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From: declan@weirdness.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Alexandra Ch06(Slow, Romance, Literary Erotica)
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Date: Wed, 12 Dec 2007 10:10:03 -0500
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Hi
I have posted various chapters of this novel to various newsgroups and
web sites over the last few years (and from several different email
accounts). I have lost track of where I post what. So I have decided
to post the complete novel here over the next week.
The complete novel and my other stories are also available on my
website www.DeclanStanley.com.
-----------
Alexandra Chapter 6

The next week I phoned her as usual on the Thursday night. But she
wasn't in. So I left a message and waited once again for her to phone
me back. About five on Friday I phoned her again and left a message,
thinking that she would get it when she came in from work. Saturday
morning I phoned and left another message, but my hopes were low. I
figured that she'd gone away for the weekend again. She didn't phone
me back that weekend and she didn't turn up at the Camera Club on
Tuesday either.
So next Thursday I phoned again. After ten thirty so there was plenty
of time for her to have gotten home form her classes. But once again
she wasn't in and I left a message for her. On Friday I phoned and
left another message. And another on Saturday. When she didn't turn up
at the Camera Club that week or the next, I realised that she'd really
disappeared for good. I was sorry that she hadn't had the decency to
tell me to my face. But that was probably just because I wanted to
scream and shout at her to relieve my anger and frustration. But I
still found myself dreaming about her every night.
Then a month later she turned up at the Camera Club again. After an
unexplained absence of six weeks she walked back into my life.
the meeting was the judging of the summer competition. The judge had
just held up the first of my prints and had started to comment about
it when she walked in. I didn't hear a word he said. All my being was
focused on the fact that Alexandra was once again in the same room as
me.
I'd half thought, really hopped, that she wouldn't attend the Camera
Club, that if she hadn't the courage to face me when she'd dumped me
that she wouldn't want to face me ever again. Yet the fact that I knew
where she lived burned in the back of my mind. And I knew that some
day I'd have gone to her flat to face her again.
Now she'd come to me. But in a place where I'd not want to make a
scene. Perhaps it was better that way. It'd only hurt to say the
things that I'd have ended up saying in private.
The next hour is a haze. As the judge made comment after comment about
all the photos entered in the competition I found my eyes constantly
straying to look at Alexandra. I'd snap them back and refocus on the
print the judge was discussing, but I'd not be able to concentrate on
what he was saying. I try to listen to his words and find my eyes once
again on Alexandra.
As soon as the meeting was over I left the main room. I was sweating
and my knees were trembling. I went straight upstairs to get some
coffee and steady my nerves before Alexandra could engage me in
conversation. There was all the normal chit-chat going on among my
fellow members of the club, but it all went straight past me. I knew
that she was going to follow me up and I knew that she'd talk to me.
In my haste I ended up first in the queue for coffee, so I retired to
the front room to sit at the table alone. I had just sat down and
taken my first sip of coffee when she walked in. She hadn't gone into
the back room to get some coffee first, she'd walked straight in to
see me.
"Hi," she said in that soft whisper of a voice that even now can send
shivers down my spine.
"Hi," my voice nearly broke.
"Did we have a fight or something?" she stood beside me.
"What?" there was a strange ringing in my ears.
"You haven't phoned and didn't come to talk to me downstairs," she
seemed somewhat puzzled.
My heart must have been doing 120 or more, "No we didn't have a
fight." I swallowed, "I did phone, but you never answered any of my
messages."
"Oh," she smiled and sat down. "That was because I was on holiday in
Spain."
My heart skipped a beat as two thoughts flared simultaneously in my
brain. "She hadn't dumped me after all !" and "She'd gone on holiday
without telling me she was going." "She loves me", followed by, "She
thinks so little of me that she didn't even bother to tell me she was
going on holiday."
I looked down. "Where did you go to?" was all I could think of saying.
"To Madrid and Stander and Abilla," she smiled her excitement of the
fantastic things she'd seen. "The cathedrals and castles were
magnificent."
"I'm glad that you enjoyed it," I cut into her excitement. "Only sorry
that you didn't bother to tell me you were going."
She stopped. "Of course I told you," she looked at me.
"The last time I saw you was six weeks ago," I stated. "And the last
thing you said to me then was 'see you next Tuesday at the Club'." I
shrugged, "I didn't see you till tonight."
She seemed sorry. "Oh that's right," she explained. "I went away for
the few weekends before going to Spain. I guess I didn't see you
then."
Derek and Paul came in with their coffee. Paul split a knowing look
between me and Alexandra, but didn't say anything.
"Congratulations, Kevin," Derek beamed. "So you finally beat me."
"Well that's because we finally got a judge that wasn't satisfied by
'Pretty pictures'," I replied smiling, happy to have something else to
think about beside Alexandra.
"'Pretty pictures' my foot," Derek plonked his cup down on the table
and sat beside me. "It was because you finally took one that was in
focus," he smiled.
"After all those soft-focus, 'Candy box' shots of flowers you did last
year !" I replied. "You've got some nerve."
"So, where have you been for the last while, Alexandra?" Paul asked.
"I haven't seen you at the Club for weeks."
"Oh," she beamed. "I've been on holiday in Spain."
"Really," he smiled back. "Where did you go?"
Smiling she launched into a graphic description of her holiday. Paul
encouraged her by saying that he'd been there a few years ago and they
compared a couple of places that the both been to. Then somebody else
said that his sister had married a Spaniard and that he'd stayed with
her for two weeks at the beginning of the year. And he detailed all
the famous places he'd been. Then the conversation turned to holidays
in general. And, it being a photographic club, to the trials and
tribulations of taking photos on holiday.
And all the time I sat there, while the conversation lapped around me,
wanting to take Alexandra by the scruff of the neck and demand an
explanation of why she'd just disappeared from my life, why she'd gone
on holiday and not even sent me a post card? To beat out of her what
she felt for me. To demand an explanation of why she treated me the
why she did !
But I couldn't say anything here. I couldn't make a scene in front of
every one. I didn't want to make a scene, because I didn't think an
argument would solve anything. I just wanted to talk to her.
As the conversation faded and people started to leave I turned to her
and asked softly, "Do you fancy a drink?"
"O.K." she shrugged.
I stood and said "See you later," to the guys.
"Cheers."
"Goodbye."
"G'luck."
Alexandra nodded her goodbyes and followed me out.
As we walked out of the club she started to turn left towards the pub
we normally go to after meetings. But I didn't want to be with her in
the middle of a crowd again. I needed somewhere we could talk.
Somewhere I could tell her what I felt about her.
I put my hand on her arm. "Let's go to Ryan's," I suggested. "It's
just up the road and we can talk there."
"Sure," she turned to follow me.
When we got to the pub I discovered that instead of being a quite,
sleepy little place, as it had been on the previous occasions I'd been
there, it was jammed full of people. We made our way to the bar and I
noticed a couple of free stools at a table in the corner.
"See if those are free," I nodded towards them. "And I'll get you a
drink."
"Great," she replied over the noise of the crowd. "I'll have a glass
of Guinness." And turned to make her way across to the stools.
I got the drinks and followed her over.
As I sat beside her most of the people broke out into a rousing chorus
of "Happy Birthday" to Linda, making conversation impossible.
"Linda sure has a lot of friends," I smiled at Alexandra as soon as
they'd finished.
"Yes," she smiled back. "It's great, isn't it?"
"Yes," I smiled back. Really great ! I thought, I come here for a
heart to heart with you and end up in the middle of a birthday party.
We didn't say much to each other for the next fifteen minutes. Just
sat and drank and chatted about photography. All the time I was
putting off raising the matter that most bothered me. But eventually I
spit it out.
"So why did you disappear on me for six weeks?" I asked.
"Sorry?" she seemed somewhat stunned at the sudden in my tone of
voice.
I calmed down a little, "So why did you disappear on me for six
weeks." I looked at her, "As far as I knew you'd just dumped me and
hadn't the decency to tell me to my face."
"Oh," she said. "Is that why you didn't want to talk to me in the
club."
"No," I got angry at the suggestion that it was ever me that didn't
want to talk, when it was her that refused to tell me anything of her
feelings, either positive or negative, for me. "That's why I wanted to
talk to you somewhere that we could have a private," I gestured at the
crowd around us. "Or at least semi- private conversation, away from
all my friends and acquaintances at the Club."
"Oh," she repeated.
I waited for to say something more, but after a few moments she looked
down and took a sip from her drink.
"Is that all you have to say?" I asked.
"Well I don't know what you want me to say," she replied.
"What I want you to say?" I didn't want her to say anything. I wanted
her to talk to me. I wanted to understand her. I wanted to know what
she felt for me. I wanted her to understand what I felt for her. This
wasn't just some game with set phases we were supposed to say to each
other. This was supposed to be a conversation. Preferably an open and
honest conversation were we'd both learn something of and develop an
better appreciation of each other.
I took a deep breath and tried a different tack.
"What's the most important think in your life at the moment?" I asked.
She paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "Improving my ranking
at my Tennis club."
"And after that," I didn't smile back.
"Well," she shrugged. "Going out with my friends. And having a good
time at the weekends."
"And where do I fit in?" I looked down.
"I don't understand," she said.
"As far as I can see," I explained. "I'm ranked lowest on you list of
priorities. You'd rather play tennis or got to the pictures with your
friends, or even stay at home and read a book ! before you'd want to
socialise with me." I didn't mention work, or her classes because I
could understand her needing to do them. "And then you only want to
see me at weekends and if you're going away, to where ever it is that
you disappear to, you have no time to see me at all !" I snorted, "Not
even enough time to phone me and tell me that you're going away.
You're not even bothered enough to pretend that you'll miss me."
"Oh," she looked down into her glass. Then swallowed half her drink.
"I see."
"Do you?" I asked. "That's good, because I don't. I don't understand
what I mean to you. And no matter how often I tell you that I love
you, you never tell me how you feel." I looked down again, "You never
tell me anything."
We were silent for a moment. I sipped my drink and looked up at her.
But she was still staring into her Guinness.
I tried to explain again. "I don't expect to be the centre of your
universe," though I'd have loved it if I had been. "But I do expect to
be up there somewhere." I shrugged, half attempting to make a joke, "I
mean, who gets to walk home alone all the time and who gets all the
orgasms?"
She looked at me and raised her almost empty glass, "If that were
fuller you'd have it all over you."
"Why?" I asked. "You do !"
She looked away.
"I'll buy you another if you want to throw it over me," I said.
There was silence for a moment. Then she laughed softly. "You know,"
she looked back to me. "I really think you mean that."
"Of course I do," I spread my hands. "Why would I say it if I didn't."
She shook her head and smiled. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this," she
sipped her drink. "I'm not sure I want it."
I didn't know how to reply, so I sipped my drink.
"This is just going a bit too fast for me," she said. "I just need
time to adjust to it." She looked at me again, "Just give me time to
adjust to it. O.K.?"
"O.K.," I replied and looked down, not knowing quite what she'd meant.
We finished our drinks in silence.
Outside the pub I turned to walk home with her. But she put a hand to
my shoulder and stopped me.
"I don't think you should come back with me tonight," she looked down.
"O.K.," I looked down as well. Once again I didn't have any choice.
She put her hand to the side of my head and stretched up to kiss my
cheek. "Goodnight," she whispered.
I reached out to put my arms around and hug her and kiss her a proper
goodnight, but she'd stepped away before I could react.
"I'll phone you," she turned and walked away.
I watched her go, knowing that she'd often said she'd phone me and
that she never had, thinking that she was walking away from me for
ever, hoping against hope that she really would, this time, just this
once, actually phone me.
But she had told me that she would phone me ! How could I doubt her?
Why would she tell me she would if she had no intention of doing so?
Forget that she done so in the past. She'd told me that she'd phone me
and I believed her. She would phone. I would have faith in her above
all else.
So that night, as I walked home along, I occupied my mind by trying to
figure out what my feelings for her were. By that time I'd given up
any attempt at trying to work out what she was feeling.
Was I really in love with her? I thought about her all the time. It
ached when she wasn't there. I wanted to hold her, to touch her, even
just to be in the same room as her. I wanted most of all to talk to
her. I wanted to tell her what I felt. Or rather I wanted her to
believe me when I told her that I loved her. I knew, deep down inside
me, that she couldn't accept that I did.
Every time I met her I couldn't stop myself from touching her. Did she
think I was some sort of pervert feeling her up all the time? Did she
think that all I wanted was to have sex with her? Did she not know
that every time I got her alone I just couldn't help myself?
And yet I never lost total control. I never got carried away so much
that I ended up raping her. I never did anything she didn't want. And
she wasn't just passively lying there letting my do it to her either.
She took an active interest in me making love to her. She'd just draw
the line at doing anything that'd make me come.
Was it some sort of test? Was she trying to see if I was just some low-
life that simply wanted to 'have my evil way' with her and then dump
her. I can sympathise with her not wanting to be just another conquest
on my hit list. The only thing is, I was beginning to feel that I was
one on her's.
But was I "having my evil way" with her even if I didn't get to come?
I think now that she wouldn't let me come because she though that I
wasn't. As long as I didn't come, she wasn't conquered. But I never
wanted to conquer her. I wanted to share myself with her. I mean
making her come was the highlight of ... well my whole life at that
time. I lived and breathed just to make love to her. Oh it mattered
that I didn't come. It mattered a hell of a lot ! But as long as I was
making love to her I could live in the hope that one day she'd
respond. And wouldn't it be a glorious day when she shared herself
with me, when she finally admitted her love for me !
It was only much later that it occurred to me that she didn't know how
to respond to me. Yet even at the time I saw that she didn't seem to
know how to make love to me. I don't just mean the physical acts, but
the whole emotional attitude she needed to take to love some one. But
for some reason I never connected this to the fact that she wouldn't
let me come. I'd always assumed that she didn't make love to me
because she wouldn't accept the fact that she loved me. Of course I
never directly asked her if she did love me, because she might have
said no. And then where would I have been.
So once again I'd tried to get closer to her and had ended up further
away. Maybe I was just feeling sorry myself, because I wouldn't be
making love to her. Or maybe it was because I couldn't pretend that
she loved me when she left me standing alone in the cold street.
Either way I didn't have the momentary illusion of being close to her.
Those few precious moments after I'd made love to her that I could
pretend that she did really love me. A feeling of rejection hummed in
the back of my head.
But now, looking back at our relationship, I realised that night was
one of the few times that we really communicated. The closest we'd
ever come to each other. I'd finally told her that I was serious about
her. She'd told me that she didn't want to be rushed into anything.
The thought that maybe we would end up sharing our lives with each
other was out in the open.
But all the frustration and bitterness that was building up inside me
had to go some where. A combination of writers block, being unemployed
for over a year, having no money, having to live with my parents, a
total lack of success in any aspect of my life, was surrounding me in
a fog of depression and uncertainty. All my insecurities were being
aggravated.
I needed somebody who'd give me a steadying hand through to the other
side. But Alexandra had her own insecurities to deal with. I didn't
know what they were. But I could see that they were there. Would the
stresses we were both suffering under forge us together or tear us
apart?

-----------
Copyright Declan Stanley.
The full story can be found at: http://declanstanley.com/novels/alexandra/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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