My strongest memory of Brisbane was sitting through a security briefing for upcoming work, normally a dull phone call necessitated by a government bureaucrat ticking a box on a form. I remember an immaculate white melamine wall to wall desk in a refurbished hotel room. I remember taking notes beside a grey phone and sitting at an angle to the desk trying to keep her in my periphery. I don’t remember the content of the briefing at all but I do remember clearly the difficulty I had concentrating. Some men are leg men, some prefer a sculpted behind. I am a stomach man. I find a toned stomach on a woman says a lot about the woman. As Tracey sauntered around the room sipping a Cointreau and ice her short silk robe highlighted a taught belly that made concentrating on the phone call all but impossible.
My brain wasn’t capable of processing much more than the notion that I was about to have sex with the woman behind me. I had neither kissed nor held this woman before and contact was limited to a few emails and a random dinner a few weeks earlier. I didn’t know much about her other than her brazen suggestion to have sex in Brisbane on my way through to my next job. I can’t remember the details of those emails and yet there I was, wondering how this would even work. I’m not a one night stand sort of person and certainly had not indulged in anything like this before. I am fairly sure this was also novel for Tracy but I was not entirely sure what was going on other than the anxious excitement we shared in anticipation of what was hopefully in store. We were effectively strangers, completely sober and about to hop into bed together. I didn’t even know how it was to work. Would we wear underwear? Will she wear something sexy or big pyjamas or join me in the shower? Do we kiss, or hug or chat? How would I broach the idea of condoms? What would she think of my personal pruning, too much, not enough? I’m fairly sure Tracy was the first under the sheets. I do remember a bit of fussing with the linen as I got into bed, probably to hide my erection in some farcical attempt to pretend I wasn’t excited. I don’t actually remember the sex that night which is probably sad. The sex in Brisbane may have been the only affectionate sex we shared. After Brisbane we nudged the boundaries of pleasure a little further each time, moving from the tender to the erotic and eventually hedonistic in the extreme.
I would like to say I remember a black bra and sexy stockings and the sensation of cupping and kissing her breasts as I slid the bra off. I would like to say I took my time and savoured every moment of that first encounter but I honestly cannot recall. I do remember holding her as soon as I slid into bed. The sensation of holding a naked partner for the first time is all encompassing, a flood of the senses as skin meets skin for the first time. Partners experience that unique first moment only once and most people have a limited number of partners in life. Add an unusual build up of anticipation with the excitement of the unknown and that first touch was electric. Probably something else at play was the thing we unknowingly shared at that time, the thing that brought us together and the thing that was probably responsible for our undoing. We were adventurous sexually and highly compatible, as simple as that. As simple as handing the brewery keys to an alcoholic.
I don’t know how often identically matching sexual value systems collide in a world with billions of people. I am not a psychologist and I do not pretend this was the greatest sexual adventure of all time but our journey certainly felt like the stuff of legend at the time. Sad or cruel or just us, we would often speculate on what the rest of the world was missing. We were blessed or damned depending on your viewpoint. We fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. When jigsaw puzzle pieces sweat and moan with intense languid pleasure.
My work meant bouncing around countries lacking in the finer things with little rest or even sleep. I think Tracy’s travel was similar – relentless work where even the after work dining and drinking is still work, sometimes the real work. Our encounters to this backdrop of relentless international travel were every couple of months for a few days at a time. Money was not something we thought of, not because we were wealthy but because time was short when we were together. Hotels were opulent. We ate well, drank hard and satiated each other in the bedroom or wherever some fantasy needed appeasing. The time apart with relentless work simply fuelled the next brief encounter, fulfilling fantasies accumulated over time and distance. We often filmed ourselves for enjoyment later, typically thousands of miles apart. I can honestly say those recordings have withstood stand the test of time and the proliferation of Internet sex. I still watch them from time to time although I know I shouldn’t. We grew to understand there were few limits and any limits we had were shared. The last thing I do remember clearly that night was her breathing in the dark, bordering on panting, each breath a potent mix of lust and hunger for pleasure. That sound became an addiction.
