Jimi Hendrix Eyes

"A lot depends on your attitude," Lisa said. "Guys have a fundamentally different attitude to sex than girls, don't they? "

"Some do, I guess," I said carefully.

"That's why I've never talked about sex with you," she went on. She sat on the sofa, feet curled under her, wearing tracksuit bottoms, baggy T-shirt and fluffy socks. She looked very childish, I thought. "In... how many years have we known each other? We talk about everything else. I can talk to you more easily than my girl friends. But you're a guy, so you'll have different opinions about sex. So we don't talk about it."

I wasn't sure she was right, and didn't reply. The argument didn’t seem right to me, and I reckoned it was more the wine making her say those things than anything else. The empty bottle had been unopened two hours ago. Lisa’s cheeks were flushed and her blonde hair was mussed, falling untidily over her face.

"I was a virgin when I met Michael. You didn't know that, did you? "

"No," I replied simply. It didn't surprise me really; she was looking at me as though she thought it should. We had been friends for a very long time; we had gone our separate ways at college, to a certain degree - mingled with different crowds, developed separate interests - but still remained close enough to talk to each other about our romantic interests. Lisa hadn't had that many boyfriends, but she’d dated a few guys regularly. When Michael came along it had been different; the transformation in her had been incredible. She seemed to almost physically glow, the happiness she radiated was so powerful. It had been wonderful to see her like that. She told me she at last knew what real love was, and she and Michael moved in together within six months of meeting each other.

"I wanted to wait for the right person," Lisa said. "I wanted it to be special. Sex should be special. It should be an expression of love, a bond between two people who care deeply about each other. What sense is there is sex just for the sake of sex? Most men don’t seem to understand that. They want the grope, the orgasm. No tenderness, no affection, no love. Michael’s different. He wanted to wait, too. When we found each other we knew we were right for each other."

"But I understand," I said. I was not surprised at Lisa’s revelation because I knew her. I knew she wanted to wait for sex to be special because I could understand that myself. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn't find the words. In the end nothing else needed to be said. Lisa sat watching me, pushing the hair out of her eyes. The empty wine bottle stood on Michael's amplifier, which doubled as a coffee table, beside the sofa.

Something passed between us, silent and invisible, and I knew then that our fate was to be sealed that night.

[End of this extract. The full story was published in Peeping Tom #31].