Chapter 2
The colors began to flash, as if she were swimming to the top of the sea, getting brighter every second, going from deep purples to greens and now light blues. Her ears began to ring and behind her eyes she saw white brightness. She could feel her limbs now and she raised her head a bit. She opened her eyes and blinked away the initial dimness. George sat in front of her, smiling.
He was exactly the reason she began to meditate that morning. He had been on her mind and it tugged at her conscience a bit that she was having an affair with him. She wondered if it was her destiny to do so. Seeing him in front of her, she supposed he was her answer, in the flesh. She smiled.
"Did you hear me?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, but I'm sure my mind sensed you."
"I'm sorry that I disturbed you. I didn't want to touch you, or startle you, but then I saw you move and figured you'd come out of it. What were you mediating for?"
She arched a brow and shook her head. "You know better than to ask. But I can tell you that it was for inner peace."
He smiled and they grew silent, as if neither knew what to do. He leaned over then to kiss her lips softly.
"I've missed that," he said, running his thumb over her mouth.
"It's only been three days!"
"Three years," he mumbled.
"Are you alright? You seem a bit tense," she observed, frowning.
"I'm fine, I just haven't relaxed totally, yet."
She suddenly had an idea and smiled, then stood up, and walked to a small cupboard on the wall. There she found a bottle of oil and brought it back to him.
"Take off your robes and lay on your stomach," she ordered, sitting next to him.
He did as he was told and stretched out on the rug placing his chin on his hands.
"It was also like three years for the simple fact that I missed you. The other night has been in my head constantly," he murmured.
"I'm flattered," she said, pouring a bit of oil into her palms. She rubbed her hands together to warm the oil, then began to knead his muscles gently, starting with his lower back. He let a groan escape in relief.
"That's perfect," he muttered.
"Good," she said, smiling.
Kneeling above him, she worked her hands up and down his back, massaging deeply. Then she moved down over his hips, moving her hands in rhythmic circles.
"You know good that feels?"
"How good?"
"Really good. Know what else?"
"What?"
"It's really making me want you."
She laughed. "That, as well, is flattering."
"No really. If I could move, I'd be making love to you right now, but I feel strangely paralyzed. Very drowsy," he said, voice trailing.
She shook her head and poured some more oil into her hands. She then rubbed his buttocks, and his upper thighs. He made a few little groans, then fell silent. After a few minutes, she glanced at him and saw that his head had lulled to one side and his eyes were closed. She stopped massaging him and moved away to get a better look at his face. His lips were parted and his breathing came deeply. She wanted to laugh, that he had fallen asleep. He looked like such a little boy and she felt a strange endearment in her heart for him.
She stood and gently lay a blanket over him, then retreated to her small kitchen area. There she retrieved a pot of cold lentil soup and some raw dough for bread. Quietly she sat the pot of soup on the burner to simmer, and put the dough into the oven. While they were heating, she sat in a chair under the window with a copy of the Ramayana. Every once and a while her eyes glanced over the top of the pages to look at George sleeping soundly.
After a time, she lit a stick of incense and went to check on the bread. When she padded back out, he was stirring. She knelt and brushed the hair from his eyes.
"Did I fall asleep?" he asked, blinking.
"Yes. Do you feel better?"
"Much. Tala, love, I'm sorry. That was rude," he apologized, sitting up.
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure this evening will turn out better now that you're energized."
He gave her a look, then took her in his arms and kissed her. When they broke he looked past her.
"Is something cooking?"
"I have bread in the oven, and soup heating."
"Smells great. So, did you decide to forgo the tea?" he asked craftily.
"Well, we could always try it again, but something about it seems to be an aphrodisiac," she said, running her fingertip across his chest.
"It's the honey," he said, then caught her finger and ran his tongue over it, sending a wave of desire through her. He moved closer, looking at her deeply, but she shied away.
"Before we start anything, I'm going to take the bread out of the oven."
He pouted and watched after her. She pulled the bread out and set it on her table to cool. Then she turned to heat on the soup down, after stirring it. Suddenly she felt arms wrap around her waist and he planted a kiss on her neck.
"How does it look?" she asked, putting down the spoon.
"Beautiful," he answered, meeting her eyes. She blushed then realised that he was still naked.
"How shameless you are George! Where are your robes?" she teased.
"You told me to take them off. And why put them back on, if the other night was any indication of our evening ahead . . ."
"Shameless," she scolded again, but turned to face him. He kissed her, then took her hands and pulled her back to the sitting room. She followed and out of the corner of her eye she saw something sitting in the doorway.
"What's that?" she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder, then let her hands go. "Oh, a guitar! I found one and brought it for you to see."
He swept up the blanket to tie at his waist, then retrieved the guitar case and brought it back in the room.
"I thought maybe I'd play it later on."
"Anything you want," she said, secretly thrilled.
"Anything?" he echoed deviously.
She backed away, giving him a tantalizing smile. "It seems as if there's only one thing on your mind today."
He slowly walked towards her, grinning. "Well, isn't it on your mind, too? Can't you feel it between us?" he asked, seductively.
She licked her lips and let him touch her. He rubbed the fabric of her sari between his fingertips, then gently pulled her closer, wrapping and arm around her waist. She could feel it, so much so that whatever the connection was, it was nearly tangible. And it wasn't just lust. She knew what lust was, and this was on a higher level. It was a kind of lovemaking she hadn't ever experienced, and it was thoroughly addicting.
They made love on the blanket, and afterwards lay back against the pillows to catch their breath. As she came out of her haze she looked over to George, who took her hand in his and squeezed it.
"George, do you think that it's possible for two people to be meant for each other? I believe, but what about you?" she blurted, the moment it popped into her head. He looked at her and smiled.
"Why don't you tell me? You're the mystic."
"I am not," she said giving him a little nudge. "But really. Do you think so?"
He grew quiet and looked away. She felt his hesitation and wariness immediately and she tried to change the subject.
"I'm sorry. I can feel that it's wrong," she said, waving her hand near him.
He looked at her and sighed. "I used to think it was possible. I thought I had it."
"Your wife?" she questioned, after a pause.
"I loved her. I felt such an attraction and it drove me to keep persisting, to have her be mine. It felt . . . much like what I feel for you."
"But you love her still?" she asked, frowning.
"Yes, but in a different way. I don't bloody know. Just like the band, I thought it was gonna be great. And then I kept having to leave her, and she got upset and lonely. Then she turned me onto the Indian vibe and I thought we could have something there, like we could regain what we lost. But even now, I know she resents that I leave her so much. It's already been rumoured that I've cheated on her."
Tala gave him an odd look and he quickly clarified. "You're the first. When I saw you, it was like when I saw Pattie for the first time. Except now . . . there's something about you. I said it before but I can't figure it out. After we make love, something stays. There's something that grabs me tighter the more I'm with you. After I had Pattie and had a taste of the married life, it began to fade. I guess it was a mistake."
"Marrying her?"
"Yeah. I thought she was it."
"Are you very unhappy?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I've got so much shit going on, I can't ever really take the time to patch things up. And anyway, my efforts are always only a vacation to some island and we act happy, trying to ignore that it'll all just fall apart once we leave."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. His hand brushed over her hair and she felt him kiss the top of her head.
"Funny how life works. If I had met you first . . ."
"Life unfolds as it should," she said heavily.
"I just can't end it. Funny too, how the band mirrors my married life. I'm stuck with both for now."
She raised her head to look into his eyes. Tenderly, she placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him, running her tongue along his lips. He opened his mouth and kissed her slowly, more thoroughly and gently than he ever had before. He broke then and met her eyes.
"Yes. It is possible that two people can be meant for each other. I believe it because I've found it."
"Again?" she whispered.
He shook his head slightly. "For the first time."
She paused, then answered slowly, "I want to say that I'll go the way of your wife, when you find another," she said, voice trembling.
"But you don't believe that," he said quietly.
She shook her head. He bent and kissed her again, hugging her close. His hand smoothed her hair back over her shoulder and he put his lips near her ear.
"I love you."
A shock snapped through her body at his words, and she let her hands fall away from him. He continued to hold her, and her boldness and conviction came flooding back. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. He held her for a few moments, then sat back, shaking his head as if he was dazed. He looked at her, then smiled, almost bashfully.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.
"Famished."
"I'll bring the food out. And some wine. I no longer trust tea."
He chuckled and she rose to go to the kitchen. After spooning soup into two bowls and placing the bread on the tray, she brought it out and placed it on the floor. He sat up, pulling the blanket to cover his nakedness, and peered at the food. She broke the bread in pieces and held a piece between her fingers.
"Please start," she said.
He dipped the bread into the soup, sopping up the liquid and took a bite. He looked at her and nodded.
"Very good. Really good," he said, taking another bit of bread. She smiled, relieved and began to eat. After a moment, she realised she forgot the wine and went to get it. She brought back a green bottle and two glasses and poured some for him.
"Thanks," he said, and took a gulp.
She poured herself a glass, then looked up to see him looking at her.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you think about this? I know you've got a freer outlook on things than most people, but what do you feel about this situation?" he asked suddenly.
"This situation?"
"Us."
She raised her brows and took a sip of the wine. She mulled over the question for a moment, then sighed.
"Well, I know that this is an affair and affairs never bring much happiness to anyone, even the people engaging in them. That's because they're usually based on lust, an uncontrollable desire, but that's not how I see us. Perhaps I should feel that it's wrong, but part of me, the stronger part of me sees it as nothing but right."
A twinge of a smile began to turn the corners of his mouth, but he remained silent.
"I too believe that there is a mate out there for everyone and finding that person is very rare. Should I feel bad because you're married? If this was an affair for sex, yes. But it's not with you and I. You feel it as well as I do. I felt an attraction the moment I saw you. That's rare. And now being with you, seeing that every moment our relationship goes deeper, well I can't help but think that we are to be together. Should I feel bad for your wife? A part of me does, but she's got to know too, that your marriage is not what it should be, that as you said, it was a mistake. So George, I feel that our situation is right. Fate pulled us together and we're doing as much with the time that has been given to us as we can."
He frowned a little and tilted his head slightly. "I've never met a woman like you before. Maybe the birds I've known have been too uptight, but even the free ones, nothing like you. Where do you get that, the way you look at things? Is everything so simple?"
"Rarely is anything simple. My answer to your question wasn't, I just tried to be as honest as I could. I don't know what makes me different. Perhaps I just don't saddle my life with the pressure everyone else does. I know not."
"Then why does my life drag me down?"
"You let yourself drag it down."
"But it seems so unfair sometimes, like I had nothing to do with it and it just gets worse."
"Life isn't always fair. I don't even think it was meant to be! But just step back for a moment and see yourself."
He rubbed his eyes and groaned. "I see someone miserable."
"All of the time miserable?"
"No. But enough that being miserable seems to be a trend."
"Well stop being such a spectator. It's your life, George. You control it. And I really don't think you should complain. Yes you have problems and concerns, we've talked of those. Yet you do something you love and that it a rare accomplishment, indeed."
He said nothing for a moment, then, "So, about you and me. You seem to see it so simply, while I think of it as this . . . remarkable thing."
"As do I," she reassured him.
He fell silent and rubbed his finger around the rim of the glass. She waited a moment, then went and sat next to him. He looked at her, sadness apparent in his eyes.
"Cheer up. We're together and all you've got to do is look inside yourself to make it better. You've got the foundations for it, you just have to work on it. People won't always see eye to eye, but I know how I feel about you and my heart echoes yours."
She raised her hand to caress his face and leaned in to kiss him gently. He put down the glass and put his hands on her shoulders. The kiss deepened and she threw the blanket aside and he laid down, lowering her with him. For a moment they lay, side by side, looking at each other, their hands touching, exploring one another, something that made her heart surge with tenderness. His hand ran over her waist to her hip, then back up to her breast. He smiled at her and she lowered her head, her hair falling in her face. He swept it over her shoulder and pulled her close.
"Tala," he whispered.
She raised her eyes, flicking them to his with a look of innocent, pure desire. He kissed her, then began gently sucking on her neck, over her shoulders, down to her breasts. She sighed and enfolded him in her arms as he positioned himself over her. Her hands raked along his back, then under his chest to his belly, rubbing. He caught her hand and lowered it, closing it around him there. She began to stroke him and he let out a long groan, closing his eyes.
She began to run her tongue along his chest and he gave a shudder, then grasped her and pulled her up so they were facing one another. His hands closed over her breasts, rubbing, then they traveled downward past her belly and began to caress her intimately. She leaned back, bracing on her hands and he bent forward to press his face on her skin, to tantalize her with kisses that seared with heat. She whispered his name, and he pulled her to him again and slipped inside of her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself so he was inside of her completely.
His hands wrapped around her waist and guided her up and down over him. She placed her hands on his face and kissed him, her tongue meeting, dancing with his hungrily. He grasped her harder and changed the rhythm he moved her, slower now, a rhythm that made her cry aloud with wanting. Her cries inflamed him, and his fingers dug into her flesh, making her gasp. Overwhelmed, she pushed him down and placed her hands on his chest, pushing against him harder. His breathing came fast now and he quickened his thrusts. She began to moan with each push and his cries echoed hers.
In the last moments, he gripped her tightly at her hips and she put her hands over his, grasping. Like drops of rain in a pond, the orgasm washed over her in giant ripple after ripple. He came then with a groan and then lay his head back on the floor, panting. She slowly slipped off of him and lay at his side, her back facing him. She listened to his breathing as it went from heavy, then tapered to calm. There was a silence in the room and she rolled over. Her eyes met his and he smiled.
"Keeps getting better, doesn't it?"
She let out a laugh and nodded. He gave a satisfied sigh and leaned over to grab his glass of wine. She watched him drink, then had an idea.
"I think we should do something, that is if we can manage it," she said.
"What's that?"
"Let's go somewhere."
"Okay. Where?"
"Well, I was thinking I could take you to see the ocean. We could wander through the market and have lunch."
"We could skinny dip," he offered, grinning.
"We could," she said with a laugh, "But could you do it? How many people know you're here?"
"Not too many. I think it's known I'm vacationing, but it's pretty easy to get lost in India. I may be part of the Beatles but that's still not incentive enough for reporters to follow me through the depths of this country, though they do a good job."
"Maybe you'd have to wear a disguise," she mused.
"Aren't my robes enough?" he laughed.
"We could dress you as a sikh. No one would know then."
He arched a brow. "We'll manage."
"Well, what about me? What if you're found out and there are pictures taken . . ."
He raised his brows and nodded a bit. "Yeah. That's a problem. Do you think someone will find us? I mean, really?"
"I don't know. Probably not. The beach isn't crowded and I can't think of much media in this area to begin with. If you've been with Ravi over the past week and haven't encountered much, chances are we'll be safe."
"Well occasionally some kids will see me, but that's about it. I think we can swing it."
"Good. I can find some bikes for us."
"Bikes? How about if I find us a car?"
She smiled. "If you can, that'll do, but I'll have the bikes just in case."
He nodded. "Okay then. When do you want to go?"
"Whenever you can manage. Don't start making your wife suspicious," she warned.
"I'm not sure she isn't already, just in general, but I'll tell her what I always do, that I'm with Ravi, or someone new I've met. Meditating, something like that. This weekend, how about? I've got an engagement with Ravi, a party, but afterwards?"
"I'll be here. Just show up."
"Okay, love," he nodded, smiling. He put his arm around her and took another deep breath. After a moment he got up, pulled on his robes and grabbed the guitar case. He sat on a chair and opened it, pulling out the rather old-looking, beat-up instrument.
"This has seen better days," he said, smoothing his hand over the chipped and worn wood. He worked on tuning it as she cleared away the food and straightened the sitting room a bit. He plucked at the strings, making the sound come clearer and crisper.
"Hasn't been tuned in ages, either."
He held it up to his ear, strumming the strings, making adjustments. Tala put her thin sari back on and sat quietly, pulling her feet under her, waiting. Excitement ran through her, she loved instruments and to have George about to play was incredible. When he seemed satisfied, he looked at her, and lowered his head, hair falling in his eyes. He gave the strings a few more strums, then began to pick out a tune. To her surprise and delight, he began to sing.
I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping, while my guitar gently weeps . . .
The breath caught in her throat and she held it, not believing how true and soulful his voice was. He sang softly, but with conviction, feeling the words. She felt them too, they were beautiful and so meaningful. She watched his hands, the way the one ran along the neck of the guitar, pressing on the frets, his long fingers so perfect for his instrument. It captivated her, that he had such a talent and that he played so well.
I look at the world and I notice its turning, while my guitar gently weeps, with every mistake we much surely be learning . . .
The statement struck her. He had a deep heart, his music wasn't trite and shallow. She wondered if he was appreciated within the band.
As the last chord faded, he glanced up at her and she smiled brilliantly.
"That was magnificent. It is one of yours?"
"Of course. What, you think I'd play a Lennon/McCartney?" he said with a grin.
She shrugged a bit, not fully understanding.
"You like it, though?"
"Yes very, very much. I'd like to hear your other songs sometime."
"They're not as good. Crap, really. But I'm working on being better at it. I never though I'd write music. I left it up to John and Paul for the longest time."
"But they recognize your talent?"
He gave a bitter laugh. "So much so they graciously allow me to have my one song per album."
"But you're a writer. You must have more," she said, baffled.
He put the guitar to the side and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I do. But because I never wrote originally, John and Paul got used to doing all the writing themselves. Then I started to write and now that I'm becoming proficient, they're doing more individual writing and it's a fight to get my songs on the albums. It's hard, to tell the truth. It's like I play session guitar for them and when I want to have them give a listen to my stuff, they act like it's a hassle."
"Well, if they can't see your talent, then it's a gift lost on them. Your words, so profound and true. And your voice, it's wonderful."
He smiled and picked the guitar back up. "I'm just gonna fool around on this a bit, you don't mind?"
She shook her head. "Should I leave?"
"No. But you don't have to stay if you don't want to."
"Well, I might come back and listen in a bit. I would like to hear more, but I'll give you some time," she said, standing. She walked to him and he caught her hand, and she leaned down. He kissed her and squeezed her hand.
"Thanks, love."
She smiled, and went to the adjoining room where she sat and listened to the faint, pluckings of the guitar strings. She wrapped her arms around herself and listened quietly. He was singing softly and gradually she began to fall asleep. That last words she heard were faint "somethings" about a lover.
~*~*~*~
"Tala."
She took a breath and stretched, opening her eyes. George was kneeling by her and twining his fingers in her hair. He smiled and leaned to kiss her. She smiled beneath his mouth and sat up.
"How long have I been sleeping?"
"Oh, about an hour or so, I suppose. Maybe more, I really lost track of time."
"Do you have to go?" she frowned, noticing that dusk was approaching.
"Not just yet."
"How was your playing?" she questioned.
"Good," he said, animated, "I think I've got a good song going."
"Could I hear it?"
He gave a crafty smile and shook his head. "It's a secret. I'm not done yet."
She gave a pout. "Well, be sure to let me hear sometime."
"I will," he said, eyes becoming serious.
Her lips broke into a stunning smile and she leaned forward to kiss him. Her arms wrapped around him and her fingers made trails along his back. She touched her tongue to his, probing, playing slowly, seductively. She felt him respond, felt the heat rise between them like glowing embers. She rose to her knees and pulled her sari from her body, then took his hands and stood, bringing him up with her. She tugged at his robes, and once he stood naked, she pushed him against the wall, holding his hands there as she ran her tongue over his lips, down his neck in a slow, winding trail and to his chest. He closed his eyes and tightened his fingers around hers.
She continued to press sensual kisses along his fevered skin, touching and teasing with her tongue. She let his hands go and ran hers along his hips as she lowered herself slightly. She gently put her hand around his hardness and stroked it, then ran her tongue along the silky skin there. He gasped and let his hands dangle at her shoulders, rendered powerless for that moment. She continued to stroke him, and pressed kisses along his thigh, finding the sensitive skin and sucking gently. He gave a little cry, and she felt him shudder.
She stood slowly, and pressed her body against his and he kissed her roughly, his hand grasping the nape of her neck. She brought her knee up between his legs and he moved his hands to her hips, and over her buttocks to draw her closer. He bent his knees and pulled her upward and she parted her legs allowing him to caress her, then slide himself inside. Turned to him in this way she could see his face, see the heavy desire, see the sweat building on his forehead and skin.
She moved with his motions, putting her hands against the wall to grind against him, to feel him inside of her better, more deeply. He kissed her neck, over her shoulder, then put his hands at her waist and gently bent her back so he could put his mouth on her breasts, sucking at her nipples in a way that made her nails dig into his skin. He held her there, still thrusting, breathing faster and faster, sweat rolling down the muscles of his lanky, but hardened body. She moved back to him, kissed him with more urgency, giving little moans. His hands plunged through her hair, and she leaned her head back, tossing from side to side in her ecstasy.
Feeling the moment coming upon him, he grabbed her at her waist, pulling her to meet his thrusts, digging his fingers into her soft skin. She let a sharp cry escape from her throat and then felt the euphoria of her orgasm take her again and again. He followed immediately with a deep moan and she could feel the wet between her legs. She leaned against him, feeling the slickness of their skin, saturated with sweat.
"My God," he breathed, head lowered near her ear.
Still recovering from the long, shattering orgasm, all she could do was nod. His arms wrapped around her and held her against him securely. As their rapid breathing ceased, he looked at her, his hair damp and hanging in his eyes. She smiled and brushed it away.
"I-I think our kips did us good," he said, a look of amazement on his face.
She couldn't help but laugh. "There aren't even words . . ." she said, unable to continue.
"I need to sit," he said shakily.
She laughed again, as they sunk against the wall to sit on the floor. Her laugher caught on and he chuckled, giving her a goofy smile. She gave another sputter of laughter at his face and soon they were in hysterics, leaning on each other, tears rolling down their eyes.
"W-what the hell are we laughing for?" he gasped.
She shook her head, unable to answer. Her body shook and her stomach ached with the peals of laughter that had hold of her. Gradually their giggles subsided and they sat, emotionally and physically spent. He pulled his knees up and rested his arms there, leaning his head against the wall. She looked at him and smiled.
"Skinny legs," she said, giving him a nudge.
He peered at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "Yes. But it's so cute."
"What, my skinny, weak, little self?"
"Of course. But you certainly know how to work it."
He looked at her, taken aback at first, then bursting out in a great grin and laugh.
"Someone doesn't mince her words," he said, shaking his head.
She gave a proud smile. "Only giving credit where credit is due."
He leaned to kiss her. "You're damn good yourself."
She raised her brows and stood.
"Where are you going?"
"Let's watch the sun set."
He got up, taking his robe in hand and gave her the sari. She put it on and walked outside. He followed, adjusting the robes and stood next to her, putting his arm around her. The sky was lit up with the bright, but now dying Indian sun. Already to the east the darkness was upon them, pulling its blanket over the world. A light breeze blew, ruffling her damp hair, making her shiver. He wrapped his arms around her fully and in that moment she felt strangely saddened. This was an image of a life that she would never have. She was living it now, but how long would it last? She felt queasy when she thought of the answer.
George would leave, and soon. Their time was fleeting and the more she was with him, the more she wanted him to stay. This could be her life. If things had worked differently, he could be with her, together in India, spending their lives with one another. She knew it could be beautiful, growing together, learning each other in every way. He was already so soulful, spiritual. What she could teach him! But, it was not meant to be and she felt almost bitter.
"Why so quiet?" he asked, looking down at her.
"Oh, nothing. Just thinking," she said, mustering a smile.
His eyes delved into hers and he nodded. "I know."
"Do you?"
"God, yes."
Her eyes stung and she blinked quickly, stopping the tears from spilling. He looked from her, not wanting to see that, feeling it within himself too. She stared at the sun, sealing this memory in her mind forever.
"I love it here. And I love you. So let's go make love and make it better. We don't have to think about this now," he said, turning to her.
"You're right," she said, determined, "We're not finished yet." She took his hand in hers and lead him back to the house.
Chapter 3
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