Chapter 23 #2
He could not tell her that he was hopelessly in love with her, that he had been since her sister’s eighteenth birthday party, that he had to go into public conveniences sometimes to fumble with himself if he accidentally thought of her, that he was disgusting, that she drove him mad, that he had written poetry for her but couldn’t show it to her, that he had dreamed of falling in love but never thought it would be like this.
As Celia undressed and got into the narrow bed in the tiny room with the sloping eaves, Tom hurriedly removed his jumper and his shirt, but turned his back to do so.
He could not look at her; he was worried he would get too excited and the whole thing would be even more of a disaster than he was certain it was going to be.
The thing was, he loved Celia; he wanted to marry her; he had everything planned out; he was going to be a sketch writer for a revue, something jolly witty like That Was the Week that Was and he would make pots of money – vulgar but necessary, to be able to tell Sir Hugh Mannering that he was a serious person.
They would move to a flat in Pimlico to start with – he wasn’t sure he could afford Eaton Square, like her parents, at first – and she could carry on with her career; she’d probably have to give up being a lawyer after they had some children; he’d be an awfully good dad, just like his father, but he’d be a proper family man, white stucco house with a front garden, holidays in Cornwall with the family, cricket with Guy, and lovely, lovely Celia to come home to, Celia in her thin nylon nightdress with her remarkable, sweet, round breasts he could see through the lace trim and the shiny material – oh, God.
He would hold her hand in church and she would – oh, God, she was kissing him.
With difficulty, Tom pulled off his shorts over his erection, and his Y-fronts.
He hopped under the covers, squashing her legs so that she yelped.
The sensation of her smooth, bare skin underneath him was overwhelming, and he shuddered.
‘Dear lord,’ said Celia. ‘Tom darling, calm down, won’t you.’
‘Oh, absolutely.’
He rested himself between her legs and began to kiss her – her milky shoulder bone, her neck, and was encouraged that she moved against him, and then he put one hand on her soft, plump right breast, gently but firmly, and she murmured.
Tom breathed in, and then gave a huge sigh, adjusting himself, so aroused he was rather uncomfortable, but unbelievably happy.
Sometimes he stopped and asked her if it was right. After a few minutes, Celia said:
‘It’s all fine. Time to get going, darling.’
She took his jutting, hard penis in her hand. ‘Hello,’ she said softly and smiled at him, just for him. ‘I thought so.’
‘Thought what?’ he said, breathing carefully.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, and he heard her breathe in sharply, as she slid the rubber johnny he had purchased from the chemist’s behind Victoria Station that summer over his penis.
Tom held his breath. He followed Antoine’s advice, which was to distract himself, and thought of Mr Carter, Mr Tonks, of the shops on Portobello, of the stops on the No.
23 bus. He breathed deeply. He set his knees between her thighs and, holding his penis in one hand, slowly pushed it in.
It was incredible. Nothing like doing it himself. She gave a little cry.
‘All right?’ he whispered, hopelessly unsure as to what to do next. She moved his hand to between her legs. ‘I’m not – is this all right, Celia?’
‘Yes. I like it. Bit big. I want you to go on, though. Move inside me, darling. Now – touch me here.’ She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed, and, guiding his trembling, sweaty hand, she made him stroke her. They moved together.
He was inside her. It was very – very – unexpected.
It was tight, and rather terrifying. He wasn’t sure if he was hurting her.
She didn’t seem to mind. One hand was flung out above her head, her neat, curved breasts splayed across her body, the dark nipples pointed and tight.
He kissed them, tasting her on his lips, and she moaned, and thanked him, which he found incredibly endearing.
Her other hand was on his bottom, pushing him into her.
After a moment he stopped and looked at her, and she smiled at him encouragingly, wrapping her legs more tightly round him.
It was the kindness, the sense of unity, that he found unbelievably arousing – it was just them, the two of them.
‘Bit harder, Tom. Don’t stop. Do it like that, yes –’
She shifted, and tightened around him, and her eyes opened in surprise, and then he saw a flush spreading from her clavicle outwards across her breasts, the dark pink nipples hard like little berries – it was all like fruit, all of it – and suddenly, without meaning to, he thrust hard and came, collapsing on to her in a silent roar, head against hers.
Sensation exploded across him, turning his body rigid with ecstasy, his hands gripping on to her, wanting to stay inside her, to keep this moment going for as long as possible – life!
He was alive! It was blissful! Evening sun poured in through the round window, reminding him of the world outside, how this was usual, how other people knew this feeling, how wonderful everything was. He could scarcely believe it.
‘Sorry,’ he said after a moment, panting. He could not see; his good eye seemed to have blurred over, his body seemed to radiate heat. He blinked, and grinned. ‘Sorry, Celia – I didn’t –’
She was staring at him. ‘Tom, that was really not bad. I expect great things from you.’
He rolled off her carefully and clumsily pulled the condom off himself, still light-headed, but at the same time astonished at how depressing it was, the slime, the retreat, the mundanity of it. Slowly, joyfully, he scooted back against her and they stared out of the window.
‘Look,’ she said, kissing his head, half mumbling with sleep. ‘On the hills over there. That’s a white horse, isn’t it?’
He nodded, stroking her thick, soft hair, wondering if, thousands of years ago, people had, in this same spot, in this same way, come together. Sunshine blazed over them, and she turned towards it, like a cat, letting it bathe her face, and he gazed at her, astonished.
Then she fell asleep. Tom dozed too, wondering if everyone felt this happy, wondering how he would tell his two best friends he had done it, wondering how soon he and Celia could do it again, and knowing, without a doubt, that this, finally, was love.