Chapter Twenty-Three
Marty
Our first stop is a Greek coffee place that Jake confirmed is where many locals go to get their morning caffeine fix.
I don’t know much about Greek coffee, other than it’s very similar to Turkish coffee which I have made before, but I did a little research last night to get the basics.
This is what I enjoyed about travelling; discovering other places and finding out their flavours, their foods and their drinks.
Discovering their morning rituals and the traditional drinks and dishes that bring joy and comfort.
It’s these that the chef in me always wants to seek out.
Receiving a sceptical but warm welcome from the man behind the bar and the fellow patrons inside, I order a metrio for Jenna, a coffee with sugar, and I opt for a sketo myself, the same drink without sugar.
As Jenna finds a table just outside the front, I watch the man make our drinks and take the deep breaths I still need after Scooter-gate this morning.
I never imagined I would react like that to the prospect of getting on a scooter again, but Jenna’s reassuring smile, the promise of the day ahead and a firm internal pep-talk to myself all helped steady my shaking legs as I climbed on.
And now I feel something like pride take root in me, because I did it, even though I was scared. Even though I was on the cusp of panic, I didn’t fall over the edge.
The man mumbles something to me as I move to take our small cups of night-black coffee from him, and with little fanfare he follows me and plonks a plate of pastries that look like baklava on our table before rushing away again.
After advising Jenna to wait a little longer for the coffee’s ‘sludge’ to settle, I watch how she nods and reaches for a pastry.
Taking a bite, her full lips are momentarily covered with flakes of pastry.
When she uses her tongue to sweep them up and pull them into her mouth, she also closes her eyes to savour the sweetness of the honey and I swear my heart skips a beat.
A beat that my dick catches, swelling in my shorts.
It’s not that I’ve forgotten how sexy she is but part of me is actively trying to ignore it so that I can make today about something more than sex.
But then she does something like suck the honey out of a piece of baklava, her eyelashes flickering, and sex is all I can think about.
“How did you find out about this place?” she asks, snapping me back into the moment.
“Dad and I have passed it on our ride the last two mornings and it’s always busy with locals, so I was curious.
Also, the hotel breakfast is great and all, but it’s far from a real Greek or Cretan experience.
I wanted to at least try and find out what that looks and tastes like,” I say, handing her coffee to her.
She takes a sip and her nose wrinkles.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
She blushes. “Honestly, no. I rarely drink coffee without milk, but I appreciate the authentic experience.” She lifts her cup to her lips again. “Really, I do.”
I smile and we drink in silence, both of us watching the road traffic pass us by.
At some point, the Greek man from behind the counter swaps our empty plate for a full one and while Jenna protests she couldn't eat another one, she waits less than a minute to put another small roll of pastry in her mouth and I have to use all my energy to yet again remind my cock today is about more than sex.
And yet again, my cock ignores me.
“This one has walnuts in!” she exclaims, and I moan inwardly. There is nothing sexier than a sexy human excited about food.
“There are walnut trees all over Crete,” I say.
“You know what a walnut tree looks like?” She is startled.
“You don’t?” I ask, faking shock back at her, and we both laugh.
Coffees finished and back at our scooter, I can’t help myself.
I reach for her hand as she goes to grab her helmet.
I shove her hand in my mouth and I suck all the traces of honey off her fingers.
Before letting her middle finger go, I bite it gently between my teeth and smile at her wide eyes and slack jaw.
“Marty,” she says, and it could be a reprimand, or it could be admiration, something related to awe.
“Sorry,” I say. “Had to.”
I sense she’s trying to contain her smile but still it kicks up her lips.
Then she turns and puts her helmet on. I wait for her to get in position then I take her bag, swing it over my arm, and slide in behind her, not giving a fuck that my erection is now pressed up against her firm butt cheeks.
I could be imagining it, but it feels like she rolls back into it before she turns the key in the ignition.
“Where to now, Harry?” she shouts over the engine.
“Harry?”
“And I’m Lloyd. Like in Dumb and Dumber!” She calls out.
“What are you talking about?” I’m baffled.
She switches the engine off and turns slightly to me. “Oh, God, don’t tell me that cultural reference fell into the void of our age gap. The movie, Dumb and Dumber? It has a scooter scene in it.”
Laughter bubbles out of me as it clicks. “Oh, Jesus, yes. That’s exactly what this looks like. Ha!” And just like that, I now have another scooter memory that can maybe, possibly, hopefully, eclipse the other one.
“Phew, thought I was going to have to write you a list of problematic early Nineties comedies to watch.”
“You can still do that. We can watch them together,” I say and she waits a beat before turning on the engine.
“Okay, where to, Harry?” she shouts again after clearing her throat.
“Still trust me, Lloyd?” I call back.
“Yes,” she says, and it makes me smile more than it should.
“Then let's keep going left,” I say as I place my hands on the tops of her thighs, close to where they meet her hips. I think about the stretchmarks she has there, and I want to feel them under my tongue again.
A moment after we set off, I can no longer fight the urge.
“Mock!” I call out into the warm air that rushes past.
“Yeah!” She sings back, after only a second.
“King!”
“Yeah!”
“Bird!” I holler.
“Yeah!” Our laughter drowns out the noise of the few vehicles that pass us.
We weave our way around a coastal road that takes us through a few small villages, past garages, hotels and one or two other luxury resorts.
Then the road turns up and climbs away from the shoreline, which is when I start looking for the turning.
As soon as I see it, I squeeze my hands on her waist and lean forward as close to her ear as our helmets allow.
“Take that road on the right,” I say.
She does, but slows down when she realises it's little more than a gravel path.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I squeeze her again. “Trust me.”
As we descend the bumpy, uneven path that is littered with potholes, I relish how her body moves, bouncing and jiggling under my hands.
When the low-lying trees and shrubs lining the path start to dissipate, I crane my neck above Jenna's shoulder and see the deep azure blue of the Mediterranean because we are now on the western coast of Crete.
A moment later, the path reveals where I am taking us.
It's not the prettiest beach in the world.
The sand is a dusky yellow and is littered with boulders and rocks.
The water doesn't rush in and there are no crashing waves, thanks to a natural sea barrier created by the incisive curve of the mountain we just turned off.
Instead, the water smoothly laps against the sand, making just enough noise so a gentle swooshing rhythm can be heard.
But it's that stillness that I noticed and craved when I was up on the mountain path with Dad yesterday morning. That and the way the beach is only accessible by that long makeshift road, and being low season and mid-week, there aren’t any of the locals I suspect keep this beach a secret for themselves.
We have it all to ourselves.
“We're here,” I say as Jenna parks before a dilapidated wooden fence that marks the beach’s beginning. I scan the sand in front of us and see exactly what I want to see. I climb off with her bag.
Jenna is silent as she takes off her helmet and looks around her. I can't tell what she's thinking but her shoulders are low and relaxed and when I move to get closer to the sand, she climbs off and follows me.
“Where are we?” she asks, approaching me from behind.
“I'm not entirely sure, but I can show you on a map. That's how I showed it to your brother.”
“Jake? Why did you show him?”
“Because of this,” I say, and I nod to the blanket and parasols arranged on the sand.
Under one of the large umbrellas that have the resort’s white and blue stripes, is a picnic hamper, a cool box, four towels rolled up, and a sports bag.
I grin at how perfect it looks, even better than I expected.
I really do owe her brother and I’m still not sure how I’m going to pay for it all, but I will worry about that another time.
“What's that?” Jenna says as she comes up to stand by my shoulder.
“You know, I have no idea! None in the slightest! I am completely confused!” I wave my hands around in a dramatic fashion before turning to her and gripping her hand in mine. “Let's go find out!”
We half-jog, half-skip across the sand towards the blanket.
“Did you do this?” Jenna says as she lifts the lid on the hamper, and I see bread rolls, plates, glasses, cutlery, and napkins inside.
“Who, me?” I say pressing my hand to my chest, my expression and tone possibly a little camp.
“Oh,” she says when she frees the top of the plastic cool box. “Champagne.”
“Well, actually I didn't organise that,” I say because for obvious reasons I’d not mentioned booze.
“There's water and orange juice too,” Jenna reassures me. “What's in that?”
She’s pointing at the sports bag which I am unzipping, knowing already what's inside.
“Snorkels!” I say and show her.
“Wow!” She says as her mouth stretches into a smile. “How did you organise all this?”