Page 16 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

“I want to kiss you too.”

We were tentative. Noses brushed, breath mingled, and then: two soft kisses like on the train. They had the same enlivening effect. I kissed Aleks back with a crazed sort of desperation. I was aware of myself clutching at his back, and then his hair, before a violent shiver ran through me.

He pulled away. “Cold?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Do not be afraid, beautiful Malphia. I know that making love to you, if it were to happen, and I do not assume, will be one of the most exquisite experiences of my life. But it will not be tonight. I want you to be completely at ease with me. Ah look, the chocolate is get cold. Let’s sit.”

Somewhat stunned by the blatancy of his words, I sat beside him, feeling both at ease and a little petulant.

“See the chocolate hearts,” he said, indicating the chocolate. “They have melted, only gold stars are left.”

The shiny stars looked surreal on top of the chocolaty froth. The drink tasted lovely, thick and sweet and creamy, the melted chocolate dots dark and rich on my tongue.

“You look different with your hair this way. I don’t know if is younger or older?” He tucked some hair behind my ear, the touch of his fingers sending little shocks down my neck and spine. “Timeless, ageless beauty,” he concluded. “Please be not having offence,” he said, “but I am seeing in your timetable that you have classes alone with, this one, Peter?”

“Private lessons, yes. Three a week.”

“I want you to have these with me too. I think is important we work together more. Olga, she has say this also. You would like, Amalphia?”

I liked the way he said my name, the second and third syllables extended as if they mattered, as if I mattered. “Of course. You asked how college stretches me? Your classes do that.”

“I am still feeling my way, as you know, learning how to teach and explain. But I have knowledge of much that will be good for you.”

“What else did Olga say?”

“Come, I show you. Will be better.”

He didn’t kiss me, despite my upturned face, but walked back inside to the piano. It was nice to sit on the cushioned stool with him as he opened the lid. Our thighs touched.

“This,” he said, “is you.” He played a tune on the higher notes, all light and tinkly and frivolous.

“I sound like an animated squirrel jumping through the treetops. I have to tell you, I rarely do that.”

“Yes. There is so much more.” The lower, sensuous melody didn’t seem very like me either. Loud discordant crashes were even more confusing. “Hidden underneath,” he explained. “And here I am.” He played low and slow.

“That’s not you. It’s a funeral march!”

He gave a small laugh. “Sometimes this is me. But together…”

The squirrel danced through the melancholy tune, and the two threads blended to create a new and rich composition. Eyes shut and head against his shoulder, I lost myself in the music, his music, his interpretation of us. Us together, wound round and through one another…

He had stopped. I felt his breath in my hair and then we were kissing again, more slowly this time, luxuriating in the experience. His thigh muscles were hard beneath my hand. It took determined restraint to keep my fingers there. A depraved being had replaced timid Amalphia, and she wanted to run her hands all over Aleks.

The phone rang and he got up to answer it.

“I have to take,” he said. “Will not be long. Please be completely at home. Do anything you wish.” He walked into the hallway talking into the phone in a grumpy voice.

There was a laptop on the coffee table and, in the name of making myself at home, on it went. The screen opened to the college website, the fifth page of comments on the song Justin and I had done together last year. It didn’t take long to work out that my breasts were the main topic of discussion, and what people would like to do to them and me. I laughed at the stupidity, then realised Aleks had been reading it all, and that wasn’t so amusing.

The contribution from ‘sexyWilliam222’ was infuriating: “even better when there pressed up against you, beleve me.” Bastard. Dyslexic bastard. But I had a defender, a furious one, who had triggered a heated debate about women and respect. He came back into the room and closed the laptop lid.

“You should not be look at this,” he said, sitting beside me on the sofa.

“The internet’s full of idiots. You didn’t need to get so upset.”

“But they shouldn’t say these things. They shouldn’t even be look at you.” He turned away, distressed. “It spoils the evening, another thing to go wrong.”

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