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"Do that and you can start thinking about where I'm going to make you take that hot fucking drink!"
"Kidding stoopid! Patience. Or you could move your lazy ass from the couch and come and help."
"Can't love, I've got three fingers wet."
Over-clocked libido? Sheesh! I don't know if women have an orgasm quota. If we do, Lena's in serious trouble. She'll have run through hers by the time she's 24! The love of my life is a nut-job. A glorious, wonderful, brazen goddess. And messed up, poor girl.
I remember our first meeting. Chrissie had taken me to the gallery to meet up with some friends. She'd managed to smooch two free tickets. Probably 'smooched' something else out of the guy too, knowing Chrissie. I wandered around while we were waiting and, the more I looked, the more I felt drawn to the photographer. There was no obvious theme, but they'd all been taken with such a sense of artistry, of atmosphere: of such soul and subtle sensitivity that I was amazed. I was curious about the person. What would he or she look be like, that had managed to steal these wonderful moments from the world's canvas?
When Lena entered the room -- I didn't know it was her, of course -- it was like she had just walked off the wall. Sounds so cliche, but it's true. The same feel of latent energy and hidden soul, the same dampened fire and pregnant passion as in her photographs. She stopped under one of the downlights. The radiant gloss of her black hair, the faint sneer of contempt on her mouth, arrogance in her entire being. It was though she didn't really know why she was here, couldn't care less and didn't give a toss that other people were even in the room. I was mesmerised. She'd stolen images with her camera. She stole me in a moment.
The funny thing is she doesn't realise how beautiful and talented she is. Or, if she does, she never shows it. She doesn't preen. She doesn't present. It's almost like she is what she is and, as she'd say, 'doesn't give a fuck'. You have to know her to see the genuine sensitivity that informs her photographic genius. On the surface she's harder than cut glass. Sharp, edgy: and she'll bleed you if you're not careful. She's done that to quite a few too.
Her body is dynamite; lithe, trim and so sinuous. I've never seen anyone move quite like Lena. Just her walk -- completely unaffected -- is enough to send a priest running to confession. Guys drool over her boobs and girls love her ass. She drives them all nuts, screws them and moves on.
She's into tats. I love to lie next to her just slowly tracing the patterns on her skin. She's got a full length sleeve down one arm and a nice piece of ink on her torso on the same side. But it's the one on her thigh I like best: a delicate work of Japanese peach blossom branches entwined around her leg with a couple of small twigs just reaching out towards her groin. As if to draw you inside. There are two birds with feathers picked out in breathtaking delicacy. It's in full colour and the floral tones match my hair. I like to think she got that done deliberately, but she's never said. Not many people to get to see that one, and I think that's why I also like it so much.
Hmm, no, let me reconsider that. Plenty of people get to see it, just not in public! She's an absolute nympho. Not that she'd ever admit it. Actually I think it's worse than that. She absolutely denies it to herself because she's afraid. Secretly fears that she's somehow damaged or broken. And so she shows this exaggerated bravado to the world. Strutting around to avoid any hint of weakness. What's really sad is that she treats herself with the same contempt she treats everything else. It breaks my heart sometimes. That's why I'm here. Because someone has to give her the love she denies herself. And I couldn't bear for it not to be me.
I actually can't believe we're still together. 14 months has to be some kind of record. Life for Lena is an 'all-you-can-fuck buffet'. She gets bored as quickly as she gets horny. Probably quicker if that's actually possible. I accept she sleeps around and strangely it doesn't bother me. She certainly doesn't ignore me. If anything, sex with her when she's having a fling is more intimate, more intense. Perhaps she feels guilty, but I really don't think that's it. As I said, I don't mind. And whether it's make-up sex, guilt sex, or just plain 'I-need-to-fuck-you' sex, with Lena it's all bloody incredible!
"Are you growing that fucking coffee!?"
Geez, it's like living with a two-year old.
"Bit slow today are you babe? I thought you'd have finished yourself at least five minutes ago."
"I did! I'm onto my second, bitch, you took so long. Oh, shiiiitttt ..."
Good thing the coffee's done then. Has been for ten minutes actually. It'll be the temperature she likes by the time she gets her ass in here in a couple minutes. She drinks coffee likes she smokes. Because it looks cool rather than because she likes it, like it's expected because she's an artist. Gotta look the part. The poor dear doesn't even know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino! Couldn't tell Columbian from Java if her life depended on it. I give her the good stuff just the same though. Small things to spoil her.
"Smells good. Thanks Jus."
"Well, look who's all mellow now. How's the couch? Do I need to go sponge Lena-juice off it?"
"Ah, shit. Probably. Sorry."
"Wow, two almost-polite sentences in a row, honey! You feeling OK?"
"Hah. Try me, bitch."
There's the smile. Good girl, Lena. God, I'll do anything to see
that.
----------
LENA
It's hard to know what Jus is thinking when she looks at me like that. I like to try though. Well, sort of. I also like to just look at her eyes.
It was her eyes got me that first time at the gallery. There she was just looking at me. Not staring, just looking. Sombre, unblinking. I couldn't look away. It must have been only a few moments, but it felt like years. I had to see her again, but I made myself wait. We saw each other on and off over the next two weeks. I tried to make it casual, 'accidentally' bumping into her when we were out, chance meetings over coffee with friends and such. Eventually I got Chrissie to bring her back to the gallery. I couldn't stand it any longer. I was way past even bothering with seduction. I was fucking desperate, and insane with lust. I just about raped her. Savagely. Twice. I needn't have worried. I'd expected shock, horror, repulsion: it happens often enough. Instead I got a gorgeous smile, a wonderful light in her big eyes and a soft kiss.
Her eyes are the one thing I can't capture with my camera. Oh, I've bloody tried. I've got albums full of Jus. None that you'll see on the wall out here though. I can capture the way she looks, the way she stands, the way she sleeps. But film can't capture the subtle play of light and colour deep in her eyes. The play of emotion deep in their depths as they shift from blue to grey, like clouds shifting over water. They say everything, even when she doesn't speak. Through those orbs she bares her soul to the world. I cannot comprehend such transparent honesty.
Shit, I've gone all fucking poetic. That's her influence too. She's got a shit load of books -- literature, philosophy, poetry, history. I can't say I'm much of a reader myself, but I found a poem in one of the anthology volumes once and read it to her. Can't really remember how it went now. Something about sweet, red apples being not forgotten, just not picked yet. It sort of reminded me of her. When I read it to her, her face went white and her eyes turned the deepest blue I've ever seen. She was as still as a stone for almost a whole fucking minute and then tears started rolling down her cheeks before she turned and ran into the bedroom. So bloody emotional. So much for my attempt at sensitivity: she ends up sobbing her little heart out! I had to fuck some sense into her before the silly bitch would smile for me again. And then she tells me it was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to her. Go figure.
But, hell, what would I know. She's much more clever than me. By a fucking long way. A software analyst for god's sake. She's smart and she's sweet. She's also the most selfless person I know. She's cute when she's rude and bloody annoying when she's not. Is she good in bed? She's generous, sensitive and wonderful. Is she pretty? I guess; but it doesn't matter, because to me she is fucking beautiful. And there is no way in hell that I deserve her.
