She is smiling as she is picking up an outfit Dressing up for him such pleasure each piece of clothing carefully chosen for their love dates to reflect her mood or his appetite.. He always notices half smiling half checking her out throwing in a comment playfuly, teasingly ''my little foxy....'' she loves that endearment and his smile that goes with it...
''We just can't stay away from each other, not for too long at least'', she thought to herself. Needing each other in a very intense and strange way. Feeding off each other's nourishing energy. Looking for each other when a few hours pass when they don't communicate. Even online, even via the phone... Κραταει χρονια, αυτη η κολωνια...
''Maybe love and gratitude is one and the same thing..'' Her Christmas present to him: a small pocket notebook, handwritten, by her. Each page, one of the things she loves about him or she is grateful about They are so many... It would take many pocket notebooks to enumerate them all. For Love ang Gratitude is but one and the same thing....
She's eating chestnuts her favorite winter treat. They say, the first time in the season you eat a fruit or nut, you should make a wish. Her wish automatically comes to her mind, before her brain has time to prossess or sensor it: ''Let our love last for ever!'' For ever... Big words, frighteningly scary. And ever so sweet...
''This is all so good!'' He makes a sweeping motion with his hand": the reastaurant they're eating at, the meal he's just had, being here with her, everything . They're talking over their last glass of wine. ''It's like I got away from everything'', he continues. ''Nothing else mattered those past two days''. She nodds in agreement. ''We still have today'', she says Somehow, each hour they spent together seems like a gourmet dinner enjoyed at one's leisure. Magically recharging each other, rejuvenating each other. The feeling you get after a strong cup of coffee and a glass of your favorite wine, those two combined , two in one: both invigorating and relaxing. She stores this moment in her treasure chest of memories to recall and relish for later. ''I'm his peace haven''. He escapes from everything into my arms''. What a glorious feeling...
He won't talk much about his affairs. He lets her do most of the talking, bubbling with news, sharing her day with him, her troubles and triumphs. He won't talk much about his affairs. But she can tell. Each time he comes back to her, she can tell. Just by looking at his face. She can tell whether he had a hard time or not how stressed or relaxed was his week or fortnight. No need for words. She won't ask either, letting him do it his way. She just studies his face and knows all there is to know .
She doesn't remember much of the best part of that day. They took a day trip to that lake she wanted them to visit. Except it was raining hard all day, boat trip was cancelled. They ended up in a little taverna instead. Crowded, it was a puplic holiday. She was unaccustomed to that particular kind of strong liquor, got drunk on it . He had to practically carry her back to his car. As sick as a dog she was and in her drunken stupor she remembers asking him, again and again: ''Who are you?'' Each time she asked, he would give her a different name, while driving along, smiling, amused humoring her, playing along.
''You have to stop , NOW!'' she said. He pulled over, came round to open her door, held her hair while she was being sick on the road side. After that she can't remember much, except for that dog. Big brute. What the heck was a dog doing in the middle of nowhere? He was friendly with him but not with her, kept trying to snap at her hand, he had to hurry her into the car again. She fell asleep on his car seat and he kept driving along. She woke up still there, tucked under his coat him patiently waiting for her. ''I am ruining your life'', he said. ''I should have never come to you in the first place'' He never explained what he meant...
''I like looking at old pictures of you, but it also makes me kinda sad'', he says. ''Why?'' ''Because I wish I had known you back then too...'' And she melts like butter, because she feels exactly the same.... Or maybe, just maybe, they have known each other all their lives and they just met in the physical a few hundred days ago...
Once upon a time, when she was a little girl. she had created an imaginary retreat of her own. Her go-to sanctuary of comfort. She could close her eyes and there she was: Small, secluded, cozy and hidden from the world huge bed, fluffy bedcovers lots of pillows, lots of blankets, she could be her amazing, relaxed self there she could just indulge and let go.... once upon her real life, he recreated it for her an improved replica of her teenage fantasy retreat their nest of love and lust manifested in the real world. Their private very real retreat of Love their portal to their combined universe of sexual fun, affection, relaxation and dreams...
Uphill, uphill he's driving, uphill, uphill they go. Into the mist, towards a famous mountain tourist resort-village. The winding mountain road diasppearing into the clouds. Breathtaking view on both sides. ''Last weekend I was here with friends,'' he explains, ''and it was a really cool place, but somehow something was missing; you!'' They stop at a picturesque little village, traditional stone houses and all, and a picturesque little cafe overlooking the valley. Christmas decorations still on and heart-shaped cookies with their coffee. They are looking at eight puppies that look like like a wolf's pack venturing into the little square outside. They are holding hands and talking and basking at each other's presence. Because most beautiful things are never meant to be enjoyed solo...
''All 's clear'', she says. ''You may come now''. She hangs up warms up some chicken for him, turns up the heating, lights up some candles. Mid-winter and bitterly cold outside. Foggy, too. Dreamlike-foggy, the kind of foggy you see in old thriller movies. He arrives ten minutes later, his teeth chattering, shivering from cold, from having been woken up in the middle of the night and from walking out in the freezing cold. She crawls up in bed beside him. ''I'll warm you up in no time, baby...'', she promises. And she does...
Countless times have they made love in front of that old churchyard in that secluded churchyard overlooking the small town. Their favorite spot, watching the light dimming all around the wooded hill, town lights flickering like enchanted little stars at their feet in the distance. And the old fortress church dating back to the time of knights and heroes, the old church with all its saints silently watching over them, keeping guard at their back keeping guard of their dreams....
Tired and sleep deprived, she finally goes to bed. And she falls asleep thinking of his eyes He once sent her a picture of those eyes, just his eyes, because she told him how much she loved getting lost in them. But no picture can quite catch what she adores about him. His eyes. The very first thing she noticed about him. Uncannily intense. Magnetic. Piercing, to the depths of her soul. Gentle and loving, too. His eyes. Windows to an exceptional soul
She's making coffee. He's just arrived, smiling and out of breath from climbing all those flights of chairs. 'Hello foxy!''
Their welcoming kiss-and-hug ritual. He reaches for something from the shelf and she catches a whiff of his smell that beloved smell of his. He smells of comfort, love and sex of the particular flavor she likes best. She nuzzles up to his neck, a slight catch in her breath, drinking him in, instantly affected, intoxicated, swaying to and fro from pure pleasure, because she missed him so... Come here..'', he whispers in her ear. her waist cupped in his arms
It's raining softly outside. Their nest is nice and cozy. Their Sanctuary. Lit by a single purple candle only, and the light of the little electric radiator buzzing away. They are snuggling under the warm blankets cuddling, holding hands and chatting. The warm afterglow of love. ''You are probably the only man in the history of mankind who's more tender before rather than after bedding a woman!'', she jokes. ''You'd be surprised, foxy.'' ''If you don't have feelings for her, you feel like kicking her out of bed as soon as it's over'', he jokes back. Their three-hour bliss is almost up. Enough to sustain them. Until next time....
''I miss you'', she says ''I need you'', is the hidden message he can hear in her voice. Three hours later, he calls her: ''Ι' m on my way...'' This is how a true man loves.... with actions....
''Ομορφιά μου'', he tells her. ''My beauty''... First thing in the morning. When she's just woken up. Eyes still bleary from sleep. Hair in a terrible mess frightful enough to scare the brave hairstylist on the face of this planet Not a speck of makeup on her. 'My beauty''...he tells her. And she melts like butter on toast...
''Five times five'', he said. ''I dont believe you were counting'',she said. ''I'm not! Oh, ok, I am', he smiles at her. 'Don't tell anyone about it', he advises, half serious, half joking. 'For one thing, they won't believe you.' 'For another, it's good to protect one's self from stupid envy'. ''No need to'', she answers back. ''Bliss shows on face, clearly and eloquently. Everyone knows , at a gut level, just by looking at us''.
''Our combined light lights up by example drab days, drab towns. drab lives...''
''Do you Know Why I'm Writing These Stories? '' she tells him. Not to tell the world. (they don't understand anyway, they think it's too good to be true, or straight out of a romantic fantasy) Not to tell you ( you are right here with me . living it all, no need to remind you...) Not to tell me ( as if I could ever forget, ever....) I write our story for another reason: To immortalise a Work of Art in progress. All beautiful things in life are works of art. And works of art need to be immortalised. They deserve it. And the world needs them. That ugly, drab, twisted world of today needs as much Beauty and Love as it can possibly get. Too much shortage of it. ''My love, our Love spills anonymous blessings to this world...''
''What is it that makes me sooo crazy about him?'' She often wonders about that. Why him? Why THIS much? Then the answer comes automatically. As if in a whisper in her ear: ''Because he is ALWAYS with me. Always. Caring. Loving. Advicing. Joking. Stalking. Listening. Caressing. Touching. Fucking. Wiping tears. Sharing laughs. Sharing knowledge. Sharing nonsense. Sharing life. Always. Even when he's miles and miles away. He still finds a way to do all that and then some more. Even if there is a big burden in her heart and she feels like crying and hiding from the world he'll somehow find a way in. In her heart or mind. Or both. Not obtrusively or blatantly. More like in a 'I'm here if you need me' way. Day or night. He is ALWAYS there for her. Never tires of it. His stamina in bed only matched by his emotional endurance superpowers. ''Maybe this is too tiring for you, maybe you can't stand it...'' he once texted her. ''Maybe it's overwhelming...'' ''Let me see if I understad this'', she asks. ''You embody a hero straight out of a romance novel and you're asking me if I don't likeall this attention?'' ''Yes. Quite a few grow tired of it.'' ''But I' m not like those 'quite a few' '', she says. Most people are foolish little children when it comes to love. They keep asking for new shining toys then discard them as soon as they have them lusting after a new toy. ''Not me'' ''I never tire of chocolate, love and you. ''I can have tons of chocolate, love and you and still ask for more''. ''That's MY superpower.'' ''Birds of a feather....''
On the occasions they can spend the night together, really sleep together, not just make love, they have established a routine: she falls asleep in his arms her head nestled in his chest his nose buried in her hair cheesily romantic but sooo comforting for both. Then, after a while when it becomes uncomfortable, they turn back to back but still needing to touch each other. If either of them wakes up in the middle of the night they move their body closer to be in full body contact again. She says: ''I love it when we're spooning and you have your leg on top of me, leg hugging is the best.'' He says: ''I love it when you 're asleep and I have your butt touching my body'' hedonism, sweet and tender...
They are getting ready for an outing. She is putting on glittering face stickers. In many colors. Around her eyes and between her brows.
He looks up at her. -''What's that on your face?'' -''Face stickers! Never seen 'em before?'' He laughs. Hard. ''It looks funny, but OK!'' ''Funny!'', she's indignant. ''It's sexy!'' But the damn things won't stick properly. They keep falling off. 'It's because of the make up'', she explains. ''How do all those chicks in pictures manage to keep 'em in place?'' Then she gives up. ''Oh, why bother?'' ''I don't need this shit, anyway.'' ''I'm glittering from the inside out when I'm with you!''
Their destination: a 13th century old cloister. Driving in a small country road, winding upwards in the rising hills. Warm sunshine, light mood and a heated car seat for her because it's still cold and he likes indulging her and she loooves it! Countryside green alternating between wooded hills and open meadows. It seems theirs is the only car on the road. Suddenly, a herd of free range cattle scattered all over the place blocking their way, and a huge bull standing right in front of their car. Calm but obstinate, with the confidence of his bulk and the defiance of an alfa male protecting his territory, not moving an inch just standing there, staring at them. ''Now what?'', she wonders. ''They can be dangerous, once provoked, you know''.
He winds down his car window. ''Hey! Move !'' The bull hears the commad in his voice and obeys, head down slowly moving aside and taking the rest of the herd with him granting them a pass. ''I was damn scared for a moment,'' she tells him as he drives on. ''That beast was huge.'' ''Did you see his enormous balls?'' she adds laughingly. Then, after some thought: ''...but obviously, your balls are bigger than his!''
''I've always wanted a man with such muscles in my bed'', she says ''Broad shoulders and tiny waist''. ''Oh, and let's not forget the cute butt''. Perfetto...
''I want you to get all dressed up for the occasion'', he texts her. ''And by getting dressed up, I don't mean anything that involves a tutu!'' She laughs. ''OK, no tutus. I promise.'' ''He 's planning on showing me off'', she tells herself. Let's give him something to be really proud of.'' They are getting ready to leave. He ,impeccably groomed in black, is now inspecting her chosen outfit.
Velvet two-piece, in the colour of fine milk chocolate short, fitted jacket and cropped trousers matched with a pink top and leather brown knee-high boots her long hair streightened to sleek perfection, the upper layers in light blonde, the under streaks caramel brown. ''Turn around'', he is taking a better look. ''Perfect, now off we go!'' Their venue, downtown in the city at the heart of its historical center looks not-too-promising for finding a parking space. But he has it all arranged. People right in front of the premises barricading a parking space for him with upholstered, old-fashioned chairs. ''Now, that's what I call giving us the VIP treatment,'' she jokes. ''Let's go grab a cup of coffee at that nice cafe before they get me ready'', he suggests. Then she is sitting in the front row he is up there on stage doing his thing and she tries not to look him in the eye trying hard not to lock eyes with him.
Of course he noticed, being the observant kind he is and he commented, afterwards ''You kept avoiding eye contact'' ''Didn't want to stress you out'', she repied and he laughs ''I am never stressed out''! Then, at one moment he manages to catch her eye at last her looking up at him, smiling, clapping and he looks down at her from up there winking at her grinning a joyous, mischievous, conspiratory smile that she'll never forget for as long as she lives, making her smile too each and every time she recalls it. That's one of the perks you get for loving a playful man behind the serious facade a naughty little boy at heart.
She loves the excitement in his voice when they are discussing plans for his upcoming visit. ''He is looking forward to it'', she says to herself. ''Baby, I'm gonna make it worth your while, just as much as you make it worth mine....''
''I'll be coming to see you again this week'', he said when they were about to part. She was still dazed and hazy disoriented and a bit undone from too much lovemaking after their first weekend together. She didn't have time to analyse, rationalise, ponder over things or think about anything remotely related with a continuation of all this. She was too busy drinking in the sensations. But he said he'd be coming over... She looks at him ''Yes!'' , she hears herself saying grateful, ever so grateful he wouldn't let her miss him or wait by the phone...
Then here he is again this time in her hometown car wheels screeching, car window rolled down, flashing his gorgeous smile at her and that overwhelming sensation of joy tells her, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that yes, she missed him so! She greets him, gets in his car and as he is driving down the road he shows her: a long strand of her hair tied around the gear shift like some kind of magic ribbon or talisman of choice... ''I found it in our room when you left...'' he explains, almost coyly. Then her heart swells with emotion for that rare treasure of a man. ''I have always been a lucky girl'', she reminds herself mentally grinning from ear to ear
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