Sushi for Beginners
Page 87
Before they left Marcus insisted on washing his teacup.
‘Leave it,’ Ashling said, as he dashed it under the running water.
‘Ah no.’ He placed it on the draining-board and turned to her with a grin. ‘My Mammy taught me well’
She got that feeling again. More buds poking their heads up.
The place he took her to was intimate and rosy-lit. At a corner table, with their knees occasionally touching, they drank cold white wine so dry it sucked at their teeth, and admired each other, dewy-skinned and flawless in the candlelight.
‘Hey, I like your…’ And he gestured at Ashling’s shell top. ‘I never know the right word for women’s clothes. T-shirt? I’ve a feeling I could cause grave offence by calling that a T-shirt. But what do I call it? A top? A blouse? A shirt? A vest? Whatever it is I like it’
‘It’s called a shell top.’
‘So what’s a blouse then?’
Ashling took him through the various options. ‘You must never, ever say “blouse” to any woman under sixty,’ she said gravely. ‘You can compliment a woman on her vest if you mean a sleeveless T-shirt. Not if it really is a vest. In fact if it really is a vest, I’d advise you to leave immediately.’
Marcus nodded. ‘I see. God, it’s a minefield.’
‘Hold on.’ It had just occurred to her. ‘Are you pumping me for info for your act?’
‘Would I do that?’ he smiled.
The food was unobtrusive, the talk was easy, but Ashling had the feeling that it was all a type of prelude. A trailer. With the main feature to come later.
When the bill arrived she made a half-hearted attempt to contribute.
‘No,’ Marcus insisted, ‘I’m having none of it.’
Because you expect to be having plenty of it later
Out on the street he asked, ‘What now?’
Ashling shrugged, then couldn’t help giggling. Surely it was obvious?
‘My place?’ he suggested softly.
He kissed Ashling in the taxi. And again in the hall of his flat. It felt very nice, but when they broke apart, she couldn’t help looking around, checking the place out. She fancied him, but she was also keen to see how he lived, to find out about him.
It was a one-bedroomed apartment in a modern block and the grunge factor was surprisingly low.
‘But it doesn’t smell funny!’
‘I told you, my Mammy trained me well.’
She turned into his living-room. ‘Look at all your videos,’ she gasped. There seemed to be hundreds lining the walls.
‘We could watch something if you like,’ he said.
She did like. Torn between attraction to him and childish nerves, she welcomed a delay.
‘Pick one,’ he invited.
But when she began scanning the shelves, she slowly realized something odd. Monty Python, Blackadder, Lenny Bruce, Laurel and Hardy, Father Ted, Mr Bean, The Marx Brothers, Eddie Murphy – they were all comedy videos.
She was confused. On their first date they’d had a lively discussion on their favourite films. He’d claimed to like a wide variety of stuff, but you’d never know it from looking at his shelves. Eventually she plumped for The Life of Brian.
‘An excellent choice, if I may say so, madam!’ He produced a bottle of white wine for her, a can of beer for himself, and they tentatively snuggled together in front of the telly.
Ten minutes into the film Marcus touched her bare shoulder with his index finger and began to stroke it slowly. ‘Asssh-liiing,’ he crooned with an intensity which flipped her stomach. Almost afraid, she looked at him quickly. He was staring at the screen. ‘Now watch carefully,’ he urged, in the same low tone. ‘One of the greatest comedy moments of all time is coming up.’
Mildly disappointed but ever obedient she paid attention and when Marcus dissolved into convulsions she couldn’t help laughing herself. Then he swivelled round to her and asked, like a cute little boy, ‘Would you mind, Ashling?’
‘What!?’ Sleeping with me?
‘If we watched that again.’
‘Oh! Not at all’
When her heart rate had slowed down to normal she decided she was touched that he wanted to share what was important to him.
‘So were they pleased about me saying I’d do the column?’ he asked, some time later.
‘Oh, delighted!’
‘That Lisa, she’s some piece of work, eh?’
‘Very persuasive.’ Ashling wasn’t sure how smart it would be to start slagging off Lisa.
‘You should get the credit for it, though.’
‘But I didn’t do anything.’
Marcus looked at her with meaning. ‘You could tell them you persuaded me when we were in bed together.’
The naked intent in his look made her throat seize up. Then she swallowed as if eating an oyster. ‘But that wouldn’t be true.’
A long pause, where his eyes never wavered from hers. ‘We could make it true.’
Her high spirits had worn off. Disappeared, in fact. It felt too soon to go to bed with him, but to resist would seem old-fashioned. She simply could not understand the ridiculous timidity which paralysed her – she was thirty-one years old, she’d had sex with lots of men.
‘Come on.’ He stood up and tugged gently at her hand. Something was telling her that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
‘But the film…’
‘I’ve seen it before.’
No kidding.
Shyness wrestled with curiosity, attraction fought with fear of intimacy. She wanted to sleep with him and yet she didn’t, but his urgent need was compelling. She found herself on her feet. A kiss went some way to persuading her, and she was in his bedroom. It wasn’t a fluid dance where fumbling disappeared and clothes dissolved without clumsiness. He hadn’t been able to get the hang of unhooking her bra, and when she saw how large his erection seemed in the narrowness of his hips, she had to look away. She trembled like a terrified virgin.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m shy.’
‘So it’s not because of me?’
‘Oh no.’ His vulnerability made her try harder. She gathered him to her, which had the double effect of pleasing him and ensuring she no longer had to see his hardness springing from its nest of hair.
The sheets were fresh, the candles a surprising touch, he was thoughtful and attentive and never once remarked on her absence of waist, but she had to admit that no, she wasn’t entirely transported. However, he was very appreciative, and she enjoyed that. It certainly wasn’t the worst sexual experience she’d ever had. And the best sex had always been slightly unreal, usually taking place during making up with Phelim, when the joy of being reunited added an extra piquancy to an already compatible experience.
‘Leave it,’ Ashling said, as he dashed it under the running water.
‘Ah no.’ He placed it on the draining-board and turned to her with a grin. ‘My Mammy taught me well’
She got that feeling again. More buds poking their heads up.
The place he took her to was intimate and rosy-lit. At a corner table, with their knees occasionally touching, they drank cold white wine so dry it sucked at their teeth, and admired each other, dewy-skinned and flawless in the candlelight.
‘Hey, I like your…’ And he gestured at Ashling’s shell top. ‘I never know the right word for women’s clothes. T-shirt? I’ve a feeling I could cause grave offence by calling that a T-shirt. But what do I call it? A top? A blouse? A shirt? A vest? Whatever it is I like it’
‘It’s called a shell top.’
‘So what’s a blouse then?’
Ashling took him through the various options. ‘You must never, ever say “blouse” to any woman under sixty,’ she said gravely. ‘You can compliment a woman on her vest if you mean a sleeveless T-shirt. Not if it really is a vest. In fact if it really is a vest, I’d advise you to leave immediately.’
Marcus nodded. ‘I see. God, it’s a minefield.’
‘Hold on.’ It had just occurred to her. ‘Are you pumping me for info for your act?’
‘Would I do that?’ he smiled.
The food was unobtrusive, the talk was easy, but Ashling had the feeling that it was all a type of prelude. A trailer. With the main feature to come later.
When the bill arrived she made a half-hearted attempt to contribute.
‘No,’ Marcus insisted, ‘I’m having none of it.’
Because you expect to be having plenty of it later
Out on the street he asked, ‘What now?’
Ashling shrugged, then couldn’t help giggling. Surely it was obvious?
‘My place?’ he suggested softly.
He kissed Ashling in the taxi. And again in the hall of his flat. It felt very nice, but when they broke apart, she couldn’t help looking around, checking the place out. She fancied him, but she was also keen to see how he lived, to find out about him.
It was a one-bedroomed apartment in a modern block and the grunge factor was surprisingly low.
‘But it doesn’t smell funny!’
‘I told you, my Mammy trained me well.’
She turned into his living-room. ‘Look at all your videos,’ she gasped. There seemed to be hundreds lining the walls.
‘We could watch something if you like,’ he said.
She did like. Torn between attraction to him and childish nerves, she welcomed a delay.
‘Pick one,’ he invited.
But when she began scanning the shelves, she slowly realized something odd. Monty Python, Blackadder, Lenny Bruce, Laurel and Hardy, Father Ted, Mr Bean, The Marx Brothers, Eddie Murphy – they were all comedy videos.
She was confused. On their first date they’d had a lively discussion on their favourite films. He’d claimed to like a wide variety of stuff, but you’d never know it from looking at his shelves. Eventually she plumped for The Life of Brian.
‘An excellent choice, if I may say so, madam!’ He produced a bottle of white wine for her, a can of beer for himself, and they tentatively snuggled together in front of the telly.
Ten minutes into the film Marcus touched her bare shoulder with his index finger and began to stroke it slowly. ‘Asssh-liiing,’ he crooned with an intensity which flipped her stomach. Almost afraid, she looked at him quickly. He was staring at the screen. ‘Now watch carefully,’ he urged, in the same low tone. ‘One of the greatest comedy moments of all time is coming up.’
Mildly disappointed but ever obedient she paid attention and when Marcus dissolved into convulsions she couldn’t help laughing herself. Then he swivelled round to her and asked, like a cute little boy, ‘Would you mind, Ashling?’
‘What!?’ Sleeping with me?
‘If we watched that again.’
‘Oh! Not at all’
When her heart rate had slowed down to normal she decided she was touched that he wanted to share what was important to him.
‘So were they pleased about me saying I’d do the column?’ he asked, some time later.
‘Oh, delighted!’
‘That Lisa, she’s some piece of work, eh?’
‘Very persuasive.’ Ashling wasn’t sure how smart it would be to start slagging off Lisa.
‘You should get the credit for it, though.’
‘But I didn’t do anything.’
Marcus looked at her with meaning. ‘You could tell them you persuaded me when we were in bed together.’
The naked intent in his look made her throat seize up. Then she swallowed as if eating an oyster. ‘But that wouldn’t be true.’
A long pause, where his eyes never wavered from hers. ‘We could make it true.’
Her high spirits had worn off. Disappeared, in fact. It felt too soon to go to bed with him, but to resist would seem old-fashioned. She simply could not understand the ridiculous timidity which paralysed her – she was thirty-one years old, she’d had sex with lots of men.
‘Come on.’ He stood up and tugged gently at her hand. Something was telling her that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
‘But the film…’
‘I’ve seen it before.’
No kidding.
Shyness wrestled with curiosity, attraction fought with fear of intimacy. She wanted to sleep with him and yet she didn’t, but his urgent need was compelling. She found herself on her feet. A kiss went some way to persuading her, and she was in his bedroom. It wasn’t a fluid dance where fumbling disappeared and clothes dissolved without clumsiness. He hadn’t been able to get the hang of unhooking her bra, and when she saw how large his erection seemed in the narrowness of his hips, she had to look away. She trembled like a terrified virgin.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m shy.’
‘So it’s not because of me?’
‘Oh no.’ His vulnerability made her try harder. She gathered him to her, which had the double effect of pleasing him and ensuring she no longer had to see his hardness springing from its nest of hair.
The sheets were fresh, the candles a surprising touch, he was thoughtful and attentive and never once remarked on her absence of waist, but she had to admit that no, she wasn’t entirely transported. However, he was very appreciative, and she enjoyed that. It certainly wasn’t the worst sexual experience she’d ever had. And the best sex had always been slightly unreal, usually taking place during making up with Phelim, when the joy of being reunited added an extra piquancy to an already compatible experience.
