[Ring. Ring. Ring.]
The telephone interrupted my late evening meditation, stirring me out of my deep state of inner relaxation. After first considering ignoring it, I lifted the receiver. Assuming it was just a wrong number, I prepared to politely remind the caller of his or her error.
"Hello," I almost whispered into the receiver, my mind still dazed from its altered meditative state.
"Scott?" a woman responded. I thought the voice seemed familiar, yet wasn't expecting to hear from anyone at this hour.
"Yes, that's me," I replied.
"It's Gina. I hope I didn't wake you."
The voice of my ex-wife was familiar, yet something felt different. Was it because we hadn't spoken for nearly a year? Perhaps after all those years of living together, I'd just lost touch with the subtle nuances of her tone, her vocal expressions... But no, there was something else, decidedly different. Her voice seemed deeper, richer, fuller. It sounded relaxed--more relaxed than I'd ever heard in the 11 years we'd known one another.
"Uhhh, no. You didn't wake me. I was just meditating, that's all. You sound different..."
"Well, that's probably true. After all, you haven't seen me in almost a year--maybe you forgot me already?"
The guilt tripping was beginning already, I thought.
"I'm here, downstairs," she continued, before I could react to her previous comment.
"Can I come up?"
"You're *here*? Why?", I asked, my heart sinking into my gut.
I was genuinely surprised. I didn't think we would ever see one another again. Even though we both lived in the same city, our homes were over 10 miles apart, and our workplaces were more than 35 miles away from one another. Save for an occasional trip to a market near my apartment, I figured she'd never want to come near my region of town.
"Well, it's a long story," she began. "But it would be a lot easier if I could see you in person again."
I felt waves of emotion. Memories, images, sounds from the past came rushing into my brain. In the span of seconds between my pressing the front-door buzzer that allowed her access and her knock at my door, ten years of my life with Gina rapidly played back through my psyche. I approached the door with many mixed feelings.
Opening the door slowly, I saw Gina, looking more alluring than ever. Even so, Gina had always turned my head. She had those dark, exotic looks that hinted at a smouldering passion right underneath the surface. Being a brunette had always felt like a liability, she'd so often told me. "Blondes really do have more fun," she'd said on more than one occasion. But for me, those dark looks--her long black hair, her light olive complexion, her deep brown eyes--had always gotten to me. Reminding me of my first high school crush when I'd fallen madly head-over-heels in love with a tall, willowy brunette named Jan. Tonight, Gina reminded me more of Jan than I'd ever seen her looking before.
How can I describe that first look at her after those many months of not seeing her at all? I'll never forget it. The red velvet minidress and the dark stockings certainly got my attention. And then there was her hair, much fuller, fluffier, shinier, bouncier than before. And her lips: They shone a deep crimson, rich and full and, seductive?
Yes! That was it. I'd never seen her looking so seductive before. My mind scrambled to adjust to this image of the woman who had been the demure, insecure wife with me for those many years we'd lived together.
"I'm so glad you're still up," Gina said as she looked at me.
She was standing just five inches from me yet I wasn't sure how to respond. Part of me wanted to reach out and hug her and kiss her, and a part wanted to just let her enter the room untouched by me--allowing me a chance to grow accustomed to the sight of this "new" Gina. Finally, I eased out of my temporary stupor and reached out my hand to take hers in a gesture of invitation.
"Come in, please," I replied, spontaneously lifting her hand to my lips, kissing the outstretched back of her hand in a way I'd only seen in movies.
"You look positively wonderful," I said.
I wondered how long it had been since I'd last said that to her.
"And you look good, too," she spoke softly.
In that next instant, we stood there, looking into one another's eyes. Gazing into one another's souls, reconnecting after the lost months of no contact between us. I always felt that when I looked into Gina's eyes, I saw so much more of her than she was willing to reveal. I used to wonder about her mysteries--her life before mine crossed her path. And now, I felt those same feelings, wondering what kinds of mysteries she now held, after so many hours of our living apart.
"I'd like to kiss you," she offered. "That is, if you haven't rejected me completely."
Ever the insecure, vulnerable, delicate creature with me.
I often wondered if that is who she really is, or if that was just the way she was with me. When I contrasted her shy, self-effacing personality while living with me against her past descriptions of affairs with other men, I'd always seen contradictions. As if I wasn't seeing the complete Gina. As if she had always been playing a role with me she could never break free of, in spite of herself. Tonight, I hoped maybe I'd begin to understand a few of the mysteries about her I'd never resolved.
I decided to begin by allowing my lips to gently explore hers. Instantly, I felt my body responding as her body pressed forward into mine. The taste of her lips and the smell of her perfume sent chills up and down my spine. Our mouths were intensely hot, mutually pursuing something we'd missed from each other for over a year. As if we were both enjoying a sumptuous banquet after many days living on mere bread and water.
Gina's tongue sought refuge in the cavern of my warm mouth, probing deeper and deeper. Her lips were smouldering, her body insistent as she pushed her pelvis into me, urging my throbbing erection with the mere friction of her body against me.
As she kissed me, the low cut of her dress fell open enough to afford a generous view of deep-plunging black lace that contained her overly ripe breasts. In that second before my eyes closed, I recognized the outline of the black lace camisole I'd bought her many years before for our private erotic interludes with my camera. My mind was filling again with images: Images of Gina and me at the beach, lying nude under the hot sun. Images of us watching a favorite erotic film,'Henry and June', and telling each other afterwards all the fantasies it had inspired as we made gentle love by the fireplace.
"God, you taste good," I gasped breathlessly, fully two minutes after our kiss had begun.
"Wait. Let me put on some music," Gina said as our kiss temporarily broke. "Do you still have those Sade albums of mine?"
I'd hung onto those Sade albums as a memory of Gina, even though I never listened to them after we separated last year. Once the divorce was final, I'd let my life enter a new and different phase, but still longed to hang on to some of the special memories of what Gina and I had. Music, especially sensual music, had been among our mutual passions.
Gina swept past me, walking over to explore my music collection. Her body had a grace of movement I didn't recall from the past. Even though she'd been a dancer, she'd always felt too gangly to let herself feel like a dancer, she'd told me. Tonight, though, even with her tall black heels (another new, and unexpected addition to her wardrobe) she walked with an ease, an air of self-assurance that was out of character with the Gina I'd recalled.
I sat back down for a moment and drank in the sight of her. I remembered how erotic I'd always felt with her, how erotic I'd always wished she could let herself feel when she was with me. It was almost as if the Gina I'd long been searching for--the Gina that she'd so often protected when we were together--was finally emerging. Like a beautiful butterfly, at last she had no need for the safety of her little coccoon.
As the first notes of "Smooth Operator" poured forth from my speakers, I arose to dim the lights to a soft back background glow. I watched Gina, slowly moving her hips to the music. Standing five feet in front of me, her hips flowed with the music. She closed her eyes, swaying back and forth. She was hypnotically responding to the rhythms and Sade's sensuous voice.
When she danced, her voice began to hum along. My mouth began to water--my tastebuds suddenly discovering imaginary flavours spontaneously inspired.
And then I felt myself getting aroused. Really aroused. As she slowed her dance to match the mood of the next song, Gina's fingers reached up to stroke her hair, then her right hand slipped downward, teasingly approaching the top button of her dress. Tempting me, I knew not why. The dress began to fall open, her deep cleavage barely concealed by the tiny cups of her camisole.
"Watch me, Scott," she urged, eyes still closes, fingers taking on a life of their own.
