Meltwater

Even under the foliage of the apple tree, the sun manages to find her, creeping higher and higher. First to her ankles, then to her knees, until it touches her purple bikini bottoms. How white she is, I think. She opens her legs, so that the light can get at them better. For a moment I want to be the sun. 

⬥ 

‘You only have to put up with us for four days, mum. Then we’ll be gone again,’ Lucas grumbled. 

I said nothing and put the pan of vegetable soup on the stove. It was going to be a late lunch. Lucas came to stand next to me and looked sternly at the side of my face, the way his father often did. I hated how much they sometimes resembled each other. 

‘Helena just wants to get to know you better. What have you got against her?’ 

⬥ 

I shove the pile of washing aside, wipe the sweat from my forehead and hope the girl doesn’t see me at the bedroom window like this. She’s lying on her towel. She absently stirs her drink with her finger. Ice clinks against the sides of the glass. She takes a cube between her fingers and runs it along her jaw. That must feel good in his heat. Drips of water trickle down. I follow them, but stop at the peaks poking cheekily through her bikini top. You’re allowed to look, I tell myself. Slowly she moves the ice across her throat, a little further down each time. I sit on the window sill and spread my legs. My hand slides under my summer dress. 

⬥ 

‘What are you studying, Helena?’ I asked politely. Lucas dropped his spoon with a clatter into the bowl of soup and gave me an anxious look. 

‘Gender studies,’ she answered. She stuck her chest forwards. Since when have young women stopped wearing bras? 

‘What exactly do you want to do with that?’ 

She shrugged. ‘I just want to be educated, know what I mean?’ 

‘Ah,’ was all I said. Typical. 

Lucas put his arm round Helena. ‘She’s woke, mum. That’s so important.’ 

⬥ 

She’s taken off her top. Blood rings in my ears. Her small breasts are even paler than the rest of her body. With one hand she pours suntan oil over herself, with the other she massages her breasts. Visibly aroused, she pinches her nipple. I’m shocked at how wet my fingers are when I pull my hand out of my slip. 

‘Have you heard anything from dad?’ Lucas asked. 

‘He’s with Claire on Ibiza,’ I replied. 

Lucas clacked his tongue. ‘Do you still find it hard?’ 

I shrugged. ‘It would be easier but for the fact that she could be your sister.’ 

Helena gave me a sympathetic look. ‘I can’t understand it, Franka. You look good. Maybe you should find someone younger too. A guy who’s looking for more experience.’ 

‘Jesus, hon. That’s my mother!’ Lucas pulled a face. 

Helena grinned, stuck a piece of baguette in her mouth and looked at me. 

⬥ 

To be able to reach better, I lean back against the window frame and plant my foot in the washing basket on the floor next to me. She’s fished another ice cube out of the glass and she’s rubbing it over her thighs. She slowly moves in the direction of her bikini bottoms, slides the fabric aside and quickly pushes the ice inside herself. My throat is dry. I want to smell her, to lick the salty meltwater away from between her legs, gently suck at her. I’m thirsty. 

⬥ 

‘I’ll just call on granny and grandpa,’ Lucas said, and he blew Helena a kiss as she was climbing the stairs. She smiled at him and disappeared onto the landing. 

A little while later she was standing in the kitchen, her slim body clad in a purple bikini. She made lemonade for herself, opened the French windows and walked out onto the lawn. 

⬥ 

Her head hangs back and she moans, surrendering to her fingers, which rub at her clit faster and faster. I follow her tempo, sweat gushing down my neck. This really isn’t right. I bite my lip and don’t look away. 

Suddenly her head jerks upright. I’m startled and want to turn aside but it’s too late. Helena is staring at me intently. I wonder whether there’s something I should do, whether I can quickly vanish. Then the corners of her mouth start to curl. Still looking at me, she pulls her hand out from between her legs. She stands up, winks and walks towards the front door. I sit there as if turned to stone. What’s going on? 

I hear footsteps on the stairs. I quickly pull my dress straight. The door opens and Helena comes in. She walks over to me and smiles. 

‘I told Lucas that the two of us would get along just fine.’ 

This story is written by Joanne van Beek for Het Rode Oor 2020. Het Rode Oor (The Red Ear) is the annual erotic writing contest in the Low Countries, curated by the Flemish-Dutch House deBuren in collaboration with Company New Heroes, Hard//hoofd, ILFU and the Writer’s Guide (to the Galaxy). This story is translated by Liz Waters.