7 January
New South Wales, Australia
I set my alarm to get up early enough for a dip in the rockpool at sunrise, one thing I haven’t had time for yet. I drop my towel on a lounge chair and step into the pool. It’s everything Bruce said it would be. The sun rises sending notes of pink and orange along the horizon. The waves lap gently over the edge of the pool with the tide at just the right spot between high and low. The briny water is fresh on my skin. I float on my back looking up at the lightening sky overhead.
Yesterday was magic. Every part, from the bridge climb that scared the pants off me, to the walk around the harbour, and to the city lights. Oh man, they were next level.
Sex with Winston always happened in bed and under the covers. Getting off in the back of a Land Rover with my knees chapped from the sand nestled into the carpet, that wouldn’t have happened with Winston. It was like we were in high school but better because Bruce knew what he was doing.
If I’m honest, I’m not sure what I’m doing—hooking up with someone I’ve known for 72 hours. I know he’s a rebound and helping me cleanse my palate of every memory of Winston. But it feels right and seems like something more. I’m safe, content, and happy when his arms are around me. Last night was better because I hadn’t had a release like that for quite some time. And yet I haven’t ached for Winston. I can’t remember ever aching for him even in the beginning. I’m getting warm thinking about this new Australian surfer man dream.
I flip over and swim a few laps. I can’t forget to tell Bruce how special this morning's swim was.
Bruce said he’d meet me at the spa for our couples massage. I’m not sure I can be so close to him and not have him touching me. I wait in the foyer smelling all the candles and expensive lotions. I had told Bruce to be there at 9:45 for check in, but the minutes tick by and it’s getting close to ten. No Bruce. Maybe yesterday wasn’t what I thought it was.
Francine, get a grip. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend — or fiancé — standing you up. You’re fine on your own.
At least this time I’m not being left at the altar.
I walk up to the desk to check in for a solo couples massage. Behind me the door whips open and Bruce jogs in, still in his clingy board shorts and with a stripe of zinc on his nose.
“I’m so sorry. My lesson ran over. I couldn’t get these teenage boys out of the surf. Please forgive me…and those knuckleheads.” He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“Mr. and Mrs. Roberts?”
“No! No! We’re not…” I explain but Bruce interrupts. “We’re here for the couples massage.”
We walk back to a room with two massage tables. Eucalyptus and lavender pulses through the air. It’s 90 minutes of heaven on earth.
“May I come back to yours?” He asks as we walk out of the spa and it’s music to my ears. Every part of me is humming. We both walk like we’re on a mission. Which trust me, took a lot longer than I wanted traipsing through the resort in those spa slippers. I fumble with the key. Bruce takes the card from me and presses it to the door. We fall inside. His lips land on mine. They’re still salty from the surf. “Shower,” he says into my mouth. I nod and walk toward the bathroom. Bruce drops his spa robe on the floor. I tug at the tie on my robe and it slips off my shoulders. I swallow. In one step, he closes the gap between us and he kisses me hard. His tongue pulsing like his fingers did last night. He reaches into the shower and turns on the water. Our bodies are warm and still slicked with oil. Bruce wastes no time putting his fingers inside of me.
“Talk to me about birth control,” he says, slipping them in and out, teasing me.
“It’s all good. I’m on the pill,” I say faster and at a higher pitch than normal. His fingers are going to undo me—again.
“Lovely, darl. I want to feel as much of you as I can.”
His words almost make me come on their own. The water from the rain shower falls around us. Bruce pushes me up against the wall. I stand on my tiptoes and rub against him. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around him. But he teases and doesn’t enter me. His tip circles my entrance but I can’t move on top of him because he’s holding me where I am. I kiss him harder trying to give him every sign I’m ready. His mouth turns up and a laugh gurgles in his chest.
I push him back. “This isn’t fair!”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
He walks backward, carrying me with him, and sits on the built-in bench. My legs straddle his back and he has no choice but to enter me. He fills me so much I could burst but I want more. I pull my knees up letting him sink further into me. He pulses back and forth and moves his hips from side to side. Every nerve inside of me is at attention. I’m riding the best wave of my life. There’s no stopping the orgasm that starts stronger than I’m ready for. I gasp again and again until I can’t keep from peaking and yelling for release. As I finish Bruce pulses faster and faster and I use any ounce of energy I have left to grind into him until he releases inside of me.
We sit in the afterglow. Bruce trails a line of baby kisses on top of my shoulder and then leans his head back against the shower wall. He traces gentle circles on my back.
“Ahhh. I hate to leave, but I have a few more lessons to teach this afternoon.” He slides me over on the bench and rinses off. “I’ll be back by seven, love.”
He plants a kiss right on my lips and steps out of the shower.
I stand under the shower head. The water falls over my chafed body. Surfing, sun, sex. I’ve never felt so weathered and worn in all the right places. I wrap up in my delicious robe and lie on top of the bed.
I scroll through my photos. Bruce and the resort photographer captured me doing things I’ve never imagined. And I’m beaming while I’m doing them. And then there’s our selfie on top of the bridge that makes my pulse quicken.
Every time Bruce leaves I find my heading spinning. In a good way. Or is it? Tonight’s my last night here. If I’m truly honest with myself, what am I doing? My heart and body crave this delicious Australian specimen. He’s sweet, kind, and sexy as hell. But I’m setting myself up for more heartbreak when I leave tomorrow morning—alone. I don’t know if I can handle Tsunami of Sadness Round #2. I’m great at taking care of others, but I have to take care of myself. I have to stop this here and now.
I call the front desk.
“Hi, this is Francine Pastells in the Palm Beach Bungalow.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Roberts. Oops, yes. Sorry. Ms. Pastells. How may I help you?” asks the perky female voice.
“I’d like to cancel the dinner on the beach for this evening.”
“Would you like anything in its place?” she asks.
Hmmm. No. “No, thanks.”
“Please call back if there’s anything else we can help you with, Ms. Pastells.” I hang up.
I drop my robe and jump in the pool letting the cool water calm every part of me. I float through the pool, alternating between backstroke and treading water until my fingers prune. Operation Keep-Myself-Busy-Until-I-Leave starts now, and it all begins with taking myself on a date.
I’m going to enjoy my last night in Easton. I slide into my sexiest pink thong and the new pink floral slip dress that skims all my best spots. Add a touch of makeup, a little red lipstick, and I’m a new woman.
The shuttle drops me off in Easton and I amble along the sidewalk until I find the perfect restaurant—a cute little spot called The Saltwater Grill. Tables and live music spill onto the sidewalk overlooking the beach. Before I walk in, I text Bruce.
Francine: Canceled dinner. Been fun. Thanks for everything.
Then I turn off my phone and order a stuffed lobster tail—at least that’s the end without the face, a plate of fries, and a glass of bubbles. I will myself to focus on only what’s in front of me—a crustacean and potatoes—and I devour every bite, only leaving a few fries that I wish Bruce were here to steal from me.
“Dessert, miss?” asks the server, rescuing me from my impending sadness.
“What do you have?”
“We have a lovely pavlova with fresh berries and homemade whipped cream.”
Yes. Decadent and delicious. “I would love some.”
“Another glass of prosecco?”
Absolutely. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
I savor every bite of the heavenly dessert, even licking my fork, and finish the last of my bubbles. The stars are coming out and suddenly I’m ready to be back at the bungalow. I pay the check and order an Uber—thankful it’s only a five minute wait.
My heart drops a little when Bruce isn’t camping outside my front door. See. I was right to stop it right there. He doesn’t even care a lick about me. Obviously I was a little tourist fling. I’m so tired and tipsy, I don’t even bother to wipe off my makeup or change out of my dress. Bed and sleep is all I can handle.