Niko’s Eye

Chapter 37.

"Fill Me."

Isis.

The scent of musk had filled Isis’ nostrils.

He’s always been good at choosing amazing colognes.

Perfumes were all about deep soul connections between those we love and God’s evolved flora, to take one experience of love and marry it to another, to heal us from the inside one invisible stitch at a time. As such they were never expensive to us, yet as priceless as the good health of the natural world.

From the warm tones of his cologne, to those of his voice and well chosen words, he was making her hot. With the sweet aromas blossoming in the air as the candles in her room gave of their warm golden light, her body started to heat up. A feeling that she was well familiar with.

That day, when we went skinny-dipping in the ocean.

There are infinity ways to be a man, as there are infinity ways to be a woman, for all personality traits exist in both. Yet this man had both empathy and a very masculine form of strength, and his bad boy image is something I’ve never really noticed until these past few days. He was divine. I’m not sure how else to say it. It was easy to fall in love and there was no reverse gear.

She had never even noticed his rich accent.

His accent was such a playful tune, as if he were the star of his own movie. I could have sat there all day simply to listen and smile.

Isis was beginning to become a woman. One with wanton needs. She didn’t know whether it was because her freedom came so abruptly without giving her the chance to register it or if this was her way of expressing everything that was inside of her, due to the events that had taken place in her life.

Am I in love with him? Was I ever in love with him?

That was the part of Isis that was missing. The key link. The ability to feel love. Her empathy. Her kindness had wavered.

She had her eyes closed, but she was not asleep. She was revisiting memories. Quite content that they were back, but also afraid of what she might remember. She had become quite accustomed to an uncluttered mind, and now it was so busy that she had no idea where to start. But the thing that dominated her thoughts more, was Alejandro.

Mystery and danger.

She shifted her head towards his pelvis even more and felt him rising. Something inside of her had transcended towards him, and he was feeling it too.

But, all of a sudden, he had gotten up.

Why? Isn’t this what he wants? I want it too. I’ve been through too much to care what happens now. It is what it is.

Isis tugged onto Alejandro’s arm, just as he placed her onto the bed.

Pretence right out the window.

She felt the sudden urge to be loved. To be licked on. To be caressed. To be touched.

Lust. This is it? It’s so powerful. But I want him. I need him. I’m not going to be the little, shy Christian girl anymore. He’s a man, and I know that this is what he wants.

"Make love to me," she whispered, slowly getting up and undressing in front of Alejandro.

Alejandro.

Did it have to take so long just to be able to get to this moment? If this what it had to take, then I’d do it all over again. I can’t do this. I’ve come so far. But God...There is nothing more bewitching than Isis’ naked form. There is something so disarming about seeing her naked. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes I can’t resist.

My eyes travel from her face to her collar bone, delicate in the semi-darkness, then to her breasts. Without lingerie they sit lower, more natural, less close together, each so perfect and moulded to her form. Isis had the breasts of a french actress rather than anything North American television has to offer. The tops caught the semi sunrise, the underneath a soft shadow. It’s not like I’ve never seen this before, but the electricity that runs through my veins every time she’s naked, and in front of me, is something I’ve never experienced.

Isis seductively ran her hand down her front.

Fuck...

He stood there, frozen.

And

then she said, "Alejandro, come close. Run your hands up my bare arms, real slow. Send the electricity I need to jump start my heart. Let your hands cover my skin with your soft lips. To be in your arms is love, safety, and passion too. It is how you bring me back to life, revive what was lost, restore what was shattered. We are born to be loved, to be cherished for who we are, unconditionally. I don’t care if you’re a murderer, or a drug dealer. Everyone’s got s**t right? So though your words are precious, your laughter a remedy, it is the feel of your body that heals. Or perhaps it is all of them combined, perhaps they are more than their sum. Either way, Alejandro, come close. We are mirrors and echoes of one another in so many ways that you are like a brother and a best friend rolled into one. Yet in truth we are s****l soul mates, an innate connection, the strongest bond there can be. You are the only one that can reach inside of me with such ease, stoking my passions, extinguishing storms. Just by knowing you, I become my true self, gaining the strength and confidence I need to let my true colours shine through so brightly."

Alejandro found himself being drawn closer to her, his mind fuzzy and his erection throbbing.

"I love how words weave together and show our deep truths. We say this is body chemistry, it is, and I think for that reason I’m in my element with you, that you bring out my elemental nature, the part of me that is hidden to others. To say that those are puns is a sort of shallow take on it. For me their connection is as poignant as ours, " she whispers short-breathed, before hungrily planting her lips onto his.

One touch and it was over. He felt that same electricity in his skin, hormones shutting down of his higher brain and the rise of his animal self. From there on in it was all passion, intense, intoxicating.

Isis’ skin is amber in the candlelight. The orange glow floods in the room, yet the windows being too high and away from prying eyes. She wore black lace, so soft over her mahogany skin, raven-black curls tumbling to the small of her back. I’m so scared to do this, yet I can’t stop myself. But if anything, I want to go deeper, to be more sensual. Her hand alights on my face, moving down past my collar bone. Already my brain is on fire, she’s my angel, my angel with fingertips of flame.

In these moments she loves me with her eyes has much as her body, our souls mingling in the quiet moments between action and stillness. The cool room already feels warm. Its hard to hold back, to make the moment last. Isn’t it always the way, so caught between the intoxication of the climax and extending a moment we never want to end.

Every kiss had a raw intensity - breathing fast, heart rates faster. Then before he knew how it happened, they were both naked and their skin was moving softly together, like the finest of silk.

In the room that was dawn and shadow, Isis was close enough for Alejandro to breathe in her scent. His arms wrapped around her back and in one gentle pull, their bodies collided. His hands moved into her hair, how he loved the softness, watching it tumble as he released it. Then his hand moved down her cheekbones, back to her lips.

"Isis, I haven’t known you for many years, and still you are the only flame I will ever need. Your fingers are like divine fire for my soul, your voice intoxicating in all the finest of ways. I love you; I always will."

Their bodies fit together as if they were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm. With a laugh, he gently pushed her onto the bed, letting her fall with a soft bounce, onto the mattress. They locked eyes for just a moment, just enough for them to feel safe with one another. Then he started kissing her body, from her toes upward, slowly, his hands on her legs, always just a little higher than the kisses. Isis arched her back in anticipation, knowing where his fingers will soon reach. Her head rocked back against the pillow as he placed his tongue onto her mound, the first moan escaping her lips.

It was all over. There was definitely no reverse gear.

"Forgive me,Father."

Alejandro.

There are times my brain fries up. It’s no excuse I know; I own my behaviour. I try to help, try to be good, and then a trigger is flicked. My emotions turn - cold, fearful, anxious... I back away, flee or strike out at someone who loves me. In these moments I am least proud of who I am, for I fail to be the warrior I was born to be. Instead I show the frightened child within, damaged and afraid, the one still hiding in the dark under the train table, awaiting the next beating. I know these are things for me to work on, not for others to mitigate, I am an adult after all. Yet I ask for consideration, that my fear triggers are left alone until my body stops living in a state of flight or fight, until I find a way back to being calm and steady. I have been unstable for many years, not caring for others, never pouring out love without measure, never knowing how to ask for it. It is the only medicine that I now realise that can heal this fractured soul. So like a stupid child I hold out for love, wide eyes and shaking limbs, still looking for that dark place all over again, but praying for the light. Guilt is a matter of balance. This melancholy is a cloak I can’t simply let fall to the floor, and though I hold it so tight I can’t find the warmth I need, yet it clings. It is the anchor to my feet, the reason I can’t find the surface or the sunshine, that feeling of soft joy that lives in memories that can’t rise within.. When you need to feel guilty it will show you how to become a better person, less rotten, more healthy. When you go too far with guilt it becomes as a heavy bag you were supposed to put down once you’d learned whatever it came to teach you. Forgiving yourself is necessary to enable further personal growth. This is being human. This is how we are wired. Guilt was my master in the sense of being a great and loving teacher. Through it I evolved. It is so very vital that we listen to these emotions that come to school us. Then it is important to move onward, guilt-free. Learning is hard. Learning can feel as if you are being punished. So that new freedom you have for your brain, for your soul, you earned it.

Alejandro couldn’t believe he was on the verge of sleeping with Isis while she was a virgin, and whilst they were unmarried.

Isn’t it this isn’t the way it is suppose to be? So why does this feel so right?

He couldn’t stop himself. He was hoping for the ring of a telephone, a doorbell or some kind of divine intervention, because by man power, he couldn’t. He wasn’t God. He wasn’t perfect. He was just a man.

Not being perfect is normal, and a blessing. For how else can you have empathy with the struggles of others? When you see yourself as you are, as a mythical magical mirror would show you, then and only then do you have hope of real and lasting improvement. Not being perfect is a statement of obviousness, for we are born with fairly blank brains to mature and grow. What is perfect? Where is perfect? For all I see is a road that goes ever into a horizon, a journey that is ever present, and that bare souls walking that road is the very essence of being alive, the very purpose for which we are born.

Sometimes he wished he could just look into the onlookers eyes and say, "You’re probably feeling like you know me by now, getting a feeling of who I am, what my background might be. But you don’t know, not really. I’ll tell you things about me later on, things no-one else knows just to show you that I’ve made mistakes too, that I can get angry, feel vengeful and hate. I’ll show you my own darkness. I haven’t been "fully awake" since childhood, that’s over twenty years of "sleeping," plenty of time to make mistakes, have regrets. I still make errors in fact, but I’m learning to reduce them bit by bit. Knowing more doesn’t make you perfect, on the contrary, it shows you just how imperfect you are and how much there is to work on. But I digress, as is in my nature, I was about to make an introduction of sorts… but you look like you want to ask a question."

He had made it this far. How could he stop now?

Gathering the last of himself, he broke the kiss and looked straight into Isis’ eyes.

"We can’t do this."

Sergio.

The greatest mistakes you ever make are when you only see things through the lens of your own need. To really mature, to be the kind of person who makes life better for others, you must see through the lens of their need too. You can view history this way too, what did the conquers think of themselves and how did it work out for the native populations? Isn’t capitalism this way? A mechanism to grab and centralise resources no matter the harm done to others? Love enables our empathy, it allows us this view from the needs of others and gives the ability to make better choices for everyone.

Aisha was selfish, and she had made him do ugly things because of her selfishness.

I recall once pondering what it would be like to have his money, what would I do with it? Now that memory is a stain of guilt, not strong, not enough to take me under, but sufficient to fill me with a sense of regret I haven’t had for some time. The cheque is no more than a rectangle of paper, thin, inconsequential. The digits are crudely stamped in oil, barely even aligned properly. This is what George Henry Parker’s life came to. These numbers are what he slaved for over broken refrigerators and stoves. Some of them are from his army pension, money earned putting his life on the line to push back against Nazi Germany. Now for me to take them all it is a short walk from the lawyer to the bank in an ambient twenty one degrees heat under a cloudless sky. He wanted me to have it, make use of it, and I will. I won’t be conned into handing it over to anyone; I won’t fritter it or go on vacation. I’m gonna do something with it that would make the ol’ boy proud, you wait and see."

He thought of how he used to dream of being as rich as he was now. As a young boy, he didn’t even have proper school shoes. And now he wondered what condition his own child was in, because he never dreamt of not being able to take care of his own children on his own. His heart ached and his mouth was dry with sorrow.

The negative memories come with a cost, as addictive as they feel, once lessons are learnt there is nothing in them of value. The positive memories come as a friend with a picnic basket, they are good and nourishing, supportive and kind. And so I choose to build myself this way, letting the bad ones wander off on their own and encouraging the good ones to blossom and grow. This way I become confident, well balanced and in control of me, able to appreciate each moment as a gift and to see a positive future.

He needed to focus on finding his daughter and building a strong bond with her. Ever since he had discovered that she was still alive, not a day passed by where he didn’t think of her and what her character could be like. He prayed to God that she didn’t resemble her mother. That would be a mark that would always make an imprint in his life. He didn’t know if he was ready to live with that.

As he was looking out into the open sky, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I know there’s an emotional gun to your head, and still you think of me and others. I know how it feels in your heart, like an invisible arm reaches in there and squeezes it. I know that you bare this pain and still pray that those you love remain happy, oblivious to your suffering. The thing is, your happiness is mine and so I feel the same. I feel the invisible hand reaching around my heart too, it hurts. So here we are, neither of us crying or moving away. I guess this is what nobility is - a love lived for the other, not for reward, but for the eternal connection of kindred souls."

His wife was his strength.