Hot Summer Night Fantasy

Huh, fat chance, I think morosely, taking another long sip of the large vodka and tonic sitting in front of me on the table. The few wolves that venture out round here rarely come equipped with floral tributes, apart from the occasional playful use of the tacky red and yellow plastic ones decorating the table in this bar. But given the way I'm feeling at the moment, if one did happen to turn up with red roses I'd probably ram them somewhere unmentionable. However on a night like this, out of season, the Surf Bar is almost empty and likely to stay that way for the rest of the evening - which to be honest is more than fine by me.

"It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning."

Oh, I wish. But the memory I have so clearly in my mind at the moment is of a cold autumn day - today, in fact - when the only burning was being done by the sluggish circulation returning to my icy hands and feet.

"There was fog crawling over the sand."

That bit at least was true - the sea mist hung heavily over everything, one of the reasons why it took me so long to realise there was a problem - not that it should be any excuse.

"When I listen to your heart I hear the whole world turning."

And how I wish that had been true as well. But there had been no heartbeat, and the rest of the world had disappeared as I focussed on what I needed to do.

"I see the shooting stars falling through your trembling hands."

Well, my hands were certainly trembling right then, but the only shooting stars had been the ones rocketing across my dizzy vision as I tried to gather my strength from the recent exertions.

"And then you took the words right out of my mouth. Oh it must have been while you were kissing me."

The words I hadn't wanted to hear had finally come from those around me, as they'd tried to pull my lips gently away from the coldness of his, and told me it was time to stop, to let him go. But I'd continued to blow air into unresponsive lungs, to pump at his chest in a vain attempt to keep his blood circulating long enough for more qualified help to arrive, only stopping when the paramedics had confirmed it was too little, too late.

"You took the words right out of my mouth. And I swear it's true, I was just about to say I love you."

More distant memories well up inside me, memories of losing the one I loved, memories which for a long time have been my driving force, the reason I chose to train to do what I now do. So I can save people, as I couldn't save him, so others won't have to go through what I went through. But on days like today, when even my best is not good enough, I wonder if it's all been worth it.

I wave to Robbie behind the bar, gesturing to my now empty glass, and he brings me over a refill, stopping at the jukebox on his way back to punch at the buttons, re-starting the sequence which I know will repeat again and again. In the absence of more customers he's indulging his Meatloaf passion, and I can feel the pulsing of the music and the bitter-sweet lyrics wrapping around me as the alcohol dulls my pain.

I hear the door open behind me, but I'm not in the mood for company so I don't bother to look up. My deep consideration of the bubbles rising in my drink is interrupted, however, by a soft male voice asking if he can join me. I look up, angry at the intrusion and ready to make coarse suggestions about what he'd be better doing with himself, but the words die on my lips as I see the figure standing there, a beer bottle in one hand and what is obviously another drink for me in the other. He is tall, and I know his body is muscular under the black clothing that blends into the dimness of the bar - because I've seen it before, today on the beach. His blue eyes look down at me intently from under the straight eyebrows, a half-smile playing at his lips as he waits for me to respond.

With a small smile of my own, I wave him to a chair, thinking that of all the people in this small seaside resort he is probably the one who can best understand how I'm feeling. Which, I consider, could well be why he's here though I am surprised to see him actually standing. His strong handsome face is relaxed, but I can see the lines of strain and tiredness around his eyes, which considering what he went through is the least I would expect. He'd been supporting the unmoving man - his colleague, he'd said later - in the water when I reached them, the wet blond head resting on his shoulder, struggling to keep them both afloat but too cold and exhausted to swim any further with his burden. Heaven only knows how far they'd come from the point where their boat had sunk, but it had been up to me to make sure they got the short distance still remaining to safety.

Telling him who I was and what I was going to do, speaking firmly but with reassurance, I'd prised the alarmingly pale-faced blond from his tenacious grip, pulling him automatically towards me into the most effective towing position before continuing my encouragement. His eyes, more grey then as I remember, were dulled with fatigue but a glint of grit and determination had appeared in them as he'd dug deep into obviously well-stocked reserves of energy to follow me on our slow progress to the shore. He'd helped me drag his friend up out of the surf before collapsing in a huddled shivering heap beside us, watching me anxiously as I'd done my best, my very best to save him.

He watches me now, not speaking, probably seeing that I'm not in the mood for conversation by the way I finish my drink in a gulp and raise the new one to him in a silent toast of thanks. Though I have to admit I'm not exactly sure whether I'm giving thanks for the drink, or for the fact of us both being there. He nods in acknowledgement anyway and takes a pull at his beer.

"You were licking your lips.....
I was dying just to ask for a taste."

The alcohol has done its job, as I'd hoped it would, and thankfully the image of the cold beach starts to fade as I find myself staring back at him speculatively, seeing his full lips twist into a lop-sided smile with a just a hint of dimple. I wonder idly what it would be like to kiss them, to run my fingers through his short spiky hair, to hold myself close to the powerful body I saw so clearly defined by the wet clothes moulded around it as he'd followed the ambulance crew up the beach.

"We were lying together in a silver lining by the light of the moon.
You know there's not another moment to waste."

He starts to talk, to thank me for my efforts today, to explain what they were doing out there, how their boat had been rammed and that he's waiting for more colleagues to arrive to investigate. But his words can't reach the icy lump still sitting in my chest at my failure, at the thought of the wasted moments while I was engrossed in my book instead of watching the mist shrouded monotonous flatness of the ocean, moments that might have made the difference between life and death. Only more vodka can do that, I think, as I signal to Robbie for another round.

"You hold me so close that my knees grow weak. But my soul is flying high above the ground."

Nature calls and I excuse myself, rising unsteadily to stand swaying slightly as my head starts to spin in reaction to the drink. He comes smoothly to his feet to catch me with warm hands as I stumble over the table base, giggling a little as I do so, and I find myself pressed up against his broad chest, the clean scent of him mixed with the intensely masculine smell of his well-worn leather jacket only adding to my intoxication. I allow myself to relax against him, sliding my arms under the jacket to confirm my memories of the firm contours of his body, hands roaming over hard flesh barely disguised by the thin black top, feeling the strength of him. I lift my face to gaze into the blueness of his eyes, knowing deep down I am more than likely making a complete fool of myself but unable to fight the vodka-fuelled urges.

"I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do I just can't seem to make any sound."

He stares down at me, face expressionless, and for a long terrible moment I am sure I have gone too far. But then I see a spark of understanding, of awareness of shared experiences and resulting needs, rise from the depths of his gaze and I hear the leather creak softly as his arms tighten around me, enveloping me in his embrace, raising me up towards him until our mouths collide, lips parting, tongues meeting, seeking refuge from reality...

"Now my body is shaking like a wave on the water and I guess that I'm beginning to grin."

I break away from his kiss, a slightly drunken giggle escaping as I burrow into his neck, seeking shelter. He holds me tight, swaying slightly to the music, and my giggles turn to tears as I let go of the anger and grief inside me. His head is bowed into mine and as I give in to my raging emotions, I feel his body shaking too, muffled gasping dry sobs in my hair, though he sheds no tears.

We stand like that for a long time, riding through the reactions from today's events, achieving much needed catharses until our bodies are still, but for a gentle swaying. The jukebox starts again, and I open my eyes to peek over his shoulder, and see Robbie letting himself quietly out of the bar. He winks at me and drops the key on top of the jukebox, then closes the door behind him.

I close my eyes again, leaning my head on my companions shoulder, feeling drained and surprisingly sober, enjoying the warmth and protection his encompassing embrace provides.

"Oh we're finally alone and we can do what we want to.
The night is young and ain't no-one gonna know where you've been."

He rubs his face in my hair, and I tilt my head to the side, so that he slides down to my ear, where he explores with a darting tongue, sending electric shivers through me. My lips are millimetres away from the smooth skin at the back of his neck, and flick my tongue to taste the salt that lingers there. Growing bolder as his nibbles at my earlobe, I kiss and nip that same spot, feeling the tendons tense beneath my lips.

"On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"

He offers whispers of kisses along my jaw and I caress his cheek with my own, inhaling the fresh soap scent, mixed with sea-salt, until I reach those succulent lips.

"Will he offer me his mouth?"

They part easily under my questing tongue and I nip gently at them as his hands rove under my top, agile fingers massaging, exploring, searching out sensitive and ticklish spots, teasing.

"Will he offer me his teeth?"

I run my tongue over the white barriers of his teeth, exploring the hidden spaces above and below. His hips press again mine as we move in a rhythm all of our own, at odds with the music still pulsing in the background.

"Will he offer me his jaws?"

I bring my hands up to cup his chin, needing to control, to tell him how much I need this, tell him exactly how demanding I want to be. I meet his tongue tentatively, dancing away, only to meet it again as he presses the back of my waist towards him with one hand, and brings the other up to cradle the back of my skull, one thumb caressing the sensitised skin behind my ear.

"Will he offer me his hunger?"

We crush each other in our mutual desire, lips bruising, teeth crashing and tongues battling. My hands creep round the back of his neck, massaging with the same rhythm of our bodies and my legs slips between his.

"Again, will he offer me his hunger?"

He pushes urgently into my hip, his own hip grinding into me as he flicks the roof of my mouth, the sensations duelling fire through me, never ceasing as they rocket from skull to groin.

"And will he starve without me?"

His demands become urgent as he crushes my lips, attempting to devour me, and I squeeze him to me, battling for the right, with my own demanding tongue, to feast upon him, intense desire burning through me.

"And does he love me?"

Blue lightning flashes through his eyes as he makes a final challenge for dominance, rising above me, plunging into me, beyond rational thought, and I... I capitulate, allowing him to plunder.

"On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"

Coming up for air, I arch my head back, offering my throat, naked and exposed for his pleasure as he sees fit. He leans in and takes advantage, reducing me to a quivering mess of exploding hormones as each touch drives me closer to the edge of multi-coloured oblivion.

"I bet you say that to all the boys!"

The words of the song permeate through the howling fog of my passion and I laugh wildly in denial. I clamp my fingers in his hair and pull him up, to meet my lips once again. Then it is my turn to take advantage of his long, smooth throat, making him quiver and squirm as I nibble and nip, licking and sucking my way downwards, cold autumn days long forgotten.

And I wonder, which of us is really the wolf?

FINIS