Then he pushed her dress all the way down.
“Naked,” he whispered. “Naked for me, April.”
She could not speak.
“Naked and beautiful, April.”
He kneeled before her and his hands went all over her body. Then he stood up, shrugged off his jacket, whipped off his tie, tore off his shirt. He had hair on his chest, she saw. And she threw her arms around him so that she could feel his hairy chest against her soft, tender breasts.
He released her again. She stood before him, trembling, and watched him remove the rest of his clothing. When he was nude she studied him, looked from his face to his feet. Her eyes locked again with his. Then, slowly, he moved closer. His arms encircled her body, lifted. He carried her to the bed and set her down gently upon a pale blue bedsheet.
He joined her there.
His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, exciting. Her breasts tingled with the ecstasy of his touch. His mouth kissed hers, and then his lips left hers to plant a trail of hungry kisses down her throat to her breasts.
When he kissed her breasts something snapped inside her. She turned in to a hurricane, a cyclone, a whirlwind. Her hips churned spasmodically and her pulse soared. An aching need grew in her groin and spread throughout her entire body until she was aware of nothing but her need for him, of nothing but a tremendous aching void that needed to be filled.
His lips.
His hands.
Everywhere—
Normal sensations withered away. The sensual music still played but she did not hear it. She saw nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing. She could only feel, and the intensity of her feeling was unbelievable. He touched her and she vibrated like a taut wire. He stroked her and she arched her back like a bow, ready for him, needing him too much to wait any longer.
“Now,” he said.
And it began.
His mouth was glued to her mouth, his chest pressed against her breasts. Her winding legs pinned him to her, and their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was as old as humanity. She hugged him close, her arms around him, her nails digging involuntarily into his back.
Time stopped. Space spread out flatter than the desert and wider than the world. Everything was perfect now, absolutely perfect, and everything was getting better, steadily better, incredibly better, impossibly more perfect. She felt all the forces of her body crouching together, readying themselves for the spring, and she felt the world racing by her, and she felt her body and his body and nothing more.
Then passion broke for both of them at once. They reached the top of the mountain just as someone moved the mountain away, and they fell together belly-to-belly to the very bottom of the universe.
He had lighted a cigarette. He drew on it, inhaled smoke, and passed the cigarette to her. She took a drag. No cigarette had ever tasted so good. She gave it back to him and leaned back on her pillow. Her eyes closed and she took a slow breath.
She said, “I’m a woman now.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t before, Craig. I was just a girl.”
“You were ready to become a woman.”
“I know. The other boys — they weren’t anything. They never happened. Nothing before was ever anything like this. I didn’t know anything could be like this.”
He did not answer immediately. She opened her eyes and saw that he was smiling. He gave the cigarette to her once again and she took a drag. Her entire body was limp, every muscle entirely relaxed. She had never been so thoroughly exhausted in her life. Not tired — she had no desire to sleep. Simply exhausted, drained and used up and, strangely, fulfilled.
She reached over and touched him. “Such a wonderful thing,” she said. “Little things mean a lot, I guess.”
“Little?”
“Well—”
“If you keep doing that, you might note an increase in size, girl.”
“Woman,” she said, correcting him. “Was I good, Craig?”
“You were good.”
She sighed, stretched, yawned. “I want to be good,” she told him. “I want to be the best in the world.”
“It’s a noble ambition.”
“Am I the best, Craig? The best you ever had?”
“No.”
The answer surprised her. She raised herself up on one elbow and stared at him. “You could have said so,” she said. “Even if you didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t lie.”
“Well, what was wrong with me?”
“Nothing was wrong with you, April.”
“Then—”
“Relax,” he told her. “My God, what sort of vanity could lead you to suspect that you could be the best woman I’ve ever had? You’re practically devoid of experience. You’ve got a great deal of natural talent, but there’s more to lovemaking than enthusiasm and a passionate nature. It’s an art, April. Do you know who was the best woman I ever had?”
“Who?”
“A forty-five-year-old prostitute in Marseilles. She had most of her teeth missing and her stomach was lined with stretch marks because she’d given birth to three children in her lifetime. Some drunken sailor broke her nose once and the bones didn’t heal properly, so her nose was bent. Her face would have stopped most clocks. But she knew more about sex than all the rest of the female world put together. Do you think you could compete with her?”
“I’d like to try.”
He laughed. “Wonderful,” he said. “You’re delightful, April.”
“Was I any good at all?”
“Do you care?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s very important for me to be good for you.”
“You were excellent. I never expected you to be as good as you were.”
“I want to be better.”
“You will be.”
“I suppose I have a lot to learn, don’t I?”
“Of course.”
She drew a breath. “Will you teach me, Craig?”
“I’ll teach you.” He turned to her, and his hand found her breast. With the tip of his finger he drew a miniscule circle around her nipple.
“It’s time for a lesson, April.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Craig reminded her to take a shower before she went home. She relaxed under the spray of water, scrubbed herself thoroughly, rinsed the soap away. She dried herself off and dressed again. The perspiration was gone now, and the tell-tale odors of sex were dispelled. She put on fresh lipstick and studied her reflection in the mirror. There were still dark circles under her eyes, the stigmata of incandescent orgasm, but other than that she looked none the worse for wear. It didn’t show, she thought. She would have looked just about the same after an inspired evening of hand-holding in a movie theater balcony. It didn’t show.
Craig was waiting for her in the living room. She asked him how she looked. He told her she looked good enough to eat.
“Not now,” she said. “You’d better take me home.”
He laughed. The car was at the curb. She settled her behind in the bucket seat and he started the motor. The Mercedes came to life and headed down the dirt road like a greyhound after a mechanical rabbit.
“A nice night,” he said.
“The best in my life.”
“I was referring to the weather.”
“Oh,” she said. The air was cool, she noticed, and the stars were bright in the black sky. There was a refreshing breeze blowing and the speed of the sports car increased the flow of fresh air. She filled her lungs with the air, watched tree limbs sway gently in the breeze. It was autumn, and the trees were losing leaves. Yes, she decided, it was a beautiful night. A glorious night.
“You’re right,” she told him. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“You’re a beautiful girl.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course. I told you I don’t lie, April.”