Memories are Sweet

A smile suddenly engulfed my face at a completely random moment. My mind wandered back to when I last wore my bikini in Singapore as I tied the long white straps firmly encasing my ample bosom which even I admitted looked good this morning. I always found this time of day magical as the sun rose casting shadows across the quiet streets that would soon be filled with the inevitable hustle and bustle that most people dreaded. The beauty of catching dawn was that the day felt like your own, like it belonged to you and you alone could choose the pieces and objects that would be worthy of featuring for a day in your life. I looked across the familiar setting and recalled the encounter with the tennis instructor, and again I smiled, could it of actually finally dawned on me that being single is fun, that making memories that bring a smile to your face on recollection is the sweetest thing. With now seemingly less guilty pleasures at the for-front of my mind I reasoned that the sun was only minutes from engulfing my desired sun lounger, so I headed down to the pool to relax after my morning workout. I had pushed myself harder than normal with my planned 90 mile bike ride now pending, and I surprised myself at how much I achieved. I almost told myself off for setting myself up for disappointment as I programmed in a 30 minute fat burning ride. 20 minutes is usually my maximum strain but I seemed to breeze through it singing Usher’s album ‘Here I Stand’ out loud to myself in the deserted gym. It was unsurprising for 4.30 am, but it was still a joy to have peace and quiet during my middle of the night session.

The sun felt mild with it still being low in the sky. I couldn’t bring myself to dive into the crystal cool water just yet. I lay back on my sun bed, again completely alone. I realised that I seem to find myself drawn and delighted by isolation. This was strange really considering I hated being single and inevitably alone, or so I thought. I had just started reading a book donated to my cause by a fellow dolly called ‘1001 Days without Sex’. The title was laughable, and although I imagined it to be funny in parts, I had no desire to read it, as the concept just seemed ridiculous, I mean how could anyone go that long without, should of declaring oneself celibate? The prospect of being drawn into the story to the point where I can empathise and relate to the character, like every good book should make you do, made me feel even less inclined to read it, but so far I had worked my way through the first few chapters and was not yet appalled by this characters hideous bad luck. I cringed at the thought that that could be due to the fact I had indeed already begun to relate to the character so far. Distancing myself from a celibate prospect I again smiled as I looked down my taught tanned body and recalled my promiscuous night on Sentosa Island. I am certainly not averse to varying my nights out in the hope of something spontaneous happening – like meeting my future husband – yeah right! But actually going to a bar that featured an array of double beds placed along the sandy beach next to a funky lit heated swimming pool seemed a distant stretch at meeting a potential mate. I could hardly believe I would ‘sunbathe’ in my bikini at midnight under a star filled sky to Café Del Mar’s best beets whilst sipping strawberry daiquiris. The chances of pulling in my shy almost naked and very vulnerable state were definitely inhibited by my friend lying next to me with her aerobics instructor toned abs, had allowed me to reason I would be going home alone. This is where French Navy boy steps into the picture, and my smile again widened as I gave my body a little stretch out on my sun bed. I recalled that night how he seemed to appear in the distance just long enough for me to confirm he was hot, and to just as quickly vanish in the masses. I didn’t want to be one of the needy girls who can’t stop scanning the crowd in hope of receiving attention, so I simply put him to the back of my mind, content that he was out there and I may get to sneak a peak every now and then. He again appeared a bit closer this time and my friend tipped her glass in agreement and I again watched as his tattooed calf walked him out of sight. I somehow in my alcohol induced state mustered up the courage to leave the confines of my double bed and headed into the pool. Despite the lack of eye candy this side of the club we were having a fabulous night. I moaned to my friends ‘Why weren’t their more quirky clubs like this in the world that give you a feeling of living that many drunken nights out failed to provide.’ We pondered that and although I knew I was having one of the best nights out in a while, I also knew it would probably be a long time until I came back. We have limited time in Singapore, and it very much depends on your crew if you will venture that bit further from the familiar surroundings of the hotel. I had done well to keep my hair dry up until now, no matter how much I longed to dive in and lap up the feeling of being totally submerged in water. I reasoned with myself that I was still a night out and I didn’t want my unruly curls to bounce free, after all I hadn’t totally given up on the idea of meeting Mr. fun. Ok yes I had by now downgraded my expectations, but I was 4 drinks into the night which added in an unsteady degree of flexibility to my hopes. A group of boys suddenly bombarded our serene swim, all doing random animal like displays of silliness in the hope of getting our attention. Their lavish acts did amuse us, but the following attempt at conversation in drunken broken French/English was becoming tiring, and far too much effort was required to feign interest just to be polite. Just as I was planning my escape strategy that was admittedly weak considering it would involve leaving the pool elegantly in my bikini whilst being ogled by half a dozen ape displaying horny navy boys! I didn’t notice at first as he stepped into the water from behind me, but as he slid his body into the water and moved into my vision, I saw his eyes for the first time and instantly knew which tattooed calf was now less than a meter away. Our eyes locked, and in a second, any escape strategy was gone. The boy conversing with me to my left seemed to realise that the king of the jungle now had my full attention so his conversation dwindled at my lack of response. Our interaction began with a smile and a simple ‘hey!’ A couple of questions later and many more smiles, I had to swim away to dampen the fire that was suddenly burning. I no longer trusted myself at this point in the evening, I knew what the churning of feelings inside me meant, and I knew my gear stick was now jammed into lust mode, with no functioning hand brake to save me. Turning in the water ‘blue eyes’ came closer, now separated from the group I heard myself throw out the deal breaker, and openly express interest in my new object of affection, ‘what’s your name’ I said smiling. He smiled knowingly before answering ‘Vincent’ whilst moving yet closer to me ‘and yours?’ ‘Laura’ I smiled and as I rested my upper body on the ledge behind me I felt my legs instinctively move out and grab onto Vincent, like a Venus fly trap catching its prey, pulling him into my trap he didn’t resist and swiftly used the invite to wrap his arms around my waist, looking down at me, his strong body held me close drawing in my gaze he gently kissed me, right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a lingering earth shattering, knee buckling, and finger curling kiss. Unbelievable I repeated in my head. What for a long time looked like a fun but fruitless night out yielded a sexy Navy Adonis who had just raised the bar dangerously high for any future random encounters. We swam together playfully teasing and testing, whilst kissing, and admiring one another for maybe over an hour. His English was better than that of his friends, and our random conversations spilled laughter that seemed to travel all over the club as people watched us play. We could easily have been mistaken for a loved up couple, but what they were really seeing was unadulterated lust. Two strangers brought together by a glance. Never before had I sealed an unwritten deal so quickly, it was obvious to us both how the proceedings would go, but never had I expected it to be so fun and romantic as well. It certainly wasn’t for nothing that many movies featured love scenes in swimming pools; the sensation of being pulled in weightlessly close to a strong commanding man was shear heaven. When someone accepts you, you become their equal. That feeling of panic when longing to be noticed, and able to prove your worthy falls by the way side and you just relish in the comfort of a mutual understanding. It would be easy to confuse lust with love and any future potential, but that was a mistake I had made too many times before, and now weighing up logic, I knew what this was, and with that in mind I guiltlessly relished in the rapturous affection that Vincent repeatedly placed upon me.

I didn’t want to get to the end of reliving my night of passion as the empty feeling you get from loveless encounters inevitable translates into self destructive theories on ethical behaviour. I glanced across at the book beside me and pondered weather going without sex was any better than going with on a quest to finding love? Can anyone answer the depressing theory that casual encounters either totally distract or damage one’s ability to recognise love when it arrives?

The sun had now raised enough to allow a pool of sweat to settle on my stomach. I was glad, I now felt warm enough to embrace the icy water, now wanting to cool not only my sun drenched body, but my burning libido too. I swam briskly trying to warm up the goose bumps on my limbs as quickly as possible. The chilliness was more refreshing than it was shocking, and I allowed myself to rest of the side whilst catching my breath. Thinking again of the book I was reading I realised I still had decided how I wanted the book to end. Did I hope her 1001 days were brought to an end by an erotic night of passion, or did I hope she would be lucky enough to find love? I tut-ted to myself whilst simultaneously kicking my foot up and out of the water, creating a loud splash; ‘how could I be jealous of this fictional character, did it really matter to me if she gets spread eagled and laid satisfyingly or becomes romantically lost in a tale of love?’ It wasn’t real and I was now starting to resent my friend for giving it to me. I started to distract myself with the thought of what evil book I could drop file her to read, but the shear bitterness of my thought caused me to giggle. The last book I had left her had been quite thoughtful I think ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ was more than an eye opening read, it gave you strength and power and an element of self worth that all seemed to have gone in one ear and out the other at this exact moment. Perhaps that’s why religion states that sex is a sin! Who can argue with that? Take chocolate for instance, aren’t all things we love bad for us in one way or another, in this case sex was certainly playing havoc with my thought processes. Walking back to my sun bed, I smelt the familiar smell of coconut sun lotion drift past me, reminding me that I didn’t have any on. An Italian looking guy had positioned himself only 2 sun beds apart from mine breaking the seclusion I had lavished. Being a sexually aware person it was hard not to size up the man’s potential. It was always known that men do this to women often concluding a score of shag ability, but minus the calculation itself I surely wasn’t the only woman that did this in a man’s presence. Knowing already I didn’t want this man, meaning he had probably scored less than 5 on a scale of 1 – 10, I still sucked in my stomach and lay my limbs out seductively, after all I was dammed if I would allow him to score me less than an 8, I mean I had spent the best part of an hour and a half of my morning working out!

I heard the faint sound of a nokia text coming through on someone’s phone and noticed that the sun had succeeded to draw out the hotel guests. I spend half my life in hotels but I still haven’t got used to sharing my space with others. Only earlier this morning as I walked along the corridor to my room I felt a pang of invasion as a guest passed me, which give me a strange feeling almost as if he was walking straight though my living room.

A 7.5 had now emerged on the far side of the pool, it was hard to tell exactly if on closer inspection he would be upgraded to an 8 or down to a 7, either way he fell into the shadows of a now visible 10. There to my surprise was a worthy 10 featuring in my day; a character in my life that allowed me to fantasise about a closer encounter. If this were a fairytale, he would of course feature much closer, such as between me and my sun bed, but unfortunately that’s just not the part he was meant to play. He already had a leading lady in the shape of a 5”6 brunette with toned abs in a cute silver bikini. At least she was undeniably gorgeous. There was nothing worse than seeing a jaw dropping guy with a less than averagely attractive woman in his grasp. That almost always gave rise to the green eyed monster, a side of me that even I didn’t care for much!