Ivana – Part 1
I had to find her again. It was nearly 6 months ago that I first met Ivana (at least that’s what she said her name was). I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. We were introduced by a guy I met at the gym and bumped into the same night, he was just being polite but obviously didn’t want to take up too much of his evening making small talk with me. From the moment I laid eyes on her I was captivated. I couldn’t imagine what she was doing here with this average Joe when she could have had any guy in the world.Maybe she was paid to be there as a London escort, who knows.
She was tall and slim with curvy hips and large, pert breasts. Her black dress clung tightly to her body and her high heels held up her delicate feet like a trophy. Her skin was olive toned, her eyes a moss green and her silky raven hair tumbled in waves to her shoulders. Her nose was straight and perfect, her jaw line was angular and her lips had a prominent cupid’s bow. All of this beauty was processed in about 1.25 seconds – I didn’t want to stare. But the whole time average Joe was making introductions, she stared right at me, unashamedly. It was if she knew the effect she was having on me; like she knew I couldn’t find the words to speak, couldn’t make my brain send the right signals for my body to move normally, couldn’t slow the racing of my heart. And so that’s where average Joe left me, standing rooted to the spot like a dummy. I stood there a further 10 minutes after they had left, then finally forced myself to move and go home before somebody called the asylum to take me away. That night, I did nothing but lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. She had bewitched me, put me under some spell that made the rest of the world melt away, leaving nothing in my vision but her flawless face.
The next month passed in a daze. I can’t really remember much from that time. My daily routine carried on, my body going through the motions because there was nothing else I could do. I didn’t go out after work or answer my phone – my life hadn’t changed one bit but suddenly it all seemed so pointless. Over time, I gradually found my way out of the fog and began to feel like myself again. Colours were colourful again, and scents in the air found their way to my nostrils once more. After 2 months, I was pretty much back to myself – Ivana’s face was just a distant memory burned into the back of my mind.
It was a mistake to let my guard down. I had been out drinking with some guys from work, draining more whiskeys than I can remember. I left by myself to find a cab because I lived in the opposite direction to them, and that’s when my world unravelled once more. I saw her across Trafalgar Square. Her hair was blowing in the wind and she stood by herself, staring right at me, unashamedly. My feet started propelling me towards her, though the booze had gone to my head and the line I walked was far from straight. When I got close enough to smell her perfume, she turned and walked towards a hotel without looking back. I followed her (as if I had a choice). She climbed the stairs and entered the foyet, then walked straight into an elevator that was already open. I followed. She faced straight forwards as if I wasn’t there, and I was so bewildered by her that I didn’t question her behaviour. I was her slave, utterly helpless. When we reached the top floor, she marched out and into the only room on the floor, leaving the door open. I closed it behind me, and that’s when she finally turned to me. Without a word, she peeled my jacket from my shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I swayed on the spot, and the only sound in the room was my heart thrumming an inhumanly fast beat.
That’s where my memory gets a bit blurry, and I can’t remember the order in which things happened. The clearest memories I have are the way her skin tasted, the feel of her legs wrapped around me and her breath on my neck making ever hair there stand on end. I know that the night was long; there was sweat, heat, hands everywhere. Her hair was over me, I moved inside her. I remember coming over her breasts, another time in her face and a third time inside her pussy. All I know is that it was the best night of my life, and when I woke up she was gone.
I haven’t been able to track her down since, and nobody seems to know her. I’ve heard rumours that she’s still working the city as a London escort. Average Joe never came back to that gym, and I haven’t been able to break through the haze since that night. I will find her.