IN WHICH ALL IS IN ORDER TO FORM A MORE PERFECT UNION.
I used to buy a lot of funky, original clothes from stores on Manhattan’s St. Mark’s Place, and they are still among my most prized possessions. The biggest, Trash and Vaudeville, moved to another location, but the true loss has been Religious Sex, which closed for good. Or bad, in my case.
IN WHICH I FIXATE ON HIS ORAL FIXATION.
Nikos had been working my lips and mouth in an unabashed reference to the rest of me, which by now, was a yawning chasm of need — I might as well have been flashing a neon sign, “Vacancy.” He’d gotten me so hot, there really wasn’t any need for more direct foreplay — my lady business was open for business. And how.
IN WHICH I DETERMINE LESS IS NOT ALWAYS MORE.
As stars came out and the lights of Santorini flickered behind us, Nikos serenaded me.
The moon rose. It was amazing that his big, rough fingers could so delicately and beautifully play a guitar. By the time he finally put it down, when he leaned forward and took my hands in both of his, their crustiness — from years of hard, manual labor — highlighted the beyond-seductive, hot contradiction he embodied: hard scrabble macho man/sensitive romantic. I was mesmerized.
IN WHICH STRINGS GET PLUCKED, INCLUDING MY HEART’S.
The sun had been sliding slowly down the mother of pearl sky and was now dipping into the Aegean Sea. Nikos had been exploring my facial topography with kisses. Now, just as I was sure he was heading into makeout territory, he pulled back and looked at me, hard. He took my hand and, after gazing at it like he’d never seen a hand before, kissed it with exaggerated chivalry. Then he excused himself, and disappeared below deck.
IN WHICH I LOOK FORWARD TO A STABBING — MY OWN.
Nikos anchored the boat and cleaned the swordfish in record time. He pulled out two deck chairs, and we shared wine and conversation while he manned the grill.
He told me about life on the island and his wish to travel far away. I told him of my life in New York, which was another planet at this point. We were both barefoot, and footsy was the perfect appetizer for dinner and the even bigger feast to follow. I was looking forward to a hot meal of male.
IN WHICH I DISCOVER NIKOS HAS A SEXTH SENSE.
The motorcycle ride, with me straddling Nikos, the hot engine thrusting beneath us, was as apt a metaphor as I could imagine for what we both had on our minds.
IN WHICH I LOOK FORWARD TO ACCEPTING AN ORGAN DONATION.
Hot fisherman Nikos had taken my bait and was aggressively courting me. But after one shot of ouzo, I begged off of the alcohol — besides the romantic hot alerts being broadcast by my heart and other regions, my liver was screaming at this point: after almost three weeks in Greece, I was veritably oozing ouzo out of my pores. Meanwhile, I could tell that Nikos had no such issues with any of his organs, particularly the one which was driving his efforts to get me drunk and horizontal.
IN WHICH THE FISHERMAN TAKES THE BAIT.
After a deliciously awkward pause, the hot fisherman took a step back and extended his hand.
“Nikos,” he said, again, smiling broadly, looking down at me. In my bare feet he was easily six inches taller, so he was about 6’2.”
IN WHICH I’M HOOKED BY A FISHERMAN.
It was a relief to get away from Demetrios and his overbearing mother. Once I’d arrived on Santorini, however, I didn’t get to see my friends after all, they had left that morning. But they had picked a great hotel built into the cliffs of the volcano crater, with a spectacular view of the azure water, the islands and the blazing sunsets, and I nestled in to heal the emotional and physical wounds I’d incurred with Demetrios, both pretty superficial, thankfully.
(The story of my hot odyssey in Greece continues with the next post.)
IN WHICH WE’RE MAKING A POSITIVE CONTRIBUTION TO GLOBAL WARMING.
What’s more feminine than sexy lingerie? When it comes to lace, silk, satin, tulle, chiffon, crepe, ribbons and frills, this is where we ladies live: Ground Zero for the Girlie Girl. The fact that our sex alone can play Satin Doll — our lingerie clubhouse says emphatically “No Boys Allowed” — makes lingerie a devastating weapon in our Goddess armament. Because what’s more fatale than a femme in lace pumped with the GAS — Glamour, Attractiveness, Sexiness — to knock’em dead? We’ll slay’em to their foundations … with ours. READ MORE
I'm a gorgeous goddess of a certain age who transformed from shot to hot, a feminist playa refusing to go into the sunset without a Mojito in one hand and a tumescent, throbbing ... well, you know what I mean ... in the other. Because sixty IS the new forty or even thirty I will not be dying with my boots on, but with my Jimmy Choo stilettos, thank you very much. I, a sexually liberated woman, stand defiantly against ageism and sexism, adamantly asserting not only is it possible to maintain and even enhance our sexual allure as we ripen, we women have the same right as men to romp in the hay with playmates decades younger.