A number of months of sporadic emailing. A sense that he would be particularly reserved and formal.A desire to meet him but not over riding.
Months inbetween messages in which lives were lived, and energies focused on other projects and people.Two strangers living in separate countries: one in his, and the other elsewhere.
A casually planned meeting leading up to Easter weekend.The city thriving with tourists and a sense that time was on their side: holidays yearned for and now relished.
Physically no surprise: it was already understood from this side that there would be attraction.Not pleasantly surprised therefore: what had been expected, was indeed delivered.
An almost awkward but strangely comfortable first chat whilst walking through the streets.Trying to watch his face, but instead having to look down to avoid tripping or standing in something less desirable.Eye contact so important, but at times hard to encounter.
A perfectly chosen dinner in his second venue choice.Anchovies and cheese on bread; his own invention, or so it seemed. Ham, olives, white wine and beer. A dry sense of humour, disguised by a reserved and formal manner. Food consumed and particles of personality revealed.
No expectations: the complete opposite infact.Wondering if another drink would be suggested. It was.
Sitting together in the bar where Javier and Penelope had their fight in Vicky, Christina Barcelona. Drinking the strongest drink one could have chosen for a first date.Happy.
Another drink in a French inspired bar, and this time an amusing, more open conversation. Everything seemed so natural. laugther and feeling like oneself. His eyes were beautiful. His hair. His reserved but confident air.
Next stop the kebab shop, his friend´s deserted flat.A shot, some water. Nothing was expected but everything was gladly received.Kisses on the sofa.A warm arm wrapped around. An awkward but life enhancing moment.
.
A shower: cold floor, warm water. Cold floor, warm towel wrapped around a vulnerable but happy body. The mirror. The question. More laughter.Very comfortable. The kebab left to go cold on the floor outside the bathroom.
Someone else's bed. No hesitation. In the midst of such natural romanticism, the ultimate carnal act. Animalistic, yet sweet and beautiful.
Dressing again and about to leave. Change of mind, turning round to see him lying there promising a night of warmth and a mid morning breakfast. Back into bed, fully clothed. His arms automatically there to catch.
Awoken by the endless banging and crashing of the neighbours comings and goings. Heat. Nausea. Three separate trips to the toilet pan. Then back to the bed. A delicious post sickness sleep and then more romanticism. One toenail black with fluff. Pretty eyes. Calm, masculine energy.
Happy.
Surprised to see him walk back into the room after his shower; fully dressed, handsome and smiley.
A breakfast between two new friends. Nice, but tainted by sickness. A lovely fairwell with promises of being in touch. No expectations but a sense of hope.His last comment said in English and somehow out of place.
A sunkissed walk home through the streets, with the remnants of the night before there for all to see; but a satisfaction and contentment that was sorely needed.
