I held him closer. Just like we had the night before, we swayed in each other’s arms as the music swept around us. Again, those feelings of being needed washed over me. I felt safe in Vincent’s arms and I realised I had never felt so much for someone so quickly before. Sure, I had felt an instant attraction to men in the past, but this was more than just mere attraction. I still didn’t know what it was I liked – or felt for Vincent. But there was something and it felt new, like something I hadn’t experienced before. Were these the first feelings of love I was feeling for him? That was impossible, right? No one fell in love that quickly – that stuff only ever happened in movies and books.
Vincent slowly ran his fingers through my hair. It wasn’t a desperate grab or fumble, but slow, as if he were relishing the feel of each strand passing between his fingers. I looked up into his dark eyes. Vincent wasn’t handsome, not like one of the pretty boys. He didn’t have studs hanging out of his face, and wasn’t hiding behind a skin of tattoos, like so many of the guys I’d been with before. However strange Vincent could be – I got the feeling he was just being himself. Maybe that’s what I liked about him. Perhaps there was a secret confidence – belief in himself – hidden deep within, which I found attractive. Vincent hadn’t pretended to be something that he wasn’t – he had always been true to himself, however clumsy and shy he came across at times. There was no pretence – macho bullshit with Vincent. If he could be true to himself, wouldn’t he then always be true to me?
The music continued to envelop us as we held onto each other. I thought of how he had held me last night. He had been true to his word. He had stayed with me all night long and kept the nightmares away. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to take it any further. He had been happy just to hold me in his arms all night long. I remembered what it was he had said, just before I’d fallen asleep.
In his arms, and as we danced slowly to the music, I looked at him and said, “What did you mean last night?”
“What was that?” he looked at me.
“When you said, you knew what it feels like to be scared and alone?” I said.
“Let me ask you a question?” he said, ignoring mine.
“Okay,” I said.
“Why did you choose this song?”
Pressing my cheek against his so I didn’t have to look in his eyes, I sang softly along to the words of the song. “I want to know what love is. I want you to show me.”
I felt my feet slowly lift off the floor as Vincent swept me up into his arms. With the song playing all around us, Vincent carried me into the bedroom and laid me gently on the bed. I pulled my sweater off and eased my jeans and panties over my hips and down my legs. I lay naked on the bed and watched him in the dim light that spilt into the room from behind the door. With his back to me, I watched Vincent take off his clothes. Although his body was lean, it was well-toned and muscular. His skin was pale. It was then I saw a crisscross of white scars over his shoulders and down his back. Although healed, I could see that at some point in his life, they must have caused him great pain.
“Come here,” I whispered, holding out my hand towards him.
Vincent turned, and naked, he came towards me. Taking his hand in mine, I gently eased him down onto the edge of the bed so he was sitting with his back to me. Slowly, I ran my fingers gently over the maze of raised scars that covered his back. I leant forward, and brushing my lips lightly over his skin, I kissed the scars. I wanted to take away the pain they must have caused him. Vincent sat in silence, his back straight, as the music bled in from the other room.
...In my life there has been heartache and pain...I don’t know if I can face it again...the song continued.
“What happened to you?” I whispered, as I brushed my lips over his back.
Vincent reached round and took my hand in his. Looking at me in the semi-darkness, he said, “It doesn’t matter now,” and laid me gently back onto the bed. Vincent leant over me, our noses almost touching, and it was then I noticed a jagged-looking scar running along the right side of his forehead, just beneath the hairline. I reached out, gently running my fingertips along the length of it. Vincent took my hand away, brought it up to his lips, and kissed my fingers. He slowly kissed each one, his eyes closed. He gradually worked his lips over the back of my hand, down the inside of my wrist, and along my forearm to the crook of my elbow. Each kiss felt like my skin was being caressed with a feather. He seemed to be taking his time, enjoying every moment. There was no rushing here. No frantic groping, pushing and pulling, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel as if I had to take control of the situation. Vincent, in his own passive way, was very much in control. I closed my eyes and relished the touch of his lips as they slowly brushed over my breasts. I was enjoying Vincent taking his time, and I didn’t want it to end.