I was awake all night, playing in my mind over and over the feeling of Mike’s lips on mine. They were surprisingly soft, framed with a slight stubble. His power and strength radiated through the tingling that was passed from his mouth to mine. His strong arms surrounded me and I wanted to melt into them, to become a part of his physicality permanently. But that wouldn’t have been very practical. I could never eat cupcakes again in private. Mike would find out about my sugar addiction, and how ashamed I was of it, and our joined physical bodies, and therefore relationship would go downhill from there.
I shuddered at the thought of having to work out with Mike. Yes, absolutely not a good idea to meld our very different bodies into one.
My newfound insomnia wasn’t just about the kiss. It was also about the fact, more so about the fact, that this man liked me. He wanted me. Cranky, chubby, loner me. Who knew that a pleasant afternoon would make me feel, well, pleasant. I was warm and tingly all over and that stupid grin was back again, except this time, it wasn’t bothering me. I kind of liked it. The thought made the grin grow wider.
The heat of the afternoon hadn’t dissipated much and the air-conditioner was still struggling. It was hot, even for February in Australia. My sheets were sticking to me and Snip had long ago abandoned me in bed, preferring to sleep in the hallway under the air-conditioning vents.
“Traitor,” I said to him as I walked past to get some iced water. Opening the fridge, I saw some of the homemade lemonade Alice had dropped off yesterday, probably just so she could brag about her lemon tree that actually bore lemons. I too had a lemon tree in the backyard but the defector of a tree never bore any fruit. It was probably just a tree looking bush that I had confused for a citrus tree, but Dad had insisted it was a lemon tree, so I guess it was. Which raised the question, if a lemon tree doesn’t produce lemons, was it still a lemon tree? Great. Now that’s going to keep me awake all night too.
I was tempted to drink some of Alice’s “Fuck you, I can grow lemons but you can’t” sugary lemonade, but remembered the feelings of having to wear size 14 clothes. I thought I was better off having some calorie free water.
Sleep was obviously not going to be an option tonight. The heat was making it impossible to get comfortable. More so, sleep would not reach me because I was in the throes of epiphanies and my brain was wired. How could I have misjudged Mike so much? We had a lot in common, too much perhaps, and I wanted to get to know him more. Most of all, I wanted to help this man, I wanted to carry some of the pain for him, no one should ever be left alone to feel the pain he feels—a pain that had haunted me since the beer at the pub. I just had no idea how to do it. The thought of consciously wanting to help another human being, out of the goodness of my until now non-existent heart, terrified and surprised me. It seemed I too had layers.
If I helped him, maybe, just maybe, I could find some redemption for my lacking personality. Help Mike, help myself. This sat better with me, I was used to helping myself. Such a severe personality change, so suddenly, and for a man, would have ensured I never slept again. But if, in some way, I was putting myself first, things weren’t to change so drastically. My heart rate slowed.
“Any ideas, Snip? How do you think I should help Mike?” Snip’s answer was to growl and roll over, obviously displeased with the racket at such a late hour. He may have been more surprised that I was actually interested in helping someone besides just helping myself.
“Baby steps, Snip,” I said, patting him to assure him this was going to be something I could handle, not like the time I went to a party at Kellie’s house. That was a disaster, and just because it was two years ago, didn’t mean I was over the scars and humiliation. I only went because Kellie mentioned she had been baking for a week in preparation. So, I took Snip and we awkwardly sat in the corner working our way through a plate of brownies. Even Snip was embarrassed.
Only weird people take their dogs to parties, but I didn’t know that at the time.
Myanmar was coming up. Surely an overseas trip to an exotic, and from what I had read so far, beautiful location, was the perfect setting to help somebody show kindness, to delve into the art of happiness, literally. And if the truth be known, I wanted nothing more than to spend a few days wrapped in Mike’s deliciously robust arms, swimming, and drinking cocktails. It would be perfect for me, but I at least wanted to try and put Mike’s needs before my own. This concept was something I had never attempted before; it was probably going to require a lot of sugar. But if I tried it, all my years of bad attitude could be wiped away with a kind and generous gesture. I hoped. It’s more than a one-time-thing, Rosie. “Oh shush, Dad!’
And even better, perhaps all the years of Mike’s pain could begin to be washed away by the sea, which we fly over for twelve hours and five minutes, according to Google. The ocean wasn’t exactly my favourite place in the world, growing up so far inland meant I never got the chance to swim in it very often, so it was always strange, and then I saw Jaws and I never wanted to get into the ocean ever again. At least the movie traumatised Kendell too, so she at least had one flaw.
The annual radio host conference was taking place at the Myanmar Treasure Resort. I clicked onto the thumbnail on the website and was presented with crystal blue waters framed by rustic red villas—they almost looked like they were made out of clay—and palm trees. A huge swimming pool was located between the beach and the villas, complete with a bar. Never in my small, lonely life had I thought I would be going to somewhere like Myanmar, but looking at these pictures there was no way I was going to miss it, chubby thighs and all.
An ad for Balloons over Bagan popped up on my browser. The elegant balloons swayed over a landscape that looked like it was on another planet. Still, in all its strangeness it was beautiful. This would be perfect. Some pictures showed couples in the balloons happily smiling as the sun rose over what looked like archaeological temples. Bugger Mike, we were doing this, whether he wanted to or not. I could almost feel his strong arms snaking around my waist, I could smell him as he leant into me, whispering gratitude into my ear.
I could feel the cool of the hotel pool stroking my skin already and the hairs on my arms rose in expectation. Or, someone had just walked over my grave, it was hard to tell which because I was still alive, and couldn’t see my grave, let alone who was walking over it. Even more importantly, I could see Mike and me, wrapped in each other’s arms by the pool. Cheekily, I allowed my imagination to roam free, no fences to rein it in. I could feel Mike’s hard-on under my hand and I saw us dashing back to the room, chasing swirls of ecstasy that hovered around us. We were laughing as we ran, and the slight rubbing of my inner thighs was barely noticeable.
According to Wikipedia, Myanmar was muggy and hot, so Mike’s skin would be oiled with sweat, just like when I saw him at the park. The thought of it all caused a throbbing between my legs. Horse riding on the beach was another option, according to the plethora of ads attached to the hotel’s website. I thought about it but I much preferred the image of Mike in a balloon, rather than riding semi-naked on a beach. Balloons have less room to move about, more chances to get close.
Plus, there was the whole uncontrollable fear thing I had about horses. Dad bought my sister and me a horse each when we were kids. Kendell’s was tall and white and graceful and called “Highway.” Mine was stubby, and mean, and tried to kill me every day, and called “Studgy.” Dad made a big mistake when he said, “If you can learn to ride this horse, you can ride anything.” I never learnt to ride the nightmare with four legs because every time the stupid horse took off, I would jump for my life. Poor Dad spent a lot of time driving around the paddocks on the farm looking for a bridled black and white horse that may have been the actual devil. I’d never been on a horse since.
Most girls go through a horse phase and I was no exception, although it was unclear where this obsession came from. We were not horse people. Dad used to buy me copies of The Horse Magazine each month and I would greedily soak up the pictures of all the horses. The palominos were my favourite, with their caramel colouring offset by their white mane and tail.
But once I was given Studgy, my obsession died pretty quickly. In fact, it died overnight, never to return, but since Dad had gone to the trouble of buying me a horse, I had to ride him, although the term “ride” was used loosely.
Kendell was—big shock—a natural at horse riding. Mum and Dad hired a trainer for her and Dad built her a riding ring. Just because she had a horse that didn’t try to murder her every time she got on it, once again she was the golden child, the superstar.
So no, I doubted very much I would be getting on any horses in Myanmar. Plus, I was really allergic.
“Oh my god, Snip! I think I’m trying to seduce Mike.” Snip couldn’t have cared less but the revelation was a huge one for me. I wasn’t even sure how to seduce someone, let alone a man like Mike. I grabbed The Art of Happiness from my bag and hurled it out the back door. “I have no idea what you’ve done to me, Dalai Lama, but you can get stuffed!” I couldn’t isolate my feelings. Fear? Anger? I decided to go with fury and blame the entire situation on the entire race of Tibetan Buddhists. Unless of course, Mike and I did end up having sex, then the emotion would be changed to happiness and I would be thankful to the Tibetan Buddhists. I may even go vegetarian and meditate and hang up prayer flags.
I leaned back into my desk chair and reached into my cotton pyjama pants.
The wetness covered my fingers as I rubbed my clitoris, thinking of Mike’s strong body covering my own. Raising my hips and pushing my fingers down harder, I could hear Mike groaning in my ear, I could feel him inside me and his strong hands holding my head as he kissed me. Between the kissing me and sucking my nipples, I heard him say, “I’ve wanted you for so long. I’m going to come inside you.”
The thought pushed me over the edge and I climaxed into my own hand.
I lay still for a moment, basking in the after glory of a sexual encounter that had never happened. I wanted Mike. Yes, I wanted to peel back his layers, but just as much, I wanted to feel him spurt inside me and collapse on top of me with ecstasy. The number of times he had asked me to go for a beer with him, I was sure he wanted the same thing. I wondered if he had ever masturbated over the thought of me.
Straightening up my desk chair, and wiping my hand, feeling satisfied but slightly embarrassed, I clicked the mouse over the confirmation button and booked us a hot air balloon ride on our first morning in Myanmar.
Feeling quite pleased with myself and suddenly sleepy, I crawled back into bed. Thoughts of Mike danced in my head and then, I was asleep.