Early

I am lying in my bed and the hour is early. So early that the sun has not yet come up and through the window-door panes, I can see the grey that permeates such hours in the landscape. I am lying on my bed and outside I can see a bay, the sea being calm and the beach deserted. It is high, where I am staying, and I can see the spread of the land from above, the smooth curve of the bay on my left and the sharp point before another day begins on the right.

The bed is white, though the shadows cause it to lose its shine and the folds of the bed sheets are shrouded in darkness. Someone stirs next to me; my back is turned to her, because I am gazing out into the sea.

I turn and lie on my back and think about her brown not-straight-but-not-curly hair. I feel an urge to caress them but still I remain staring at the ceiling.

Her breathing is rhythmic and she is sleeping soundly. I like her form, not so much that she is exercised, but that she is full, she seems alive, and her smell, if I ever smelled it, would drive me crazy.

Her skin seems so soft and her smile is a memory to warm my heart. I am wearing my white shirt, my formal one, because, although it might appear strange, that is the cloth in which I feel most comfortable. I'm one for formalities.

My right hand slowly, care-fully, caresses her hair. I make an effort not to wake her up, but she slowly opens her eyes, not breaking the stillness of the morning. Not a bird has sounded for all this time and the world is sleeping, all of it except us two. There is no fog, it is crystal clear.

My mind is suffused and my breathing becomes quicker. I want to hold her, and not so much hold her, as hold each other. I move closer, but she does not move. She smiles at me and it is the sweetest thing in the world. Around me, it is pleasantly cool, but not chilly, how soothing. The bed sheets are warm and white, and the interchange pleasures me.

Her scent reaches my senses, but it is not sudden. Nothing moves violently now. It is a slow immersion. I put my hand on her waist and it intoxicates me. I am too content to do any more.

I just lie there, not for long but a minute is longer than usual in that moment; I feel a certain anxiety. I caress her waist and she smiles contentedly, joyfully, with her eyes closed. A wave of joy crosses my heart.

I inch closer, our noses almost touching on the pillow. I slide my hand under her waist and embrace her. She holds me too. The heat becomes stifling, but all around the calmness remains.

It is early.

She looks at me, and she is wearing her usual expression. It's not an expression I see in many girls, and although I am not thus interested, in many guys. She looks at me, and at the whole world, with a certain fighting glance, a certain keen interest in what is going on around her, an energy being spent trying to understand and to attain some control over her surroundings.

I find it rather pleasing. It touches some chord inside me, the one that feels pride that she is fond of me, and she knows I am very fond of her.

It is all an accident, really. We were together in a party, down by the seaside, the fire burning in the sand, not in an uncivilised beachhead, but in a beach of well-tended sunbeds and of yellow-brown coarse sand. The revelry was interesting, the music some old echoes of the 60s, as that is preferred by our friends. What a combination. Me in my suit, my white shirt not gleaming in the moonlight, it wasn't a full moon, there wasn't enough light for that, but definitely sparkling. She in a bathing suit, what incongruity!

When the party was over, I put my hand around her waist and gently led her up the steps to my studio. Not an apartment, no, it is too small for that. I found it so immensely erotic, my hand on her waist, it made my heart feel like a locomotive speeding up. She found the bed on her own, and rested there.

We slowly started kissing, and it felt so pleasing, not only physically, but mentally, psychologically, as I felt an aura of jointness surround us both. That moment which may come again, we felt as if we would be friends for life. We knew that each other was human and we accepted it. We let our human desires rule us. But the suit did not come off, neither did the bathing suit. We took two folding chairs, unfolded them, and sat there, on the balcony, watching the smouldering fire on the beach die out, until one of us fell asleep and carried the other to the bed.