the first time in the presence of a non-medical, non-related, woman. “You look pretty good,” she commented, scanning up and down. “It’ll be better without those casts, but I don’t want to wait.”

“Sorry?” You can imagine that Rob Junior was standing happily to attention, unconcerned by any reservations or embarrassment I might have.

“Get over to the bed,” she ordered.

That was a no-brainer. But when I got there, she perched on the side of the bed next to me, took my right hand and pressed it to her breast again. There would be no better way to short-circuit my thought-processes than that.

“Rob...” she hesitated. “Rob, I might as well be a virgin.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but rather than nothing, I responded, “I am one.”

She smiled. “Yeah ... but what I want to say is, you’re the first person I’ve actually wanted to have sex with. Or, rather, the first I’ve wanted to make love to. And ... it’s got so I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Well, I ask you – what would you have done? Anyway; I could only be myself. “I love you, Lisa. Whatever pleases you is good for me.”

“I don’t know...” pause, “how to ... proceed.”

“It would be quite nice to snuggle and kiss some more,” I suggested, but went on, “on the other hand, if we’re getting heated, there’s nothing wrong with my tongue. My arm might be of little use, but I’ll happily eat you out. If you want to reciprocate, you could give me a hand-job while I lick you.”