As Time Goes By

This day and age we're living in / Gives cause for apprehension /
With speed and new invention / And things like fourth dimension.
Yet we get a trifle weary / With Mr. Einstein's theory /
So we must get down to earth at times / Relax, relieve the tension...

And yet not too down to earth. A dream vacation, a luxurious fantasy, an escape from the mundane into the realm of delightful possibility. The familiar made new with change of scene. A direct flight overseas, embarking upon a fantastic adventure, we enjoy a private cabin in the plane. A cozy space, large enough for two fully reclining seats with footrests, windows on one side, an aisle just wide enough for the steward on the other. A private lavatory, a Do Not Disturb sign. Soft clean blankets and pillows. Perfect. Dinner is a light plate of meats and cheese, breads and fruits, plenty of wine, a classic movie for entertainment. As we're settled in, about to drift off to sleep, I indulge in another form of entertainment. Reaching across to stroke you, feather-light at first, more firmly as you respond to my touch, a flush of warmth spreads through me as you sigh with pleasure, and I smile. A lovely little nightcap, a delightful taste of things to come. Sweet dreams indeed.

A kiss is just a kiss...

We awake with the sun and prepare for landing. A long layover awaits in Frankfurt, but the time will pass more quickly for us than for most. Arrangements have been made for a driver to transport us to a nearby hotel, where we refresh ourselves with hot showers and fall into a king-sized cloud of comforters and pillows for a sweet few hours of rest. Reveling in the downy softness, I stretch like a cat as your fingers trace paths along my skin, painting patterns in the shallow hollows around my collarbone, the insides of wrists and elbows, backs of knees as your lips claim mine. I shiver, lost in your kiss, already eager for more, but we breathe deeply, slowly, and carefully tend the fire, bedding down the coals so they smolder quietly and long. We relax and doze. Soon enough it's time to leave. Another drive, another flight. Finally, the Adriatic where further adventure awaits.

A sigh is just a sigh...

There's something magical about arriving at a new destination after sunset. Leaving the airport, snuggled together on velvet leather seats in the back of the town car, we feel the twists and turns of the narrow road as we climb higher and higher, catch glimpses of shadowy limestone and ebony trees close enough to touch, finally turning a corner and seeing the lights of the city twinkling below us, mirroring the stars, the water a patch of shimmering dark. Then another section of narrow curvy road towards the hotel, imagining what this will all look like in daylight. The rest is a blur: we are greeted by our tour guide, presented with an impressive list of amenities eagerly shared by a concierge obviously proud of her hotel's fine services, escorted to our room by gracious hotel staff, until finally we are left alone to settle in for a solid, restful sleep. I'm dreaming as soon as my head hits the pillow, and wake to the sound of birds, feeling warm and snug in your arms. I cautiously untangle myself without disturbing you, smile as I watch you sleeping.

Oh so delicately, I start feathering my fingers along your arms, across your chest. Slowly, I inch my body lower, my hands following, my heart beating faster with anticipation. So subtle at first, the barest tip of my tongue starts tracing circles around the tip of your magnificent cock, and I hear the first catch in your breath as I begin flicking along the ridges and contours. Stopping, I wait for the steady rhythm of your breathing return, then gradually ease my wet lips just past the corona, exploring that delicious little ridge with my tongue. Pausing. Waiting. Now your breathing is more ragged and your body begins to stir. I apply the barest hint of suction as I hold you there, savoring the textures, massaging you with my lips. Slowly, slowly I ease my lips lower, then up again, until I'm touching you with the barest of kisses, flicking my tongue along that exquisite ventral arrow. Still without hands, still only with the tip of my tongue, I begin to paint celestial patterns, circles and spirals, infinity loops. Carnal calligraphy I think as I invent esoteric alphabets, spelling erotic latin, frenulum, raphe, peninium, cavernosa. Seeing your length and thickness increase, hearing you begin to moan, feeling your fingers in my hair, I start painting in broader strokes, with greater pressure. You whisper my name as my lips return once again to claim their prize, taking you in as deeply as I can, hearing you cry out in joy, shuddering with my own release, drinking in the ocean.

The fundamental things apply...

Such a sumptuous breakfast buffet, a rainbow of textures and flavors for visitors from around the world. Eggs with rich orange yolks. Ten kinds of fresh bread, pastry, and cracker with local jams and honey. Sweet yellow butter, clotted cream, dulce de leche, chocolate, and raspberry sauce. Crisp arugula, radicchio, romaine, cabbage; roasted red and gold peppers, zucchini, fennel, and eggplant. Prosciutto, salami, fresh green olives, and pickles. Gouda, feta, ricotta, and cream. Kiwi, pineapple, ruby red strawberries. Oranges, apples, bananas. Grapes and pears. Cereals and yoghurt with toppings of hazelnuts, walnuts, almonds; chia, flax, and bran. Dried figs, plums, apricots, papaya. Turkish coffee, tart cherry tea, rich guava-mango juice, and hot milk with cocoa. Food as rich and sensual as sex itself.

We lounge on the patio, basking in the beauty of the Adriatic, sparkling in the morning sun. The blue and blue, green and cream of sky and sea, plant and stone sing their siren songs. Birds swoop and sing; majestic gulls, proud pigeons, and little finch-like songbirds. The wind smells of green things growing, jasmine and rose, and the faint salt of the sea. Refreshed and eager, we set off to explore the old city.

And when two lovers woo...

The stones remember. Walls, which have stood through war and earthquake, sun and storm. Walls which have seen the pageantry of human life repeating itself over time, life's subtle variations like mere waves on the surface of the deepest ocean. We're told an amusing story about two buildings within steps of each other, one a monastery for men whose fathers' wealth did not extend far enough to provide an inheritance for their youngest sons, one a nunnery for women whose fathers' wealth did not extend far enough to provide dowries for their youngest daughters. Stories of secret tunnels discovered beneath our feet, forbidden fornication. As we continue through the monastery doors, towards an inner courtyard, our eyes meet. You grin mischievously, wink, and walk slower. I instantly understand your suggestion. My breath catches, my skin flushes pink as we drift to the back of the group, pretending to be fascinated by crumbling murals near a dim passageway. Momentarily unobserved, we duck under faded hemp rope implying off-limits, clasp hands, dash out of sight. Walls rise high above us, open to the sky. Another passage to the right, this one dusky and dim, thick branches of overgrown bouganvillea filtering the light. Three doors to the left, heavy and old with iron hinges. Pressing ear to oak, we listen at each, quietly testing each handle. Silent and locked. I marvel at the carved figures in the wood, here a laughing satyr, there a plump cherub, seemingly incongruous, yet also quite at home in this ancient place. Another turn at the end, now the wall of the bell tower rising into the sky, casting it's shadow as you press me towards it, a hand behind my head, a hand on my waist, your lips crushing mine with a burst of passion.

Our smoldering coals leap into sudden flame as I hit the edge of a stone table along the wall, stand tiptoe, sit on its edge. Gasping and yearning for bare skin, my hands sliding up under your shirt, your hands sliding up under my skirt, my legs wrapping around your waist. Knowing we could be found at any moment, our sense of urgency drives us towards an explosion of lust we can no longer contain. How many secret lovers have done the same in this place over the centuries? How many forbidden bacchanals when the moon was full and the trees blooming? How much of their energy still resonates within the stone, urging us on to exaltation? Lips kissing, tongues dancing, you push aside linen, pull aside lace, and thrust your velvet cock deep inside me. I cry out your name, shuddering with sharp bolts of rapture. You moan against my shoulder, luxuriating in tight, wet heat. I rock my hips, just enough, just enough, reveling in friction, shameless with desire. Yes. Fuck me. Yes. Now. Such fierce rhythm. Intensity rising. Yes. Fuck me. Yes. Faster. Your kiss stifles my rising scream as I come with you, each eruption a shock wave of bliss. We collapse against stone. Gasping for air. Giddy and giggling at the audacity of us and the greatness of everything.

Suddenly, we hear faint echoes of voices approaching and we hastily stand up, fumbling with zippers and buttons, both stifling laughter that threatens to betray our trespass. Clothing reassembled, we attempt to stand upright, to appear fascinated by the masonry and jasmine, just two tourists who wandered off the path. A door opens and closes, the voices stop. Gratefully we peer around the corner and, seeing no one, dash back to the passageway entrance. We're able to emerge again into public view as if nothing ever happened. Thoroughly pleased with ourselves, we wander back into the sun, through the gates, and rejoin our tour. Meanwhile, the stones remember.

The world will always welcome lovers as time goes by.