THE FIRST TIME

The room was dimly lit as Patience entered. She never imagined it would be like this. Her thoughts were of palm trees and golden sands. Lobster Thermidor and pink bubbly champagne, of swaying winds and gently flowing tides. Of being looked after, nurtured, and caressed. Gently, she would lie under the sheet of stars and study them at her leisure; she'd watch the sunrise and, with it, take her time with this adventure.

She wanted to enjoy every minute and have each one logged in her diary of life. Those transcripts would be filled with fantasy, imagination, passion, and emotion. Patience wanted to be able to look back over the pages and remember.

Sitting back, she rested her poor, weary feet on the table and sipped the Miller Lite that should have been champagne. Lying her head back, she looked up to see the plain ceiling. She grabbed the patio doors, pulling the sofa to its edge so she could look up and dream. The plough wasn't visible, but the bright lights from the canal made up for its absence. At this moment, she wanted to be wrapped up in a little box with a ribbon and a sign saying please handle with care; she was in tune with herself and wanted everything to be right.

She closed her eyes tighter as she heard the music play; she could hear him, his deep, resounding voice, that sexiness that could only be him. The way his lyrics echoed made her shiver. Barry White could do that like no other; she'd grown up on a diet of good soul music, real music, her mother used to call it.

“Girl,” she would say, “when I was not much older than you, I was fed the greats like... Solomon Burke and Otis Redding, remember Dock of the Bay?” Then she'd start clicking her fingers and singing:

Sitting in the morning sun, I'll be waiting till the evening comes, watching the ships roll in, and then I’d watch them roll away again.

Those were the days. She'd snuggle up closely and listen to her mother tell stories of Aunt Jody, of how brazen she was when the sailors came ashore. Then she would sing some more, dance the jive, then weep because it brought back memories of being young again, and then, she would apologise for crying. This part for Patience was unpleasant, what was there to be sorry for? Sometimes, they'd sing and cry together; it felt good for them both. They were more like sisters than mother and child; they talked about everything, and Patience's mother wanted her to have everything she didn't.

“Experience life to the full,” her mother would say, “because you don't know when the good lord will come to take you. I know one thing: I want to be ready when he comes. I don't want to say I never did this, or I'm sorry I did that; when the father comes, I want it to be with open arms so we can dance, all the way back to heaven.”

As these thoughts flowed through her, the night air brushed her cheeks, its sensual touch making her smile and sigh slightly; its caress teased her; she pushed her hips down into a warm sofa. Patience sipped on the brew and closed her eyes to the stars. Barry’s voice was still drifting from the stereo, curling through the room like a blanket. She lay contemplating the moment, the journey she was just about to take, knowing that once she arrived, she could never come back. She could feel the moment stretching in front of her, like the hush before the curtain rises, the stillness that comes before the leap. Patience had thought about this often. At first, she was afraid, then curious. She had talked about it, even seen it occasionally. They'd laughed on those occasions, laughed at the embarrassment of it all. What a lovely way of looking at it, dance back to heaven.

The music changed and the new artist awakened something within. As she heard his deep voice bounce off the walls, she closed her eyes tighter and smiled as its depth embraced her body.

“Come on and go with me. Come on over to my place,”

She could see candlelight and a massive marble fireplace. Two glasses of deep red wine sat on top of a stained glass table sparkling amongst the changing light; it was heaven, and she was there.

“I don't feel like being lonely tonight. You see, I want some company, and you look like you’re just my type; you’re the kind whose spirits are running free.” Oh, how she loved that song! It brought back memories of her father mock serenading her mother; he'd put his hand on his heart and waltz over to her, trying to be every ounce the man she'd first met. He'd put on his sexiest voice, and she would act all shy and coy. Slowly, he'd caress her hand and bend on one knee as though he were about to propose.

“Let's take a sip of some cold, cold wine, and we can be each other’s company, now, how does that sound to you? You see, ‘cause it sounds so good, it sounds so good to me,” And they'd both melt as he sang the chorus, “Come on and go with me, come on over to my place, baby you won't be under any kind of pressure.”

Then they would fall about laughing as he'd walk towards the bedroom, beckoning her with a cocked finger. Through laughter, Patience was reminded that his singing helped bring her into the world, and then he would pinch her nose playfully, for it reminded him of his own. He would say music is full of memories; there's a song for every occasion. Patience wanted her own song, one that her daughter would remember when she was older, which she could be serenaded to in later life.

She felt the touch, a touch that had been alien to her for so long, but now she could feel it tingle her spine and warm her insides, like mulled wine on a cold winter’s night, like chocolate as it melts in the mouth, like the forbidden fruit she was just about to taste.

Patience looked out onto the canal. Its water cut into zigzags from the moon and surrounding barge lights as the music from the room danced in time, to the tide ebbing and flowing to the sounds of lyrical foreplay.

Her eyes looked to the stars as she felt the warmth take hold, the warm sweet breath as lips met lips, sing Teddy, sing. “I'm lying here waiting, my dear. You can get what you want anytime you want it. Tell me what you wanna do, tell me what you wanna do, baby”

Ear lobes tingle as her body collapses in submission. The limpness in her arms disappears as she holds on to the long, strong back beneath her. She strokes it gently, and it arches like a yawning lion. Spinning her over, softly, slowly, as lips meet lips, followed by nose, then chin, followed by breast, as his tongue stops right there. She can hear herself moan as her nipples harden and her hips soften and her mind free flows, her heartbeat quickens, the pace is almost too much to bear, then her body fades underneath him, then writhes back up again. Softly, slowly, then faster... the music gets louder as he sings and she sings. The room becomes a crescendo of music, lighting up the stage, and they dance and sing until they collapse under a multitude of tiny atoms that appear spinning wildly in front of their very eyes.

Breathless...she holds onto that final moment to remember the passion. That intimate, total ecstasy...

The first time.