My watch ticked past three without Coral arriving. The boathouse appeared small as I paced its length, then breadth. This early December day, I scoped the familiar differently.
There were small windows that overlooked the river. The large installed skylight bathed the interior space in natural light. Other second-hand items reinforced snug, including a velvet couch and a chunky dinner table surrounded by sturdy cushioned chairs. The broad wooden floorboards were solid and homely. The feature of the boathouse Josh appreciated.
Sick of walking to and fro, I found a distraction. A dumped load of old newspapers in a corner box drew my lukewarm attention. Then, I avoided the crumpled papers because of the headlines and images. They contained off-putting news: Biafra and the Asaba Massacre. Behind the box, I spied a pile of books. These proved to be escapists, and I perused them.
The Saint? An entire series gathered dust, which I blew off to reveal colourful yellow and black jacket covers. The Saint was a lucky bastard who travelled to France, the USA and South-East Asia. There was a dog-eared copy of a book titled Howard's Way—no—Howards End. Forster, or Forester, was the author. It belonged to Sandy.
Alongside a date, her name was on the inside cover. I flicked through random pages, pausing at an underlined brief passage. A personal highlighting intrigued me—an emphasised section.
The gist: only connect, and life's fragments will disappear, and love will be the high point.
Coral burst into the boathouse, banging on the door. I popped the book into the box, padded behind, and held onto the sofa.
The golden girl's hands splayed everywhere, as wide and high as the door. Through her hair, down her dress, and clenched in front of her tummy.
The incontestable reason, Josh!
Coral knew about Brittany. My bestie had desired Josh to wait for her virginity until the end of college. Her planning included gaining their university entrance scores in mid-December. Then she would gift 'her man' a Christmas present to commemorate their love—a gift like an angel to consummate their together into a forever memorable.
Josh betrayed Coral; he lacked the patience to delay and receive the fine, misty drench of her restrained, projected wish. Dazzled by Brit, the beach blonde became his first.
The girl I admired and cherished careened into a foul mood as she pounded the boards of the boathouse. A plank groaned under her stomp. She glanced in my direction to her bosom pal, her trusted sounding board. I stepped towards her at arm's length and then reverse-shuffled.
I waited, unsure, as Coral vented.
"Fuck Josh."
Followed by a tirade of pent-up feelings, like a record stuck in a groove.
"I hope I never see him. He avoided calling me."
Neither her exasperation nor her tramping showed signs of slowing. Twice, she wheeled, circling the large table.
"What, follow the prick to Ballarat? I don't want to be near him. Screw Ballarat. He bailed the dodger!"
A looped invective, unusual in the way she repeated herself.
Next to the sofa, she stopped and said, "Okay," before she continued, "Ready."
Another gap in her words as she wrung her hands.
Coral said, "Let's do this."
"Do what?"
I told myself it would help if I deduced the female psyche.
"Fuck Josh," as she kicked the lounge.
"I don't want to fuck Josh," I said, attempting a quip to soothe her.
Coral sniggered and flopped on the couch. Laughter brought her to the present. My fingers twisted my watch strap. I glanced at the time. The second hand appeared to stall. An unnerving thought flashed incandescent; moving forward in her life, the golden girl could eventually forget Josh and me.
I gazed at her and did not understand her proposal as she spoke over her shoulder.
"Get your gear off, sunshine. This is it, your lucky day."
Suddenly, my bestie bounced fluidly off the sofa and slipped her dress down her body. Her lemon-tinged body-con, in two ticks, crumpled on the wooden floor.
Coral motioned, come-hither.
Yet I gripped the lounge as I stared at a white frilly bra and matching briefs. Reaching over, she nabbed my hand and guided me around the sofa. Mesmerised by her cleavage, I stepped on her dress. My shirt flew off, and my feet scrambled out of my pants. Next, she unclasped her bra, and her breasts bounced. Unsteady hands lowered my boxers as my ogling eyes surrendered, spellbound, lured to a naked Coral.
Her panties and bra lay folded on the sofa arm. In the buff, we stood together. My journal fantasies of when and where first sex might happen: the bush or a car, trod water. The sunlight filtering through the skylight highlighted her spray of golden pubes; her curled strands glistened like fresh butterscotch. Coral disrobed equalled unqualified gorgeous. I fancied myself as Jason beholding the Golden Fleece. Yet, despite her pubic allure, Coral's cute sprinkled freckles aroused my ardour. They daubed her nose. In a snatched, sweet moment, her freckles embodied the Coral I desired to explore.
"Don't stand there; get over here," her arms swung wide.
She perched on the edge of the couch, her knees knocking. My stalling was activated by milking the moment my eyes had channelled on her buttocks, coasting to the sofa.
Beyond her clipped instruction, we embraced awkwardly on the old couch. The sofa's soft, furry velvet felt like peach skin beneath my butt. Coral and I mirrored newbies to foreplay. We groped, exciting flesh-plying flesh. Skin led, and our bodies ramped another gear. Eagerness engulfed me as I glimpsed her near-salmon pink labia.
I fumbled to kiss her; she jerked her face sideways. I penetrated Coral as she lay beneath me on the couch. Puzzlingly tight and dry for a few seconds, then hell, staggering delight, warm, wet, and wonderful.
A puck, suck, puck sound emerged as our body fluids mixed. Our timing was off sync with the river lapping at the boathouse piles. Bodies rippled, puck, puck—the sound of trapped air.
Suck, puck.
In my mind, it translated as fuck, fuck.
The word made sense, as the sound of sex—the puck, suck, puck—raised me to cloud nine. Too eager, intense and pulsating, I shuddered and jolted, collapsing onto her soft chest.
Then I sheepish peeked, and Coral's face showed frustrated disappointment. I attempted to stifle my vacant, satisfied smile.
She wriggled sideways in a modest slide, adding, "Excuse me."
Coral drooped, thighs closed, arms covering her breasts.
"Oh, boy!" she volunteered, "I waited through college… for that!"
With my hands between my legs and leaning forward, I muttered, "Sorry."
However, my ego engraved sex as intoxicating, eye-opening and mind-blowing.
"It's hard to control," I offered, facing fading happiness.
Puck, suck, I felt a sucker.
Yet, her ingrained nature softened.
"We got there, not what I pictured."
Our thoughts spurted, genuine, yet clumsy.
"Me, either."
"Damn, Josh," as she attempted to push back her hair, her mind exposed amok.
"Ruby's a snitch," I provoked, trying to redirect her.
I emphasised, "She didn't have to tell you; Josh was unfaithful."
Coral alternated between staring at the floor and the skylight.
Unsure, she whispered, "She wants a sneak peep of me. Maybe she will; perhaps she won't!"
Then her hand sped past my midriff and netted her underwear piled on the sofa arm. Bouncing up, she dressed — her back to me. Coral's buttocks intrigued peachy pink, gloriously close, as she hoiked her knickers.
We chose Ruby as a more manageable conversation topic than Josh or our completed sex.
As she clasped her bra, her mood lightened.
"I like her. She's great fun but has developed a fixation on me."
Her golden hair dishevelled, she donned her dress, facing the door.
I grabbed my underwear, hitched, and concealed my loins.
Coral added, smoothing her dress, "She arouses my unexplored self."
The golden girl slipped on her white sneakers. I watched her fingers tie two neat bows using the yellow laces. Gorgeous bows, her laces threaded unconventionally. She created a stylish flourish in the bow tie lacing technique—a lacing pattern created by even and odd eyelet use. The style provided extra lace flaring to her final looping embellishment.
Coral gained my attention.
"You heard about her tattoo? Ruby is inked. She wants me to take a peek when my Josh split is complete. The sod, he won't come and see me."
Whilst her hair strayed mussed, her mind flew more tangled.
"Damn, Ruby, sometimes. She'll do anything to draw me closer to her. Screw her! Well, maybe."
Coral's thinking was not as tight as her tied shoelaces. Then she dragged her feet towards the small washroom in the boathouse.
Offer to go, I rebuked myself.
However, the door swung ajar, and my bestie returned holding a comb. Coral propped her butt on the arm of the sofa and brushed her hair. Where her locks kinked, it knotted, courtesy of our tangle.
Catching a twisted tuff, she snarled, "Ouch!"
To my eyes, she had appeared refreshed. Then, I understood her internal fermentation remained. That her thoughts moved further from me as she groomed her hair.
"Rubes finds what makes me question; she opens my unguarded side."
I aimed underhand to draw my buddy to me.
"Is her tat across her butt cheeks? She's full of herself."
I crossed my arms over my warm chest. My immediate desire framed to hinge Coral to where we paired.
With speed, I yanked my pants, zipped and belted them as she faced away. My bestie completed her final tidying in silence. Her keen eyes and sharper nails nipped the loose dangling thread from the sofa arm.
My buddy spun as fast as a spinning top. She brought laughter and her bright gaze into my eyes.
"I'm sure those are two cheeks you'll never see, let alone kiss."
We shared a chuckle. Followed by Coral's voice descending tender as she held the fawn comb to her bosom.
"Luke," she conceded, "I failed to consider the after."
Her voice endeavoured not to deflate me.
The gist, we were friends.
Coral said, "Sorry, I did and didn't think it through."
We both knew her thinking; it should have been Josh!
I paced to the small windows and watched the river flow.
Over my shoulder, I said, "You go. I'll lock the place."
To avoid looking at her, I tapped the window pane. She needed to leave the boathouse.
"Thank you," said Coral.
The words echoed in my head. A thank you as a friend, as the boathouse door clicked.
I deferred a finger-drumming half-hour, slumped by myself on the couch before I secured the lock. Essential not to catch up with my bestie.
For the next few days, my reflections sought the fascinating minutiae of our coupling. Exasperation hit me as I coveted a perfect shape for our boathouse joining. So, I tinkered to eliminate Josh. He kept appearing between Coral and me. I reasoned; my mate opted to remove himself. He accepted the mechanic's job in Ballarat and pushed himself there. I knew how Josh cringed and complained as Coral sought to control his social life. Also, my bestie's capacity to prickle. The truth - no one fancied the company of a riled Coral except me. I chanced her barbs, rapted in her delicious presence because her grace habitually returned.
Later, I tried customising the memory to compel it to centre on Coral and me. That idea failed because I plunged into a Jonah flash of guilt, where I played Judas against two good friends. But my self-seeking won the moment, and my ego let me wash my hands, Pilate style.
Overlapping my recall is puck, puck, and water lapping at the boathouse piles.