1
There is something about heat that only we northern Celts can fully appreciate. I hadn't been abroad since my childhood, and the minute I stepped off the plane I was consumed by a bright heat rising from the Cretan rocks that forced me to slow down and take in the quiet beauty of the place.
And what a place it was. As I drove across the island in my rental car, I had to spare a thought for my brother Alan who had pulled out of the trip at the last minute due to another work crisis. He would have been in his element here - straight to the beach with a book and a bottle of factor 45 to start the slow transformation from ghostly Scottish white to a more Mediterranean bronze. Not so me, - I'm just a little too body-conscious to want to race down to the water at the first opportunity.
When I reached the apartment complex, I was happily surprised to find that Alan had booked us into a more traditional type of Cretan house, miles away from the more modern developments. I checked in and got the key for 4A, and was the more delighted to find a beautifully converted, spacious interior. On entering the master bedroom, I couldn't help but try the huge bed and, after a frustrating morning waiting around for airport security checks, I found myself melting into the soft sheets and soon drifted away.
When I awoke it was just after eight in the evening, and the light coming through the shutters had begun to fade. I freshened up and decided to take a walk down to the local restaurant for dinner. On the way I deliberately forced myself to slow down and take in the surroundings – I was beginning to wind down into holiday mode. This felt like a great opportunity to recharge my batteries after a difficult few months, and to make a dent in the pile of unopened books I had accumulated.
The restaurant was just beyond the pool where I saw an older couple folding up their towels and making their way past me with a polite nod. The smell of the pool changed to fresh coffee, bread and garlic as I got near the restaurant. Inside, I asked for a table over in a quiet corner, as I usually do when eating alone. I asked the owner, what he recommended, and he brought me a wonderful dish of tiny fried fish, followed by grilled lamb and salad. As I ate, I couldn't help wondering why salad tastes so much better on holiday. Is it the ingredients, or just that ambient heat that brings out the flavour?
My thoughts were interrupted as I cast my eyes around the room and had a look at some of the other guests. Judging by the strands of conversation I could hear, there were two groups of Germans, a young family who sounded Danish, and the elderly couple that I'd just seen leaving the pool and whom I think were French. Besides these, there were myself, two young girls that were too far away to hear, and another solitary woman at the far side of the room. My mind wandered back to my own table as I finished the last of the main course.
I don't take coffee very often, but it smelled wonderful and I asked for a cup. Niko brought it along with an ice cold shot of his homemade spirit that I later found out was called 'tsikoudia'. I've not been much of a drinker for a few years now, not since I left university at any rate, and the tsikoudia, after burning my throat, went straight to my head. This wasn't helped by the affable Niko, who kept bringing out more of the stuff and stood over me proudly as he watched me imbibe. I eventually managed to talk him into bringing the bill, and made my way back to the apartment. The effect of the coffee was drowned out by the tsikoudia, and once again I fell into a deep sleep within a few minutes of lying on the bed.
When I awoke, I was soaking. I realised I'd just kicked off my shoes and got into bed with my shirt and trousers on. The heat was unbearable. I could manage it earlier with a breeze blowing through the room, but I'd closed the windows and forgotten to open them when I got in. I dumped my clothes and headed for the shower to cool down. It was only half past two according to the bedside clock.
Back in bed and a little cooler, I was now wide awake. I decided to try and sleep in the nude, on top of the sheets, but even then I was too hot to really relax. I took the first book that came to hand from my case, and resolved to read until I fell asleep again.
The book, which I'm fairly sure was given to me by an old flatmate of mine, turned out to be set in northern India during the late nineteenth century. Presumably that's why he'd bought it, knowing that I was very interested in that sort of thing. I'm pretty sure however that he didn't realise he'd bought me what amounted to a 'softcore' erotic novel.
Now, I'm not sure whether it was the heat and the sweat, my uncovered body, the different air, or the tsikoudia, or perhaps all of these together, but by about page fifteen I was utterly compelled by this book. It had been nearly two years since I'd split from my last girlfriend, and I had begun to feel like a 'born again virgin'. For some reason my body decided that tonight was the night of release, and I undertook one of the most intense moments of self pleasuring of my life. I managed to keep pumping my cock for about five minutes, before I collapsed down into the bed, utterly spent.
As my breathing eventually subsided, my eyes clouded over, and I was just re-entering the realm of sleep when I heard a very clear creak and the sound of a lamp being switched, as if in my own room. My eyes were instantly open, and my whole body became alert. I got up, and quickly looked around the room. No one was there.
I went into the ensuite bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath to think. My mind was in a state of panic, wondering where the hell that noise had come from. All of a sudden, as I sat there, I heard a door shut quietly, followed by soft footsteps. Next came a sound that could only have been piss hitting porcelain, followed by faint ripping of paper and running water.
I was utterly incredulous. How on earth, I asked myself, could someone split up this old house with what must have been paper-thin walls? There was absolutely no privacy whatsoever. Whoever was in that adjoining apartment must have had their bedroom right next to mine, and must surely have heard me jerking off for all I was worth not five minutes earlier. Perhaps they had even felt it.
My annoyance turned upon myself for not even considering the possibility of being overheard. How could I be so stupid? I was absolutely devastated, and started worrying about the next day. No doubt I would get a discrete visit from the manager of the place, asking me to consider the neighbours and then the rumours would spread like wildfire,
"Hey, there's that creepy British wanker."
I spent most of the rest of the night wondering whether to move to a hotel further down the coast, before finally falling asleep once more.
2
The light of morning brought some relief and perspective. I decided to keep a very low profile, and stick to my original plan of relaxing and reading (although I would avoid the erotic novel). I had a private balcony off the flat, and had seen a supermarket in the next village where I could get some supplies. As there was next to nothing in the kitchen, I made that my first priority.
By the afternoon of the second day, I was happily glued to a lounger with a detective novel and a bottle of water, being careful not to overdo the direct sun. Before I had left, my mother had given me a lecture about constantly re-applying sun cream. The fact that I was a few weeks short of thirty didn't seem to affect her. To her I am obviously still a fair-skinned, eight year old boy with sunburn.
After a light lunch of feta and salad, I went for another lie down inside, away from the sun. I decided to spoil myself with a nice long bath. At home, I only have a shower, and the thought of a bath was tempting. I eased myself into the water, stinging a little from the sun, and fell into deep relaxation.
Not long after this, I heard a key in a lock, and what must have been my neighbours coming back in. It was incredible. I could clearly hear someone moving about the adjoining apartment. The next thing I knew, their steps got louder, and I guessed they must be right on the other side of the wall. It seemed that the apartments were a mirror image of each other, with the master bedrooms and bathrooms along the adjoining wall. Talk about poor design. I felt like I was invading their privacy.
At a loss for what to do, I made a few swishing sounds in the water in the hope that they would hear me and realise that I could also hear them. There was a very long silence. I made a few more noises in the water, and still there was nothing. After nearly a minute, I heard the sound of taps being turned on very close to me.
At first I thought they must have turned on the taps so as to drown out the sound of their pee, or perhaps of my water swishing. However, when the taps were eventually turned off, I was certain that I could hear the sound of someone slowly getting into the bath on the other side of the wall.
In my entire life, I had never been so alert to my surroundings. As I heard them moving in the water, I worked out that the bath in the next room must, like the one I was in, be lined up against the wall. Here I was, lying naked in a bath, inches away from another naked person about whom I knew nothing, and with nothing but paper thin plasterboard between us. The sounds stopped, and I guessed that, like me, they must be lying stock still, listening out.
The whole situation had somehow metamorphosed from embarrassment into an intense turn on. Eventually, for my own sanity, I made another noise with my arm through the water. After a few seconds, I heard a similar noise from next door. This was too much to take. Were they playing with me? I didn't know who they were – young or old, male or female. I thought that if there was a family next door I would have heard them talking, but I couldn't even be sure of that. Did they know who I was? Presumably they knew I was a man after the episode of the previous night.
I made another noise, and sure enough, the echo came again. I realised that I had by now an almost painful erection. Emboldened, I tapped three times on the wall with my fingernail. Sure enough, after a slight delay, three taps came back. I desperately needed to know what kind of person I was dealing with. I hummed three low notes. After some time I heard them echoed in the soprano register, followed by what I'm sure was a stifled giggle.
"Who's there?" I asked.
There was no reply. All I heard was the sound of the plug being pulled and someone getting out of the bath.
Clearly then, this must be my neighbour's revenge for the previous night: she was going to toy with me for her own amusement. The thing was, I had never been as turned on, never as in tune with my sexuality. It was unbearable - I couldn't even relieve myself again for fear of being overheard and reported.
That evening I had begun to get cabin fever, and my stomach demanded satisfaction. I resolved I was not going to be kept inside for fear of embarrassment at an honest mistake. No one would toy with me. I decided to make my way down to the restaurant again and face the music.
"Good evening sir," said the owner.
"Good evening Niko" I replied, as he showed me to the same seat as the previous night.
Once seated, I surveyed the room for accusatory glances, but was met with no more than polite smiles by those who caught my eye. The Germans were all in, now sharing the one large table, and the Danish family were there, but no sign of the French, or any of the others. I ordered a Greek salad, followed by calamari rings and chips. What with the state of my nerves, I gladly accepted the first tsikoudia that Niko brought me.
"Here sir. Drink this. It will make the fire of Crete inside you, and is very good for the digestion."
"Thanks very much. Have all the other guests been in tonight?"
"No sir, just these. Are you looking for someone?" he asked with what I'm sure was a faint smile.
