I laughed lightly and said, “Stop it Ben Covington! You can’t do that after talking about Grammy, it just seems wrong.” I moved aside and started to leave the bathroom to go put on my shoes. I tripped over a towel on my way out and said, “Maybe you could try cleaning up after yourself a little,” but he knew I was kidding since I was much messier than he was.
“I love you, you know,” Ben said while he followed me out of the bathroom.
As I sat on the bed, still unmade from our afternoon romp, I slipped on one of my shoes before pulling my leg up onto the bed. “I know, and I love you too.” Once again, I wondered: why the onslaught of affection?
Ben stood over me to help me fasten the ankle strap of my left shoe. I noticed his facial expression change again, taking on a more serious tone. “No Dahlia, I really, really love you. Never forget it, no matter what.”
“Dahlia? You never call me that,” I said as I wriggled my foot and ran it up his stomach trying to lighten the mood.
Ben smirked at my gesture, set my foot down, and walked over to his dresser. I was at a loss for words as he reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a Cartier box. Walking back to the bed, he handed me the box and said, “I bought this for you because it says what I never seem to be able to say to you.”
Surprised at the lavish name on the box, I looked at it for a few seconds before opening it. Inside was a stunning white gold and diamond bracelet. It had four hearts engraved around the edge. I knew it well because I had written a paper about that piece of jewelry in college for one of my style classes. The bracelet was created by Cartier in the 1970s and is meant to be a symbol of genuine loving attachment; a discreet token of passionate love. It is to be locked firmly onto the loved one’s wrist by the giver with the aid of an included golden screwdriver of which the giver remains the guardian. Looking up at him, my eyes started to fill with tears, and without words I put my hand out for him to fasten the bracelet around my wrist.
Staring at the beautiful piece of jewelry, overcome by emotion, I tried not to cry. “I love it,” I said while swallowing hard. He leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. I gazed at him and noticed his eyes were slightly weepy, and his forehead was creased.
I kept watching him as he turned around and walked toward what used to be my mother’s hope chest. It was old, and the creamy-white paint was almost completely peeled off. Ben’s strides were slow and deliberate. His display of emotion was unusual. I had never seen him that overcome, not even when he asked me to marry him. He just wasn’t very emotional; it wasn’t his nature.
Turning the key that I always left in the keyhole, he opened the lid to the chest and said, “I don’t see why you’d ever have to take off the bracelet, but just in case I’ll put this,” he held the screwdriver up in the air, “In here so you know where to find it, okay?” He winked at me while pointing to the chest. I knew he never liked how unorganized I could be, but he knew I could always find anything of importance in that chest that had belonged to my mother.
I watched as Ben looked for a place to put the screwdriver. His search seemed to be done with care and concern. He decided on a small square located in the red-velvet covered tray that was hinged to the lid. From the bed I could see all of the material items I held true to my heart stored in that chest. I smiled when I saw all my dolls, along with yearbooks, diplomas, and various pictures. I finished putting on my other shoe, stood up, and walked behind him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed. He grabbed my arms and squeezed back for a few seconds before placing his hands on the lid. As he closed the lid to the hope chest, I saw Malibu Ken lying on top of all the other items, and my mind wandered back to the first time we had sex.
We were out surfing at our favorite spot, miles away from people and cars. The swells were small so the surf was unburdened. It started to lightly rain, but we remained with our arms stretched in the air riding the most perfect waves. When the rain fell harder we swam to shore, boards attached to our legs. It was almost pouring as we made a run for the car. Ben carried both of our boards while I carried all the other gear. The crackle of the thunder was loud and the jolt made him fall with the two boards toppling down. I stopped to help him, throwing all the gear I was carrying to the ground. He just looked at me and laughed, “Fuck it.” Then he put both boards together in the sand to make a teepee of sorts.
We were sitting under the teepee watching the rain hit the waves like sheets of glass shattering on the ground when Ben leaned in and kissed me. We had kissed so many times before, but never like that. I pulled away at first, not sure where we were headed. I’d gone on the pill a couple months before in anticipation that Ben and I would finally have sex for the first time. And as the tide washed up onto the shore I knew the time was upon us—I knew the time was right.
Ben brought my lips back to his and thrust his tongue to meet mine. I closed my eyes, craving his touch. I could smell the salt from the ocean on his warm skin and taste it on his tongue. He pulled me as close as he could and when we stopped kissing, I opened my eyes.
We were both breathing heavily, almost panting as the drumming of the rain continued. He gazed at me with his lips slightly parted, and I pressed my fingers against his lips and he kissed them. Then in a gesture of returning his kiss, I kissed my own fingers before running them down his bare chest and across his well-defined abdominal muscles. I heard a slight intake of breath and with hooded eyes he kissed my lips again, this time a little harder. As his tongue entwined with mine, he slipped his hand inside my bikini top rubbing circles around my nipple with his thumb.
The wind picked up, blowing my hair across our connected faces. Moaning in his mouth and straddling his lap, I felt his erection as I ground my h*ps into his. I ran my hands through his wet hair and down his bare back, hard enough that I could feel the grit of the sand rubbing against his skin.
Kissing his way down my throat, Ben whispered, “I love you, Dahl,” before moving his hand behind my neck and tugging the string that held my bikini top in place.
My head fell back as he lightly kissed each of my now fully exposed ni**les in turn. I arched my back as his kisses turned into sucks and licks, sending a jolt of pleasure through my core and a shiver down my spine. I could feel his smile against my skin as I whimpered, “I love you too.”
Flashes of lightning lit the sky off in the distance, but the real spark was right here on the beach. As I reached down pressing my hands against the outside of Ben’s board shorts, he moved his hands to the inside of my knees and spread my legs open wider as I continued to straddle his lap.
After outlining his erection with my fingers, I hooked my hands in the elastic of his shorts wanting to do the same without the wet barrier between us. As my hands descended, Ben pulled away. “I want you, now.”
“I want you too,” I responded as I leaned back from him so I could see his face, leaving my hands where they were.
As the ominous storm assaulted the beach we continued to explore each other’s bodies. When we were both panting uncontrollably, he stood up and reached for my hand, pulling me up, out of our shelter, and into the pouring rain.
“Come on let’s go, I’ll come back and get our shit later,” he managed to say while pulling me close enough so that I could feel the rain drops from his body mix with mine. We stood there touching and kissing as he pulled me into his hardness, running his fingers inside the back of my bikini bottom.
Pulling away I looked around the deserted beach. “Let’s stay here.”
Ben didn’t need any more convincing as he pulled me back under our surfboard teepee and we had sex for the first time.
I remembered looking at him that day so long ago, with his blond hair and perpetual tan. When we stood there in the rain, about to take the next step in our relationship, I thought he looked more and more like my Malibu Ken Doll, and I wanted to be his dream Barbie. Ever since that day I called him Malibu Ken or just Ken for short. I even remembered him saying in response to my nickname for him, “Shit, Dahl, people are going to think I play with Barbies.” Then, with a wicked grin, he said, “But that’s okay as long as you’re my Barbie.” He knew I was. That night I pulled out my Malibu Ken and set him on my dresser. When he saw it, with an amused look on his face he asked, “Barbie belonged to Ken right?” I nodded. He declared, “It’s cool then.”
I thought about how he tolerated my nickname for him over the years, even though he never really liked it. He just knew my Barbie dolls were my lifeline to my lost childhood, and I think that was why he never really protested the nickname. My dolls photographed well, they let me style them, they always looked great for the camera, and they reminded me of happier times.
Ben suddenly shut the lid completely, and the memory was gone. Blinking my eyes, I came back to the present as he turned and hugged me tightly. I don’t remember the last time we hugged like that, and again I felt a bit alarmed until he looked me in the eyes and said with the slightest whisper, “Please Dahl, I want to f**k you, make love to you, before we go.”
With all the emotion and love I felt for him, I really didn’t care how late we were, so I whispered back, “How can I turn you down when you asked so nicely, and you did shave after all?” Then in a half-joking, half-serious voice I added, “But make it quick!” I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to me for a kiss.
Ben kissed me differently than he had ever kissed me before, and then he made love to me in a completely different way as well. He was full of passion and love, like usual, but I also felt a need in him I’d never sensed before. He loved sex, and we had it often. He was usually quick and to the point, but now he took his time, his eyes never left me, and he never said a word. The look in his eyes and the way he touched me told me everything I needed to know.
Afterwards, we held each other for a little while before he got up and went into the bathroom to get dressed again. I heard noises in the bathroom that sounded like sobbing. Ben had never cried—ever—and knowing we were going to be late, I pushed the eerie feelings away and vowed we would talk about his strange behavior when we came home that night.
The ominous glow of the headlights ahead filtered through the rain as it continued to fall. I sat in his BMW and glanced over at him. Ben hated listening to top 40 music, but he turned the radio station to 102.7 for me anyway, which made me smile. We were listening to Gavin DeGraw’s I’m in Love with a Girl. I was singing along to the lyrics and was surprised when I saw Ben singing the words as well. Sensing me watching him, he turned, quickly looked at me, and stopped singing. “If I ever wrote a song, this is the one I’d have written about you,” he said. Then he turned the radio up louder, and the lump that I had in my throat earlier returned.
We had been together so long that sometimes I lost sight of what I loved about him. At this moment I knew it was just everything; the way he carried his six-foot frame, his short dirty blond hair, his dimples, and the way he commanded attention from everyone with his confidence. Sometimes it seemed to border on arrogance, but it only made people notice him more.
Growing up he was all surfer, and even as an adult he still was. I smiled thinking that as a kid he had such a bad mouth, was hotheaded, and most teachers said he had a poor attitude, but I never thought so. That was just his way. As I looked over at him driving on the freeway I realized it still was his way, and God I loved him.
He looked at me as he pulled off the freeway, continuing to drive through the streets of LA. “What?” he said while turning the radio down, just as the song ended.
Grinning at him, I reached over the console to place my hand on his thigh and ran it up his leg. “We’re going to be late to your first award party, and it’s all your fault.”
With a shit eating grin on his face he said, “So f**king worth it,” as he changed the radio station.