The government called her Dalila. I called her Dali and I loved her deeply. We had a special relationship. We talked very little but looked at and touched each other a lot. I always knew what she was thinking by the way she looked at me and she looked at me like no one else ever had. Her eyes were deep and dark like the universe.
Dali's body was a work of art. She never appreciated her body as much as I did, but I stopped trying to convince her. Bodies are meant to be brushed and kissed and clutched, not talked about. She had a little meat on her bones and that was fine by me. She had lovely skin and a round, sexy ass; the kind of ass you could smack, squeeze and fuck hard all night long without leaving a single mark on it. I used to think of it as the "invincible ass" and laugh about it, but that's between me and you.
We did not have much money at the time and we were barely seeing each other at all. She was working as a nurse, a night shift nurse. I was working as freelance photographer and most of my gigs were during the day. On the weekends, I was working 12-hour days and she was helping her younger sister take care of her baby. At this point, we got to touch each other about once a week. I craved her all week long.
It was a Wednesday and I was taking pictures for a real estate company. This company dealt only with swanky properties in posh neighborhoods. It wasn't my dream job, but if you don't start somewhere you never get nowhere. Bob Marley said that.
Real estate agent Chris pushed opened the heavy doors of the house. It was the first time I worked with Chris and he seemed awfully anxious for a successful mansion-seller. He checked his phone a lot and was completely distracted. I thought about fucking Dali up against a wall most of the time at work, so I could relate.
I did not know how much the house was worth, but it seemed like it would sell for a couple million at least. The living room was spacious and finely furnished. A spiral staircase invited you up to the second level. The master bathroom had a large walk-in shower with glass doors and a wide assortment of expensive soaps of all kinds. It didn't seem like anyone was living there so it must have been the interior decorator...Or not.
I was taking some photos of the shower with a wide-angle lens when I heard a commotion stirring downstairs. I spiralled down the staircase to find Chris putting on his jacket in a fit. He ran out the doors with his coat half on, not even thinking to close them.
I stood in the middle of the staircase, confused. He soon ran back in a tossed me the keys to the house.
"My wife is having a baby. Take the keys and lock up when you're done. Don't break anything."
Again he was off, almost wiping out as his shiny shoes struggled to grip the icy, marble-like floors of the house.
My first thought was:
"Wow, that lucky man is having a child. That is so wonderful for him and his wife. I hope he comes back soon so I can congratulate him."
This is a lie.
My real first thought was:
"Labour? That could take hours. That could take a whole day!"
My second thought was of Dali. She was at home and I hadn't touched her in 8 and one half days.
