The New Matilde - 11 Months Later

This is a sequel to the story "The New Matilde".

1.

Friday, August 28th:

Hi. It's me again, Matilde Jørgensen, schoolteacher in Copenhagen, Denmark. And 30 (thirty!) years old later this autumn.

My relationship with Thomas lasted around seven months. One day at the end of April he told me that he'd fallen for another woman and that "we" were over. His infatuation with me had faded and eventually vanished, so it seemed.

I was, at the time, applying for new jobs and obviously didn't find the break-up helpful in that process. But after a short mourning period during which I managed to get an attractive job at a private charter school at Østerbro, which naturally contributed to my self-esteem, I was back on the Tinder circuit by late June.

And I didn't exactly quit smoking when Thomas, who made me become a smoker in the first place, had broken up with me. Actually I increased my cigarette consumption for a couple of weeks. But now it's back to normal at about a pack a day. A little more on weekends.

Well, normal... New normal I should say. A year ago I was an absolute non-smoker. But my romantic encounter with Thomas seduced me into smoking. As he thought I was sexy when I smoked a cigarette. And as I very soon took a liking to smoking.

My new, otherwise expensive, habit hasn't cost me any money. Yet. Thomas bought me a large box of Marlboro Reds, my brand of choice, and last time I checked I had around 5000 cigarettes left which should suffice for at least some months. Even at my pace.

He must have gotten them through some kind of sinister, hardly legal, parallel import scheme, as all the usual warnings against death, cancer, blindness and disabled fetuses are printed in incomprehensible Polish, making it easier for me to ignore them. I believe cigarettes are a lot cheaper in Poland.

When I wake up in the morning, I cough. But only until my first cigarette puts an end to the coughing and relaxes me.

I do, however, get a little out of breath when I run. So I don't. I stopped my jogging routine and discovered that my weight concern, because of which I started jogging in the first place, is not an issue anymore. For the first time since being a teenager, my weight is under control as I introduced my new rule of smoking a cigarette or two instead of eating whenever I'm offered some fattening dessert or feel like a chocolate bar. In this way I've managed to lose a couple of kilos and reach what is my ideal weight according to my bathroom mirror.

And unrelated to my smoking habit, I generally move at a lower speed than previously, wearing one of the many pairs of gorgeous high heels that Thomas bought for me. Slowly, but elegantly, I walk the streets of Copenhagen in my stilettos. At work, though, I normally wear more practical footwear the way I used to as my old self.

Speaking of work. As I mentioned, I got a new job. My relations with my old boss, Eva, at the Frederiksberg school never recovered from her catching me on the roof, where I was secretly smoking in blatant violation of school rules. So some time in the spring I applied for dozens of new jobs, spending the better part of May and June interviewing for them, dressed in jeans, long sleeves, socks and practical shoes in spite of the increasingly hot weather.

In mid-June I finally landed my new great job at this small charter school at Østerbro. My new boss, Birgit, has a different attitude towards my addiction to cigarettes and even invited me and other teachers to meet in the kitchen of her principal's apartment at the school to smoke with her. And we do that several times a day and have a great time. I feel really welcomed among my new colleagues, most of whom share my smoking habit.

Birgit is even completely open-minded when it comes to my tattoos that, I do admit, got a little out of hand during my first months with Thomas who was obsessed with paying for tattoos all over my body. Thomas has this friend, Casper, who runs a tattoo business in Nordre Frihavnsgade. Thomas got my tattoos at a favourable price in exchange for me letting Casper turn my whole body into a tropical rainforest with all kinds of leaves, branches, lianas, fruits, leopards, monkeys, snakes and the occasional okapi.

This project really awoke the artist in Casper who was fascinated with having my whole body as a blank canvas to work on. This past winter I spent hundreds of hours on his couch getting decorated all the way from the tip of my toes to my wrists and just below my neck, respectively. My tattooist is a law-abiding citizen who respects the strict Danish legislation, prohibiting any tattoos on hands, neck or head. And this strict law is probably the reason why I can still, hopefully, look forward to a career as a teacher, if only I cover myself up during job interviews regardless of the season and temperature.

I got carried away by the project. Some weeks during the winter I went to Casper's parlour on a more or less daily basis, almost feeling addicted to his needles. He was working on several parts of my body simultaneously. And when one part needed healing and rest, he would switch to working on another.

When Thomas broke up with me in the spring, Casper obviously wasn't done with our ambitious endeavour. But we had long ago passed the point of no return. It made absolutely no sense to leave large unfinished sketches on my body. I didn't, however, have the means to finance the completion of Casper's work of art, so we made an agreement that I get the remaining tattoos for free. In return, I let him display my body (not my face, though) on large colour photographs in his storefront window. And eventually I'm going to accompany him to a few tattooists' conventions some time in the future.

Anyway, my new full-body tattoo was the reason for my appearance at job interviews in much too warm clothing.

During this summer I've worked on owning my tattoos when going to the park or the beach in normal summer's clothing. And I got a lot of attention. Some was nice, some was not. The August heatwave continued right into the new school year starting in mid-August and I found it impossible to wear clothing that would completely cover my arms and legs when it was 30 degrees Celsius or more outside. And I must say the kids reacted with open minds and curiousity, competing against each other in locating all the exotic animals that Casper has painfully stitched into my skin with his needles.

My current Tinder profile picture portrays me raising a cigarette to my mouth with my heavily tattooed arm, so I certainly make no secret of being a tattooed and smoking woman. This kind of marketing seems to attract a different category of men than my old, pre-Thomas, profile picture from a year ago.

Most of the men who swipe right on The New Matilde are tattooed smokers themselves. They are older, they drink more alcohol and have, generally speaking, a more relaxed attitude towards personal hygiene than the men I would typically date a year ago.

So bottom line is that I haven't exactly, through a summer of exploring numerous Tinder dates, met the one and only.

This Friday evening some time after 10 p.m. I find myself a bus stop at Nørreport Station after just another one of these disappointing Tinder dates. This guy in his early forties who was very full of himself and insisted on getting another bottle of wine when we - mostly he - had emptied the first within twenty minutes.

Returning with the second bottle he filled our glasses and leaned into me, starting, completely uninvited, to touch me up.

I made it extremely clear to him that I was not at all interested and he stood up, abruptly, to leave me with almost a whole bottle of chilled Chardonnay that he'd already paid for. So I spent the next 20 minutes smoking a cigarette, drinking the wine and changing my Tinder profile picture to a more close-up one of my innocent face showing no tattooed body parts and no smoking. Tired of being treated like a slut based on false assumptions about women with lots of tattoos.

Slowly I walked through the busy nightlife of the inner city, wearing my favourite high heel sandals that Thomas gave me on our second date, a pair of cut-off blue jeans shorts with fringes at the edges and an off-the-shoulder, tight black crop top that allows a look at the jungle panorama below my boops.

Critics might find my choice of attire slightly too slutty for a first date on Tinder. But then again, there is this heatwave. And how should I have known that this guy was a groping jerk?

At Nørreport Station I wait for the bus, smoke a cigarette and refresh my lipstick, as a young boy comes up to me, greeting me with an informal: "Hi, Matilde!"

It takes me a moment to recognize Mikkel, who was in my first class at the Frederiksberg school when I started working there years ago, right after teacher training college.

"Hi, Mikkel!" I smile and hug him.

I like Mikkel. Actually he's one of my all time favourite students. I've known him since he was 12. Clever boy with a very helpful and social attitude.

Mikkel is in a tight black T-shirt, white shorts and Adidas shoes. I look at him.

"You've grown."

"Yeah," he smiles shyly, returning my glance from head to toe. "You have a lot of tattoos...," he adds.

"That's right," I say neutrally, inhaling the smoke from my cigarette.

"What's that?" he point at my arm. "It looks like flowers... and fruits... and animals."

"Yes," I reply, blowing out a plume of smoke. "It's a tropical rainforest. It's this tattoo artist I know who's been working on me for almost a year now. I'm practically completely covered with the flora and fauna of the tropics."

"Fascinating. So you're his Gesamtkunstwerk?"

"His what?"

"Oh, it's a German expression. Your whole body has become a work of art."

Did I mention that Mikkels parents are art historians?

"Yeah. Like that." I inhale a deep drag from my Marlboro Red. "Do you like it, Mikkel?"

"Yes. It's cool. Is it... all over you?"

"Yes, practically," I say, exhaling.

Mikkel squats down to study Casper's rainforest in the area just above my belly-button.

"There are just so many details. This must have been expensive."

"My ex-boyfriend paid for it," I explain. "And now I get it for free, because I've become the artist's... Gesamtkunstwerk...? Is that the word?"

"Good for you, Matilde! Yes. That's the word. And how about the back? Can I see?"

I turn around to show him my shoulders and the upper part of my back.

"As you can see on my left shoulder, this... Gesamtkunstwerk is still very much a work in progress."

"Yeah. But it looks great, Matilde."

"Thank you. My tattooist says he can finish by Christmas if come to his shop twice a week. But you can already see pictures of me in his shop window."

"Really? Where is that?"

"It's on Nordre Frihavnsgade."

"I'll make sure to go there and see it. It looks great on you."

"Thanks... And then I've agreed to show my full-body rainforest tattoo on some tattooists' conventions."

"Oh. That's nice. I won't miss them."

"It won't be in Denmark, though, Mikkel. And my tattooist assured me that they are closed conventions for professionals only. The nearest will be in Amsterdam, I think," I smile, inhaling my Marlboro.

"Oh... I'd love to go to Amsterdam... Can I come as your assistant? I'm sure you need someone to... hold your clothes or something," he suggests eagerly.

"Thanks... I'll think about it...," I laugh teasingly while blowing out smoke.

"Do you know what you'll be wearing... I mean, apart from the rainforest?"

"Well... these," I point to my high heel sandals that show off my tattooed feet so well. "And some kind of minimalistic thong thart leaves as much as possible of my meticulously tattooed butt visible. And then a pair of round yellow stickers to cover my areolas, just large enough to prevent me from getting arrested."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

I pause to take another hit from my cigarette, letting the picture of me on the tattooists' catwalk sink into Mikkel's imagination. Then I continue, exhaling my smoke:

"Actually we've found a nice text for the stickers. It says Extra sweet pineapples. Because my boobs will be decorated as ripe pineapples hanging from a palmtree. You know... true to the rainforest theme."

"Now that's extra sweet! I can imagine how cool that looks."

"Yeah. I think you will have to make do with your imagination, Mikkel. Because I'm not going to show you here at the bus stop," I laugh.

"Too bad."

Out of the corner of my eye I spot bus 5C at the traffic light.

"Oh. There's my bus. Take care, Mikkel!"

I take a last drag from my Marlboro and throw it on the pavement before leaning forward for a brief hug with Mikkel, exhaling smoke over his shoulder.

"I'm going on that bus too," Mikkel says.

"Oh. You are? Good."

We get on the bus and sit next to each other. I watch him from the side. He seems to be trying to grow a beard. With limited success. I also notice the bump in his shorts. He must be really glad to see me.

"How old are you now, Mikkel?"

"I turned 18 last week," he says.

God! This boy was a minor until last week.

"Right. August 19^th. Your birthday. Isn't it."

"You remember!"

"Yes I do. We used to celebrate you in class right after the summer holiday. You brought cakes to school. Remember?"

"Oh yes."

"Well. Happy birthday, Mikkel!" I say, hugging him sideways on the bus seat.

"Thank you!"

After the hug I happen to look down at my braless boops in the tight crop top, noticing the hard nipples clearly standing out by now and the outline of the small ring in my left nipple. I must be pretty excited myself. Did he notice?

"So where are you going now?"

"I'm visiting a friend."

"Where does your friend live?"

"He lives... in Blågårdsgade."

"Oh. But that was the last stop. You've come too far..."

"Doesn't matter... I was thinking... Could we go to your place and have a cup of tea."

"Tea? You want tea?"

"Yeah. And like... catch up on things."

"Sure. If you like. I'm getting off next."

Mikkel raises his hand, pushing the stop button.

We leave the bus together at Nørrebros Runddel and start walking slowly toward my apartment in Jægersborggade.

"Wait a sec," I say, stopping at the cemetary wall. "These heels are killing me. I need you to hold my shoulder so I don't fall when I'm getting rid of them."

Mikkel holds me firmly while I unbuckle my sandals. I enjoy having his arms around me.

I lose eight centimeters of my impressive height, stepping down on my naked feet on the pleasantly warm pavement.

"Now you're back to your normal size the way I remember it," Mikkel comments.

I smile, picking up my sandals to stuff them into my bag and find my cigarette case. I hold it out to offer Mikkel one of my Marlboros.

"Want one?"

"No thanks. I don't smoke."

"Oh, that's clever," I remark, lighting up.

"Yeah. Isn't it? I remember a young pretty teacher in seventh grade who lectured us on the dangers of smoking."

I smile, enjoying to walk barefoot on the pavement.

"Was she any good at it?" I ask, exhaling my smoke.

"Very convincing. Very few from our class started smoking. She did a really good job."

"That's good to hear. And I was honest about it then. I only took up smoking less than a year ago because I got into a... social context where smoking was the norm. And then I haven't been able to let it go. Or rather, I don't want to quit."

"Why? You know it's bad for your health?"

"Yeah. But it also relaxes me. And then it simply tastes good."

I look at him, intrigued.

"Am I a disapointment to you, Mikkel?"

"Who am I to judge you?"

"That's right," I say, looking up for cars as we cross Jagtvej.

"You know what you were also teaching?"

"Lots of things. I was your main teacher for three years. Remember?"

I take a hit from my cigarette.

"Right. But I was referring to one specific subject."

"What?"

"Sex education."

I laugh, exhaling smoke.

"Yeah. Was I any good at that?"

"You were fabulous. We were a group of boys fantasizing about you for hours after school. Jerking off in the toilets."

I smile sarcastically without commenting, as we arrive at my door.

"So... This my humble abode. I live up there on the fifth floor. No elevator."

"Well. I don't mind the stairs. I'm more worried about you. You'll be out of breath with your smoker's lungs before we reach the fifth floor."

"I think I'll manage," I reply. "Let me just finish this."

I hold up my cigarette, then take a few quick drags before throwing it on the pavement. I realize that I, being barefoot, don't want to stump it out with my foot. Mikkel, literally, steps in and extinguishes my cigarette with his Adidas shoe.

"Thank you!" I smile, blowing out the last smoke.

We look at each other for a moment. Then I take a leap of faith.

"Mikkel?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Matilde."

"Do you think smokers have a bad breath?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you. And I don't really know if you'd like it. I mean, me being a smoker, and..."

Mikkel interrupts me by wrapping his arms around me and giving me a long French kiss that certainly answers my question.

We kiss in front of my building for another 10 or 15 minutes before my urge to take this young boy to bed becomes so strong, that I pull back with a promising smile and unlock the door to the staircase. Slowly, holding hands, we walk up the stairs. We pause on the landing between the second and third floor to kiss again. The timer turns off the light and we remain kissing in the darkness. Mikkel pulls my crop top over my head and drops it to the floor.

Mikkel cups his hand over my left boop, then caresses the nipple area and gently touches the small golden ring.

"I thought I saw a ring through your top," he says.

"How observant of you!"

He bends down to gently suck my nipple and ring, and my nipples are as hard as steel. Mikkel returns his lips to mine, caressing my tits with his hands.

"If we switched on the light, you could show me your ripe pinapples," he suggests.

"Maybe we should go upstairs. Then I'll..."

We hear the street door below being opened. The light is switched on, and we hear voices from downstairs. Quickly we let go of each other. Mikkel grabs my top from the floor and teasingly runs ahead up the stairs. I chase him laughing and topless. We enter the apartment, and having closed the door behind us, I kiss Mikkel on the mouth, asking:

"Do you really want tea?"

"Never mind. Whatever you're having."

For a moment I consider taking a shortcut and dragging Mikkel directly to bed. But I don't know if that would be rushing things too much, so I slip back into my top and pick up a bottle of Alsace wine from my fridge and two glasses.

"Let's sit on the balcony," I suggest.

We sit down together on the two chairs with our wine and glasses placed on the small, round table between us, enjoying the warm evening which feels almost tropical and is so rare in Scandinavia. We hold hands and chat. I feel restless and jittery. I need a cigarette, but I'm reluctant, as Mikkel obviously disapproves of my smoking.

I also sense a strong inclination to have sex with this young boy, who is 12 years my junior and who was my student until two years ago.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I ask with a smile, touching his hand.

"No. I don't know if you could even say that I've ever had a girlfriend."

"That's impossible, Mikkel!"