After Swan Lae:

Sunday, May 12

I gazed at my sheets in the feeble gray morning light. I stared at the individual fibers, studied how they wove themselves together into a fabric. Each individual strand in its place. Part of a whole.

I was bereft; though accustomed to solitude, this was entirely different. My nightmare tears had transformed into the water of grief. I lay contemplating how I could've been so reckless and naïve. In my head, I had turned last night into something much more significant than it was. He was rebounding. It was so obvious.

I didn't mean anything to him.

The sounds of the outside world started to filter in. I heard wind driving a light rain, a handful of intrepid birds chirping in spite of it. Beneath that: chaotic, indistinct sounds I couldn't place.

I was on geological time. Continents shifted. Glaciers melted, re-formed. An idea from far off tried to break through the clouds. It drew my attention back to the sounds, to what I couldn't identify.

I listened intensely for a moment. My life depended on it. Then the realization. The sound was

inside the house.

I had never before felt relief at strange noises in my home.

I pulled my fluffy white robe off the hook, covered my nakedness as I quietly descended.

Peeking around the corner into the kitchen, I saw a man, roughly five feet, nine inches tall. He had brown hair and eyes the color water two miles deep.

Strictly speaking I couldn't see the eyes, but I knew they were there.

The man stood in navy blue boxer briefs, quietly arguing with a $6,000 coffee machine. He appeared to have been fighting with it for some time.

I stood watching him alternately furrow his brow and pull on the bottom half of his face. He opened drawers, closed them again.

I made a point to remember this moment, this image. The feeling of my bare feet on the cold floor. His tousled hair. The sound of his voice. It all felt infinitely comfortable. I wanted to burn the memory into my cortex for eternity.

"It'll explode if you're not careful."

He looked in my direction, and I saw the faintest beginning of a grin form before his expression clouded.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Caught up in watching him, I had forgotten about the dream and subsequent despair upon waking to an empty bed.

I came closer, slipped my arms around him. "Sometimes I get these vivid nightmares. That's what started it. I don't even remember the dream. But then I woke up. It looked like you left. I sort of panicked."

He pulled me closer. I soaked in his warmth. I felt him inhale deeply, then sigh.

"I guess this wasn't just a dalliance for you either?"

"No," I said quietly. "Not a dalliance."

We stood like that for a lifetime. It might have been a minute.

I took a small step back, gestured at the machine. "How long have you been at it?"

"I don't know, maybe ten minutes?" He said, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't even figure out how to turn it on."

"Good thing I'm here to save you. What'll you have?" I asked, and started listing off variations on macchiatos and espresso drinks.

"Does it make coffee? Like, the regular kind?"

"It does," I said, as I picked up the electric kettle. "But if that's what you want, I have something better."

As I filled the kettle and arranged the other supplies, his expression clouded again.

"Shelly, can we talk about... this?"

The spoon gently clanged as I set it on the counter. I gave him my full attention.

"Before I say anything else, I want to be clear: I don't regret this. Us." He pointed back and forth between us. "I did, however, break the number one rule of being a teacher. I've had plenty of lovely young women batting eyelashes at me and offering insincere compliments before. I never once considered taking advantage of them. This isn't that--clearly--but it's just as dangerous."

"They can't arrest you," I said, with a hint of defiance. "I'm an adult."

"No, but they could pull my teaching license. Blacklist me. I could probably live with that. What I couldn't live with is ruining

your

life. I don't want to imagine what people would say about you."

"So, what then?" I felt my blood starting to rise. "It's wasn't a dalliance, but it's over?"

"It's not over." His voice was deep and soft, like a warm blanket. He was working hard to reassure me. "Everything happened really quickly last night. Let's just be a little slow and careful for now, OK? Like maybe we go to dinner tonight somewhere that isn't within walking distance."

I saw the logic in what he was saying, but it still made me uneasy. By now, the water was up to temperature, so I ground the beans and brewed our coffee. I focused on getting the pour right while I thought about what he said.

"Fine," I said as the last few drops fell from the filter. "But I can't go out to dinner tonight. I still have two more shows."

"Oh right, what time do you need to be there?"

"Warm-ups at 11."

I filled two mugs, and walked toward the living room. "Come sit with me."

He followed me to the couch and I draped my legs over him while we drank our coffee.

"We just need to survive the next month," he began. "After that, I won't be your teacher, and it'll be less complicated. Can you live with that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, still with an edge of defiance. I was trying to keep my composure, but I've never liked situations where I lack agency. That went double for romance. "Are we just supposed to spend the next month pretending like nothing happened. We see each other once a day, in public, for 50 minutes. Like some kind of Jane Austen novel? We act like acquaintances for an entire month?"

"That's not exactly what I mean," he said, gently running his hands along my calves. "During the day, yes. We can't be any different than we were before. That doesn't mean we can't spend other time together. I want to be with you. Like last night. Like this. If you'll have me. If that's what you actually want."

Admittedly, he was making me feel better. I let the thoughts marinate a moment. Sipped my coffee. I closed my eyes and focused on his touch. I savored the feeling of the hot mug almost burning my fingertips. Took another sip, looked back into those eyes.

"I want it officially noted that I don't

like

it."

"So noted," he replied, slightly amused. "Would it be alright if I came to your shows today?"

"Shows? What, both of them? Why?"

"Because I like watching you move. Because there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

It made my heart flutter to hear him say it. "I'm not sure I can get any more comps."

"I'll pay for tickets, Shell. I want to support you. It's not sold out yet, is it?"

"No," I said, setting my mug on the end table. "It's not sold out."

I moved toward him and gently lifted his mug out of his hands, setting it beside mine. With the coffee mugs out of the way, I sat in his lap facing him. I studied his eyes, ran my fingertips down the side of his face. I traced the outline of his ears, down his jawline. I felt his hands moving on my back, gently up and down my spine.

We started kissing. Nothing hot and heavy, just small, comfortable kisses. Everything about the moment was easy. Like this was how things had always been. I sat back again, held his face in my hands.

"Paul, tell me this is real."

"Michelle Ariadne Cameron... I promise you this is real."

The effect of hearing my name from his lips was the same in the daylight as it had been by night. I touched my forehead to his. My hands ran their way down his body of their own volition. I felt him swelling at my touch.

I ached to hold him deep within myself again, but it would have to wait. A reprise of our union would complicate my performances today. The sacrifices one makes for her art.

I moved from his lap, and pulled off the skimpy underwear that was his only clothing. I ran my fingertips up the inside of his thighs, looking back up at him with fire in my eyes. (At least, that's how I imagined I looked.)

Between the darkness and the urgency of our first coupling, I hadn't actually

seen

him, but now my eyes drank him in. He wasn't built like a gladiator or anything, but he was solid, well-proportioned.

I spent a minute or two running my fingers along the length of his shaft, all the way to the tip. Back down, lower, gently caressing his orbs. Then I moved closer, tracing the same patterns with my mouth. Running the tip of my tongue along his length. Swirling it around the head.

I enjoyed the contrasting feeling of the soft skin enclosing rigid tissue within. I took him into my mouth, letting my hands wander to other sensitive parts of his body.

He sighed softly, and I felt one of his hands gently touch my head. I looked up at him, starting to suck a little harder. I watched his eyes flutter closed.

I varied the rhythm and intensity as I started taking more into my mouth. I slid a hand up his torso to his lips. I traced the line of his lips with my fingertips as I devoured his throbbing member. He put his hand over mine and kissed my fingers.

I closed my own eyes as I focused on him. I groaned softly as I sucked. I wasn't in a hurry, but I eagerly anticipated his eruption. Physical proof of our passion. I kept going.

As his breathing got harsher, he started to tense up. I increased my tempo, trying to draw out his orgasm. Soon, I felt him pumping warm come into my mouth. I eased up a little, holding him still, swallowing the fluid. Once his climax subsided, I gently released him from my lips. I ran my hands across his chest, along his hips and thighs.

"That'll have to do for now," I told him. "I have to send you home and start getting ready. Give me a minute to get dressed? I'll drive you home so you don't have to do the walk of shame."

On the drive over to his place, I persuaded him to order pizza and wait for me at home instead of meeting at the stage door. Mushrooms, black olives, and bacon. Copious amounts of extra crispy bacon.

###

Both shows were technically flawless. The audiences clearly enjoyed them, but they didn't have the magic we captured Saturday night. I managed to change and clean up in record time. I was out the door within 30 minutes of the last curtain.

This time I remembered to text my parents: "Just wrapped. Pizza at home tonight, love you!"

I then realized I didn't actually have Paul's number to let him know I was leaving. A moment later, I realized that would've been a bad idea should anyone look at either of our phones, even with using pseudonyms.

I put in my headphones and mulled it over as I set off toward Paul's house. I considered calling Hanna, but decided against it. I figured it was better not to tell her yet. I wouldn't be asking her to lie for me. She would've done it, no question. I didn't want to put her in that position.

As I got closer, I saw the pizza delivery driver backing out of the driveway. Perfect timing. The front door was still open, so I let myself in.

I followed the smell of bacon and molten cheese into the kitchen, where Paul had the oven preheating. He was transferring the pies onto pans to keep warm. Tonight he wore a navy suit with ivory shirt. He had already shed the jacket.

"Costello's. Good choice." I said, liberating one of the remaining slices from the box. I grabbed a paper towel and ate standing in the kitchen.

He finished putting everything in the oven, and turned to look at me. "That's one way to do it. I was going to maybe get some plates, turn on some music? We could sit in chairs, light some candles."

I shrugged, finishing the slice. "No need to get fancy on my account."

I moved toward the oven for more, but he intercepted me.

"Hey, where are you taking me?" I protested as he redirected me to the dining room. "There's no pizza in here."

"Just sit down and relax. You've been working for the last nine hours. Let me take care of this."

He brought in two tall glasses of water and lit the candles on the table. The dining room was decorated in a tasteful monochrome. Borderline minimalist. Jet black table and chairs, soft white walls. I recognized Paris and London amidst the hanging black and white photos.

As I took in the room, I heard the volume come up on a vaguely familiar voice crooning over strings. Female singer, slightly husky. Sultry. I couldn't quite place it, but the recording sounded like something from the 50s or 60s. It wasn't precise or clinical, less produced than what everything sounds like now.

The singer was listing the myriad reasons I didn't know what love is when Paul came back with two plates. He caught me stealing his water glass and swapping it with my empty. I did a deer-in-the-headlights and he rolled his eyes at me, setting the plates on the table.

"Why don't you just park that gorgeous ass in the chair over there?" he said, playfully smacking my butt and taking the empty glass back into the kitchen.

"Who is this?" I asked. "It's bugging the hell out of me."

"The music? Do you want me to change it?"

"No, I want you to tell me who it is. I know the voice."

"It's the second-greatest girl singer of all time," he said. "Depending on who you ask."

"Can you bring me a knife while you're in there?" I called back. "I might need it to stab someone."

He came back to the dining room (sans knife) and sat down across from me.

"Billie Holiday."

"Damn. I never would've gotten there. If she's the second-greatest, who's number one."

"Ella. By a mile." He got up and went to the living room. I heard the sounds of plastic shuffling, then the music stopped.

"Who's Ella? Wait, are those CDs?"

Another familiar voice replaced Billie Holiday as he returned to the dining room. The new singer started telling me how I'd never be satisfied--until I broke her heart.

"Ella Fitzgerald," he finally answered. "We're on a first name basis, Ella and me."

"Should I be concerned? I didn't realize I had competition."

"She died in 1996, so I think you're safe. And yes, it's a CD."

"You don't like new things, do you?"

"I wouldn't say that. I just think the new thing ought to be genuinely better than whatever it's replacing. In my considered opinion, no one has improved on CDs. It's basic fact that nobody has improved on singing since Ella."

We both had another slice before deciding to call it quits. I couldn't help thinking about the time. Tomorrow would be a radical return to "normal" compared to the last 24 hours.

He took the plates back into the kitchen, and I met him in the doorway between rooms. I put my arms around his neck. His hands found their way to my hips. "Why don't you show me that hot tub?"

"Oh? Did you pack a swimsuit this time?"

I slowly shook my head side to side, giving him my best innocent/naughty look. It took him a minute, but eventually he got there. He took my hand and led me through the living room to the enclosed patio. I could still hear Ella Fitzgerald faintly through the open door, but she was soon drowned out by the sound of the jets.

He turned back toward me and unzipped my purple warm-up jacket, sliding it off my shoulders to the floor. I untucked his shirt and started working on the buttons, my hands much steadier than the first time. He ran his fingers along my arms, shoulder to elbow, as I undressed him.

Once his shirt was off, I leaned close to kiss him. I felt his fingers pushing at the top of my pants until they slid smoothly down to the floor. Our tongues started twirling as I worked on his belt. Soon we were both naked.

He helped me into the water, and then situated himself next to me.

"Wow, this

is

nice. I've never really done the hot tub thing before."

"I told you," he said, leaning toward me. As we kissed, I felt the outside world fade.

My mind focused on every physical sensation; the warm water moving around our bodies, his hands moving up my sides, gently squeezing my breasts. I ran my fingers through his hair and languidly explored his mouth.

I felt his hand slide back down my body, lower and lower. I felt his palm press into my mound. He was teasing me, touching the inside of my hips, down my thighs. After a couple minutes of this treatment, I was beset with desire.

I kissed him more and more urgently and finally he relented. I pushed onto his hand as he slipped a finger into me, his palm also applying pressure. I inhaled sharply, pulling his head into me. I felt his lips on my neck, lightly at first, and then more firmly.

By now I was openly moaning his name. It was sheer bliss, feeling him touch me. It was so simple, and so wonderful.

His finger penetrated deeper, exploring the innermost depths of my body. As his hand continued working, I felt him start to kiss down my clavicle, my décolletage, around my areolae, first right, then left, before taking my nipple into his mouth. I felt his teeth, his tongue.

I arched my back in response, taking his finger deeper into me and pushing my breast to his mouth. I was tantalizingly close to climax. It would be a big one if he kept up like this.

Slowly, patiently, he brought me to orgasm. My body shuddered as it began. I gripped his shoulder hard, getting louder and louder.

He relentlessly, steadily stimulated my whole body while I rode the waves of climax. Eventually, I couldn't stand another moment without him firmly planted within me. I pulled his hand away, and turned around. Put my arms over the back of the hot tub.

I felt him move behind me, his tip grazing the lips of my entrance, starting to open me to him. I looked over my shoulder as he entered me. His face was awash in pleasure, and soon I felt his pelvis against me. I felt full and whole. We stayed like that for a moment and he leaned forward over me, his hand returning to my breast.

He kissed my shoulder and took up a steady, firm rhythm. I felt his teeth on my shoulder as he pumped more and more intensely. We were going hard and I loved it. I pushed against the side of the tub, harder, back into him.

I felt myself gripping his shaft on each long stroke. He was slowly pulling back, almost fully removing himself, then returning to the full depth. I don't know how long we kept up like that. It felt like a long time before I felt his breathing change. I desperately wanted to feel him fill me again. I reached between his legs, hoping to provoke his release.

"Fill me Paul, please. Come inside me," I moaned. "I need you."

He let out a small groan and pushed hard into me. I felt his warmth flooding my body, he throbbed and pulsated.

Feeling him erupt was enough to push me over the edge again. I felt another orgasm radiating from the depths of my body, where my lover had just deposited his seed. We remained joined until he softened and fell out of me.

He had a rack of towels within reach. I grabbed a couple as I pulled myself out of the hot tub. I threw one on the ground and one around my body. Laid on the floor to catch my breath. I looked over at him leaning on the side of the tub. He was breathing pretty hard too. We both started laughing.

"I don't know if I would call that relaxing," I said, "but fuck was that nice."

I sat up as he climbed out and started to dry off. I felt him dripping out between my legs onto the towel. I didn't want to move, but I knew it was getting late, and I had a full week ahead of me.

"I guess it's back to normal life tomorrow. I'm going to have a busy week. My history teacher--he's a real hardass. We have this research project? It's a total bear. I'm going to be pulling all-nighters for sure."

"I'm sure you'll manage."

I feigned indignation. "Savage."

I got up, wrapping myself in the towel, and gathered my clothes.

"Seriously though, I need to go sleep. Otherwise I'll be wrecked for the whole week."

We spent another ten minutes kissing goodbye before I actually headed home. I debated taking a shower, but decided I would just shower in the morning and change the sheets tomorrow. I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.