The Room 36

By the time I reached my lodgings for that evening, the hotel in the centre of the small town on the coast, I was ready for that shower. For the remainder of the walk I had been dreaming about water; water that cascaded over my body, water that came down in a delicious, pulsing stream, that soaked into every crevice, every part of me, that was cleansing and at the same time reinvigorating. The sea salt in the air, the dust and sand that my boots kicked up as I walked, the sweat that covered my bare skin in a slippery sheen, and crusted my back, all that I was looking forward to have melted away with only the lingering sensation of my unexpected orgasm tingling the ends of my fingers, toes and the fine hairs down my neck.

Everything I touched gave me a thrill. Picking up a pine cone or scratching my hand against bark, horsehair grass brushing my bare legs, the sun in my eyes, making me squint.

I felt more alive than I had ever done before. And I had the girl under the waterfall to thank for that, whoever she was.

I arrived in good time and checked in. The hotel faced out across the harbour; the tide was in and the gentle swell of waves could be heard, and almost felt, against the walls of the quay.

The shower as I expected did feel wonderful and I decided I would go down to the bar for an early evening gin and tonic, perhaps to sit out on one of the front benches and look out over the small port, at the boats bobbing in the water, at the people, the families, still enjoying the last of the summer sunshine.

Here I felt so far away from anything I knew, and yet I had never felt more at ease with myself, more comfortable in my own skin. That was it, this body of mine, had only up to this point felt like something I was only inhabiting, something that was okay, but that somehow did not quite fit. A bit like that expensive coat you cannot quite justify buying, but do anyway and spend the next year afraid to try it on, because you know it will not look quite right.

That was where I had been, up to now, that was my relationship between my body and me. And it wasn't a bad body. All my sexual partners had made favourable comments. I could feel eyes on me when I dressed up to go out, and even sometimes when I did not. Maybe I was touch heavy around the hips, maybe my shoulders sloping too much, my chin a little weak. One didn't tend to notice these things in bed in the dark, or out on the town, where the accents of my figure were stronger.

That was one aspect he had certainly never complained about. About the only thing. And yet, how to say, this body of mine, that stacked up pretty well, never felt entirely mine to offer. Rather I never felt in complete possession of it. For I knew that I had never been entirely in possession of myself. Too many times where I was forced to make too many compromises. Too many toxic friendships and failed relationships, male and female, too much exposure, on my part, and not enough strength to say, 'hey, that's enough, that's me you're messing around with.'

Here, now, with the sun just starting to set over the cliffs, its rays stretching across the sky, I was finally beginning to feel - in control. I could do what I wanted. He didn't have a say anymore. Nobody did. Few people even knew where I was. I toyed with my phone, thinking to make an Insta post of this moment but then decided not to - this time was just for me. This sunset. This gin and tonic. This view of the harbour.

When the sun dipped so did the temperature. I had drunk two gin and tonics on an empty stomach and felt slightly woozy. My earlier equilibrium had given way to dizziness; I needed to eat. It was too late to go searching the town and so I settled on the photel where I was staying, banking on there being something warming and heartening to fill me up before I had myself an early night.

And yet inside was busy. I had only been dimly aware of it filling up as I sat outside, the gradual increase in noise, and the flushed waitress who I eventually flagged down told me that, sorry, they were fully booked for dinner.

I would sit at the bar if I could, I would eat outside, they could do me a sandwich. But like many places nowadays this one had turned its hand to finer dining and the tables were crisply set and all occupied. Sleek waiters shimmied between the tables. There was something of an air of exclusivity. I cast my eyes around the interior, searching in vain for some small corner where I could insert myself - and came to rest on the gaze of the girl who I had seen earlier, naked under the waterfall.

She was sitting at a table virtually under my nose, sitting alone, with a flute of champagne in one hand and her other holding a cocktail stick that she was just about to spear into an olive.

Something flickered between us. I had that sensation rising in my body, from my groin to my throat. No doubt she recognised me; knew who I was; knew that I had witnessed her from the hill, over the hedge, and knew too that the performance she had given had been for my eyes.

Her hair was the colour of honey. Her eyes were strange in the dim light of the restaurant; they seemed to sparkle, like emeralds. Her gaze had a directness, yet there was a question within them too. Her skin looked wonderful, a light gold of sunshine and very good moisturiser. She was wearing a dress whose colour matched her skin; two simple straps over her shoulders and a hint of cleavage.

'She is with me,' she said, suddenly, looking the way of the waitress and, before the girl could argue, got up from her seat in one fluid motion, as if of liquid pouring up out of the ground, and circled the table to kiss me lightly on the cheek. I expected some light scent, vanilla maybe, but what I sensed was the odour of her, her skin, the soft dampness of her lips against me. 'You came,' was all she said, before sweeping back to her seat. I had no choice but to sit down.

'I've ordered oysters,' she said, 'followed by lemon sole. Freshly caught today.'

'Then I'll have the same,' I said. I didn't know what I was doing or saying. Something stronger than my usual level-headedness was pulling me along; I wanted to fight it and give into it at the same time.

'My name's Aurea,' she said, offering a slim hand across the table, 'what's yours?'

I detected for the first time a slight accent to her words, something Spanish maybe, definitely Latin. Her fingers were soft on mine. There was a light touch to everything she did or said. The quiet way she spoke, her poise, her bearing.

'Sally,' I said, 'that's an unusual name, what is it, Aurea?'

'Aurea.' She pronounced correctly. 'It means woman of gold.'

'Well it definitely suits you then.'

She said nothing to that, just smiled back. As if she was used to people complimenting her. Of course she was, she could take comments like that in her stride.

'Sally is a very English name I think.'

'It might be, I said, 'I've never thought about it like that.'

'Do you think names are important? I don't think so. I don't think they can represent who you are.'

'But if I'm not Sally then...'

I caught her smile. She was ahead of me.

'...you can be whoever you want to to be. You know, I knew it was you, when you came in.'

'Knew...?'

'The one who watched me. Under the waterfall.'

Oh, so we were going straight into it, were we?

'Tell me,' she said, 'what were you doing, while you were watching?'

She had not taken her eyes from mine since I'd sat down and the intensity of the moment was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable. That instinct to run was stronger now. But then the waitress slid a plate of oysters in front of us and our eyes dropped towards the glistening dish. The oysters were pearlescent in their shells, crusted with sea salt, slippery and enticing.

Aurea selected one, first spooning over a little vinegar reduction that accompanied them. With a swift, practised motion, she tipped up the shell so the raw mollusc slipped from its base and - like that - down into her mouth. I could practically see her throat muscles lightly contract as the oyster was swallowed whole.

'Sexy things aren't they, oysters,' she said.

I had to laugh, then, and her eyes widened briefly in surprise, an emotion that quickly changed to one of pleasure. We were both enjoying, now, the faint absurdity of the situation. The chance meeting, the obvious sexual connotations of the oysters.

But I'd seen then, in that flash of surprise, something behind the cool gaze and the soft hands, something that made my pulse begin to race and the nerves in my body spark like a thousand electrodes.

We finished the shellfish and drank from the wine that had arrived without ceremony; a chilled bottle in an ice bucket.

Tension still lingered, but was less palpable.

'How come you're here on your own?' I asked.

She made a shrug, and a face.

'James had to leave early this evening for work. I said I did not want to go with him. I said I wanted to stay for the rest of the week and swim in the sea. We'd booked this table and I was hungry.'

I nodded. We had common ground then. She did not seem happy about James, whoever he was, and his work. I had the strong impression of Aurea already that behind the lightness there was fixed an iron will.

'And you?' She asked, taking a sip of wine, 'you are here alone?'

'Yes,' I said. How much was I going to tell her? Then it occurred to me that for at least an hour, maybe two, I had not thought about him.

'I'm sorry,' she said, seeing me falter, sensing my indecision, 'it is not my business. But we can be friends here, for this evening? We can talk freely? After all, you have seen me naked.'

She laughed then. The customers at the neighbouring table looked at us with curiosity. I felt them leaning in towards us slightly, as if to catch the drift of our conversation. Had they caught Aurea's last comment, for example? I thought that people were tuned to listen for certain words, words out of the usual context. Aurea had not particularly modified her voice; she didn't care, I already knew, what people thought of her.

'Ah,' she said, 'the sole.'

The fish was as delicate as feather. Soft flakes of white flesh that melted in the mouth. Aurea ate with great enthusiasm, spearing the pieces of fish with her fork and swirling them in lemony butter sauce before teasing each morsel off the tines with her perfect white teeth.

'This is really good,' she said.

I agreed. We began to chat, then, quite casually for the first time, about different foods we'd eaten, about places we'd stayed, things we'd seen, where we came from. It turned out her father was Brazilian and her mother French, though she had been educated mostly in Switzerland and then England. She was an interpreter and translator, who worked at international summits around the world. It was mentally exhausting, she said, which was why she was appreciating the break now, having just worked at a major set of international talks concerning climate change, that had been all over the news. James held a position in the UK government, though she said no more than that, either because she didn't fully know or was not prepared to divulge. I figured the latter, although I was much more interested in everything about her, Aurea.

We stayed talking through dessert and coffee, sharing experiences of relationships. I found myself telling her the story of my recent past, the break-up with him, and all the recriminations and accusations that had accompanied it. I told her I had never felt so under-appreciated, never so neglected; I could not believe he was the same person that I - thought - I had fallen in love with those years before. I told her that even though I was only just thirty-three, it felt as though more than half of my life had been wasted, frittered away, on this relationship I now realised to have been utterly meaningless, and very damaging as a result.

She was quiet, toying with her empty espresso cup. I realised that our legs had become intertwined under the table, bare sin against bare skin, yet I did not know how long they had been like that. The sudden understanding caused ripples of pleasure through my body as I felt the toned flesh of her calf rubbing against mine, like a faun against its mother.

'You know,' Aurea said, meeting my eyes again, 'you really should stop giving - this man - or anybody else for that matter, quite so much agency over your own life. The things you've been saying, it sounds to me as if you let it happen for a long time. It sounds like you were not in control, have never been in control, maybe,' she went on, 'like you don't even know how to take control.'

That last sentence delivered in almost a whisper. And perhaps it was that drop in tone, or the look of genuine sadness in her eyes, or the way she reached to take my fingers in hers, that caused me to burst into tears.

I don't know how we left the restaurant, or how the bill was handled, or anything else. I knew only that we were outside and I was gulping down great draughts of sea air, tears drying on my cheeks, and Aurea's arms were around me and she was breathing words into my ear, words of a strange, lilting tongue, with the rhythm of a lullaby. I could the weight of her body pressing into mine, her fingers running up and down my back - and something else too, something that came as a sharp smack of surprise, the thrill of desire.

We pulled apart, our faces inches from each other.

'I think you are a beautiful woman, Sally,' Aurea said, 'and I cannot see how you cannot see it. Let me show you. I want to show you how beautiful you are.'

The tips of her nails were stroking my face, her mouth was wet, her breasts had risen in her dress and pushed against mine.

'I've never...' I said. She put a finger to my lips.

'I know darling,' she said, 'you've never allowed yourself real pleasure. Except maybe one time, not so long ago.' She smiled. 'I know what you were doing. I could sense it, even while I was touching myself.' Her voice dropped again, her accent husky, 'do you want to see me touch myself again?'

How far was I going to go with this woman? Once again I had that push-pull conflict of one voice screaming no and the other imploring yes. I had never felt anything like this before, with Aurea. Not even in my most erotic previous moments had I experienced this kind of raw desire; I knew, then, that it was not about sex with a woman, it was just about being free, free from the constraints in which I put myself. And yet there was that voice again, weaker now, but still insistent:

'But James...'

She laughed, a soft trill I could feel from her belly up to her throat.

'James is not the master of me. And he knows that. We have something of an understanding. In fact I would not be surprised if right now he was not fucking his PA, Lucy. And anyway,' she smiled, a secret kind of smile I had not seen before, 'he likes me to tell him what I have been doing, and there is not a lot I haven't done. You see, darling, people like James, people in his position, they often like to be told what to do. They don't know what they like or else they are afraid to say so. Come' She took me by the hand and led me back to the hotel, 'I've always wanted to see the rooms in this place.'

Once inside my room she pushed me up against the wall and said:

'I want to see you naked, Sally, I've been wanting to see that ever since you were watching me. Take a shower, so I can look at you.'

How many others had felt that sense of powerlessness before her? Something in her tone, her directness, a quiet authority. She was the kind of woman who makes the room go silent when she enters. Even so, things were beginning to go too quickly.

'What if I said no.'

She laughed again, but this time with less humour.

'Then you would be a bad girl, for teasing me so.'

She left the implication hanging. Coming closer to me, she drew one nail down the side of my face and gently caressed my right breast. My nipples hardened at her touch.

'I am trying to show you,' she breathed, 'what it looks like to take what you want.'

At that moment I knew that I was going to do whatever she wanted, simply because it was what I wanted too. Through her power, I too felt powerful, a ferocious, sexual animal.

I lifted my t-shirt over my head and unclipped my bra.

'Your breasts are beautiful,' Aurea said, and bent to take a nipple in her mouth, sucking on it while at the same time squeezing the flesh beneath, She took both my breasts and drew on each stiffening peak in turn. Hot fever ran through me. I cradled her honey hair in my hands as her tongue darted around each aureole, tips of her teeth gently scratching,. My own hands were unbuttoning my denim shorts, feeling them slip down my thighs. Her head moved down my body, around my navel, her tongue and lips feather-light on my skin, causing me to buckle at the hips. Her hands were reaching around my back and spreading down over my ass and then her face was at my core. She looked up at me.

'So wet here darling. Can't wait to taste you.'

Her tongue flicked out in the air. My pelvis thrust itself forward. I gasped. I was desperate for her. I wanted her to touch me, but instead she raised herself back up so that our bodies pressed together again.

'Kiss me,'I said.

Our mouths met, tongues at first questing, then lashing together. Quivers spasmed my body. I raised my hips so that our groins mashed and for a few seconds we were grinding together, through each other's material, our bodies hot. Then she pulled away. Her lips played a wicked smile.

'I said I wanted to see you in the shower. I want to see you touch yourself.'

Was this real? The sensation on my body, the fire on my lips and in my groin, the shivers of heat on my skin, all told me it was. Yet the woman in front of me, the woman with the honey hair and golden skin, with the ironic smile and gleam in her eyes, was like something out of a dream.

I moved into the bathroom, her eyes on me. There was a walk-in shower and I reached in to turn on the jets, only when it was at the correct temperature slipping out of my panties and under the coursing cascade.

Aurea sat on a chair in the middle of the bathroom, her legs apart so that her mound was revealed, encased in white lace. One hand toyed at the tops of her thighs, the other ran over the swell of her bosom.

'Go on,' she said, 'I want to see you.'

Somehow I was managing to keep my composure. Yet I was very aware of myself, naked in front of a practical stranger, being asked to display my most private acts. I had no doubt at the same time that Aurea was enjoying it, that she wanted me to do these things, and that I wanted to do them too - but was it for me or for her?

I stood in the middle of the stream, letting the water bounce off my body, using my hands to massage scented shower lotion into my skin, tilting up my breasts as I did so, smoothing down my thighs.

Aurea was now visibly manipulating herself, one finger hooked under her panties, one leg raised slightly so she could access herself where it gave the most pleasure. Her eyes though remained on me.

I slid my hand down between my legs, where my juices already mingled with the water from the shower, where I knew I would not be able to control myself much longer.

'Turn around,' she said.

I did as she said, bending forward and supporting myself with one hand against the shower wall. Water streamed down my back, over my ass, down my legs. I was exposed to her, my thighs parted, my other hand reaching up around to finger my pussy, stroking it up and down then, very lightly, brushing the flat of my palm against my clit, loving the sensation of the steam building around me as I grew closer to orgasm.

For a moment I was lost in the application of my own pleasure, but I arched my head over my shoulder to see Aurea lift herself up from her chair and slip her dress down over her shoulders so it pooled in gold at her feet. Beneath it she wore only panties and these quickly followed her dress, almost in one motion, stepping out of them as she approached me.