askyourdreamsforideas

The Regard of Silent Things

2017-01-29T13:52:00.000-08:00

A couple of months after her eleventh birthday Eirini stood hiding in the hallway of their appartment, refusing to go in, crying her heart out.

They've just come back from the hairdressers.
''Please mum, no'', she had begged and pleaded with her before. 'Please not this time.''

To no avail, though. Her mum was adamant , hair must go.
''Your hair is too weak and thin'', she reasoned with her. ''If it's cropped short, it is going to get stronger and thicker in time''.
''No, you are doing it to spite me! '' Eirini cried out, watching the golden strands of her hair falling on the floor, under the hairdressers deft hands.

Sobbing like a fool, she looked at her reflection. Hair cropped close to her head. Hideous. Pathetic. Transforming her into a boy, she thought, despair dripping from her every pore. No, not even a boy, because boys were strong and big and she was pathetically scrawny . Too small for her age. Too thin. And with closely cropped hair that made her look even more pathetically thin.

She's 'been begging her mum to let her grow her hair all her childhood.
''Please mum, can I , this time? Please mum!''

But she wouldn't listen. Hair must go.

To be fair, most other schoolmate girls didn't have long hair either because it wasn't fashionable back then, but none wore them as short as her mum insisted she did. And she was eleven, a preteen. Though she looked like nine, being short and frail, she was painfully aware of how small and , well, childlike , she still looked, when most other girls have started growing taller and getting a feminine figure, And to add insult to this, that hideous hair.

Being new in a new school didst help much either. Or being a shy, introvert girl that preferred books and cats to other kids' company. Or being thought of as 'gifted' by her teachers, thus somehow excluded from the 'normal kids' club. Feeling like a weirdo , not fitting in.

And now this hair thing.
How could she face school tomorrow???
The teasing. The laughs. The agony of feeling the odd one out.

Crying didn't help much, though it lasted , intermittently, for an hour or so.. But somehow, it made her so tired , that she didnt have the energy to feel desperate or worry anymore. So she finally made for her bed and slept. Good excuse to skip dinner too.

The next day at school wasnt so bad. She kept to herself mostly, so it was ok really. Until recess, when her teacher called her over to his desk and handed her nine pages of small print , of something that looked like a speech. And it was a speech. The long speech sort , that teachers deliver for National Day celebrations at school.She looked up at him, not knowing what was expected of her.

''Read this at home'', he told her. ''You are going to deliver it next month on our national day celebrations.''
She gulped hard. Reciting a poem, was one thing. But delivering a speech? That was unheard of. And she knew she couldn't do it. Not with this hair. Not in that school, in front of 250 kids that made fun of her. Hell, she hated being the center of attention so much so ,that when it was her turn to say the morning prayers as was customary every morning before school, she pretended she was sick and stayed home. Didn't he, her favorite teacher , know that she couldn't do the public recital thing?

He seemed to respect her peculiar ways well enough in all other respects. ''90 percent of the time in my class she spends daydreaming, she lives in a world of her own'', he'd told her father who came to ask after her progress.''But when I ask her a question , she always answers as if she paid attention, so I let her be'', he added, laughing. So how could HE do this to her, he of all people??

She took the papers and left. She knew she couldnt do it. All she had to do was find a clever way out of it. But she could think of nothing. After a torturous rest of the school day, when the bell rang and everyone had left she approached the teachers desk, sheets of paper in hand

''Sir...please. I cant possibly do this recital thing. Please give it to someone else.

He looked up at her, not in the least surprised.
His eyes were kind.

''Why not, Eirini? You recite better than anyone in the school. Better even than me, I swear, he added, smiling he said, making her flush a deep red of pleasure at the compliment. ''This is a 16 minute recital, he added. I timed myself when I read it yesterday. If anyone in the school can deliver this, it's you and no one else. '' ''I picked it specifically with you in mind, '' he added, staring intently with me.

Eirini shifted uneasily in her feet. The bastard! So he knew of her fear of public speaking/reciting/whatever, but he was still making her do it!

She looked at her shoes, stuttering.
''Please...I cant...''

She wanted to tell him that she could do it because the kids were cruel and hated her. Because she was scared of being ridiculed, of being the odd one out that didst fit and having an entire school of kids grabbing the opportunity to cat whistle at her. She wanted to tell him that she felt ugly and insignificant with that horribly short cropped hair, in that pathetically thin body , with that strange mind that So a few weeks ago I asked you guys
what you'd like me to write about,
as a treat to you all for my birthday:
a confession, a secret, a personal experience?

Keeping our word is important,
makes our self-respect muscles stronger.
So here it is.
It is an experience, a confession and a personal experience, all wrapped up in one.
It's a confession, because I'm going to tell you an embarrassing thing from my past, way back into my childhood.
It's a secret, because it's about the very first time I fell in love,
which even I myself (have done my best to) forget about
And of course it's a personal experience,
because, though written in the third person, it's me alright

Enjoy

A couple of months after her eleventh birthday Eirini stood hiding in the hallway of their appartment, refusing to go in, crying her heart out.

They've just come back from the hairdressers.
''Please mum, no'', she had begged and pleaded with her before. 'Please not this time.''

To no avail, though. Her mum was adamant , hair must go.
''Your hair is too weak and thin'', she reasoned with mher. ''If it's cropped short, it is going to get stronger and thicker in time''.
''No, you are doing it to spite me! '' Eirini cried out, watching the golden strands of her hair falling on the floor, under the hairdressers deft hands.

Sobbing like a fool, she looked at her reflection. Hair cropped close to her head. Hideous. Pathetic. Transforming her into a boy, she thought, despair dripping from her every pore. No, not even a boy, because boys were strong and big and she was pathetically scrawny . Too small for her age. Too thin. And with closely cropped hair that made her look even more pathetically thin.

She's 'been begging her mum to let her grow her hair all her childhood.
''Please mum, can I , this time? Please mum!''

But she wouldnt listen. Hair must go.

To be fair, most other schoolmate girls didnt have long hair either because it wasnt fashionable back then, but none wore them as short as her mum insisted she did. And she was eleven, a preeten. Though she looked like nine, being short and frail, she was painfully aware of how small and , well, childlike , she still looked, when most other girls have started growing taller and getting a feminine figure, And to add insult to this, that hideous hair.

Being new in a new school didnt help much either. Or being a shy, introvert girl that preferred books and cats to other kids' company. Or being thought of as 'gifted' by her teachers, thus somehow excluded from the 'normal kids' club. Feeling like a weirdo , not fitting in.

And now this hair thing.
How could she face school tomorrow???
The teasing. The laughs. The agony of feeling the odd one out.

Crying didnt help much, though it lasted , intermittently, for an hour or so.. But somehow, it made her so tired , that she didnt have the energy to feel desperate or worry anymore. So she finally made for her bed and slept. Good excuse to skip dinner too.

The next day at school wasnt so bad. She kept to herself mostly, so it was ok really. Untill recess, when ther teacher called her over to his desk and handed her nine pages of small print , of something that looked like a speech. And it was a speech. The long speech sort , that teachers deliver for National Day celebrations at school.She looked up at him, not knowing what was expected of her.

''Read this at home'', he told her. ''You are going to deliver it next month on our national day celebrations.''
She gulped hard. Reciting a poem, was one thing. But delivering a speech? That was unheard of. And she knew she couldnt do it. Not with this hair. Not in that school, in front of 250 kids that made fun of her. Hell, she hated being the center of attention so much so ,that when it was her turn to say the morning prayers as was customary every morning before school, she pretended she was sick and stayed home. Didnt he, her favorite teacher , know that she couldnt do the public recital thing?

He seemed to respect her peculiar ways well enough in all other respects. ''90 pecent of the time in my class she spends daydreaming, she lives in a world of her own'', he'd told her father who came to ask after her progress.''But when I ask her a question , she always answers as if she paid attention, so I let her be'', he added, laughing. So how could HE do this to her, he of all people??

She took the papers and left. She knew she couldnt do it. All she had to do was find a clever way out of it. But she could think of nothing. After a torturous rest of the school day, when the bell rang and everyone had left she approached the teachers desk, sheets of paper in hand

''Sir...please. I cant possibly do this recital thing. Please give it to someone else.

He looked up at her, not in the least surprised.
His eyes were kind.

''Why not, Eirini? You recite better than anyone in the school. Better even than me, I swear, he added, smiling he said, making her flush a deep red of pleasure at the compliment. ''This is a 16 minute recital, he added. I timed myself when I read it yesterday. If anyone in the school can deliver this, it's you and noone else. '' ''I picked it specifically with you in mind, '' he added, staring intently at her.

Eirini shifted uneasily to her feet. The bastard! So he knew of her fear of public speaking/reciting/whatever, but he was still making her do it!

She looked at her shoes, stuttering.
''Please...I cant...''

She wanted to tell him that she couldn do it because the kids were cruel and hated her,( or so it seemed to her back then). Because she was scared of being ridiculed, of being the odd one out that didnt fit and having an entire school of kids grabbing the opportunity to cat whistle at her. She wanted to tell him that she felt ugly and insignificant with that horribly short cropped hair, in that pathetically thin body , with that strange mind that couldnt find pleasure in anything the other kids did. She wanted to tell him all those things and many more besides, but words failed her, because she was just an 11 year old girl who had no words for such painful emotions.

All she could do was flush a deep red of agony, hoping he'd understand . Hoping, also, that he wouldnt realise that she was hopelessly, desperately, romantically and puppily in love with him, him, her favorite teacher.

Oh, she was careful about it alright. When all her girl friends blurted out names of boys they liked , she dutifully offered an indifferent name of a boy, feigning adoration and coyness. But it was him she harboured romantic thoughts for. When he spoke- he had a nice , deep voice-she'd block out the meaning of the boring things he taught and just concentrate on the music of his voice. Of the rhythm of his speech. And that made lessons more bearable, less boring. He kept telling her she was special. He kept telling her, ''one day you re going to be a writer, Eirini. Mark my words, because I very rarely get these things wrong''.

She stood there, crimson red, begging silently''please dont make me do this,''.

He was silent. He was wise enough not to offer banalities like ''I know you are scared, but you need to get over your fear of public speaking. I'm doing this on purpose, to make you overcome your fears. You'll thank me for this one day''. He said no such things. Instead, he remained silent for a while, picking his words carefully.

''Eirini..look at me, now, LOOK at me!''

She looked up, expecting a lecture.

Instead, he leaned closer to her over from his desk
( and by God, to this day, though I have almost forgotten his face, I still remember the look in his eyes, to this day...)
and peered straight into her eyes and said:

''You think the other children dont like you much, and maybe that 's true, or maybe it isnt. Doesnt matter. What matters is that you have a gift with words. And when you express yourself..

''That's only in writing!'' she protested.
''I may have a gift of expressing myself in writing, but not when I'm..''

''No'', he interrupted. ''Doesn't make any difference. Speaking or writing, when you express yourself, other people listen. They will always listen. And you better get used to it''.
''You promise me to remember this?''

She nodded in agreement, stunned at receiving such a compliment, because he used them sparingly.

''Now, when you are up there , reciting this thing, pretend you are reciting it for someone you like. Just for them. Pretend nobody else is there, just them, ok? Maybe you're reciting it just to that cat of yours you wrote in your essay about the other day? ''he added, smiling.
(''You'', she cried silently in her head, ''I'll pretend it's just you listening to me...'')

''Oh, and before you go, promise me one last thing.
A favour. I need a favor from you.''

''Anything, sir'', she promised fervently.

''When you write your first book'', he grinned at her, ''promise to write a special dedication to me, your teacher , who told you so''.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We both left the classroom grinning.

On that day, I knew what I wanted to be when I g

This is what hell is all about

2016-09-10T01:25:00.003-07:00

The devil is not this horrible, deformed creature you think he is.

The devil is your logic disguised as rational thinking.
Trying to make you a servant of your logic, instead of the other way round, instead of you keeping your logic as a handy servant.

Trying to keep you in places, things, people, situations where your heart is empty and dead and safe in mediocrity , where your spirit is withering but your physical and rational self is thriving. That's where devil is and that's where your soul is dead. In your safe , flat logic.

God is where your heart is singing, even if by everyone's standards you 're there in the lowest of the lows. When logic starts shouting, you cant hear the singing of your soul. And you wither. And die inside. This is hell. And it all starts by paying heed more to the shouting than the singing.And then all kinds of physical and mental torture afflict your body ( disease, depression) trying to tell you that you're in your hell. That you forgot the singing. That you 've been whoring yourself to your rational mind and betrayed your heart's true calling.

Forget about safe.

Go where your feet tremble with joy and fear instead

This is what hell is all about

2016-09-10T01:25:00.001-07:00

The devil is not this horrible, deformed creature you think he is.

The devil is your logic disguised as rational thinking.
Trying to make you a servant of your logic, instead of the other way round, instead of you keeping your logic as a handy servant.

Forget about safe.

Go where your feet tremble with joy and fear instead

I am a woman who loves too much and I wear this proudly, as a badge of honour

2016-09-10T01:09:00.001-07:00

I am a woman who loves too much.
And I wear this proudly, as a badge of honour.

When I give , I don't just give my all. I give of my flesh and blood, until I am depleted and run out of the last droplets of love. I am a heavy weight lover, or a marathon runner of love, if you will.

Recklessly adoring and vulnerable to the point of bleeding to emotional death–my heart is displayed wide open, for I not only trust love in the abstract, but I trust the one I love in action, deeming them worthy of my love specifically because they were chosen to be loved by me, not because they are either worthy or unworthy of it.

I lay my heart in front of their feet and even give them a sword to pierce it through, knowing fully well that sooner or later they will.

When I walk into a room, the love overflowing from my heart radiates out of me like a technicolor sun. Cats, dogs and little girls are drawn to me like iron shavings to a magnet, because the warmth of that love, the love of a woman that loves too much, soothes their insides. I walk wearing my love potential like a regal mantle, sweeping behind my back and men on the street compliment me on my looks, having no idea that it is the strength of that love that compels them.

My loving too much is my presence and my signature.

It is present when I pamper the one I love in bed, or when I sacrifice my last euro to feed a stray kitty.

I navigate through life posing for selfies or having lessons or writing blog posts, laying my soul bare ,purely because my heart tells me so.

I am dripping in love, weathered from the blows that life on the vulnerable side delivers to me all the time, weak and strong at the same time in the beauty of that love.

I am not afraid to tell you I love too much and am proud of it because I have done the work to be at home in that love.

I do not shrink to accommodate the love that is given to me ( which, since I am a marathon runner of love in action and most people are couch potatoes in comparison, is rarely up to par) , but burn bright to remind them by example, what is there to be afraid of?

I cherish each scar on my heart, each wound, each betrayed trust, each inch of my mercy. I walk with my head held high because I know only love can heal us all.

I show this world my tears and my laughter, unashamed.

I know better than to try and fix or heal the ones that cannot or wont love me back. I know that by healing my self worth and strengthening my love potential, I heal this world.

I am a woman who loves too much
and I wear this proudly, as a badge of honour.

I love fearlessly and sweetly and ferociously with all the might I can, for what good is living if we are not loving?

I am here to love and love I will.

I can taste bullshit from a mile away since I am freer and truer by choice and that gives me stronger insight into inauthenticity.
But I still choose to trust. With all my heart.

I do not keep my love in a cage that requires a transaction of any sort to be free.

I care and dare and hurt and love through my life.

I am a woman that loves too much — you will feel me when I walk into your life or your space

The Hypnotic Power Of Breasts

2016-07-09T15:39:00.002-07:00

Magnetic. Hypnotic. Fascinating.

All breasts are beautiful.

Not metaphorically. But truthfully.

Why?
Because a woman's breasts are her feelings and emotions made visible. A young girl's breasts are beautiful in the sense she is like an emotionally unopened bud that has a lot to give. An older woman's breasts are beautiful too in a different way, because she is a warrior of giving emotional support throughout her life and that shows visibly. A woman who has breastfed her babies has another kind of appealing softness about her breasts, the softness and sweetness of nurturing through her body. Whatever shape or size of your boobs is just right. Because your feelings are always beautiful and breasts are your feelings made visible. There will always be someone who will appreciate those feelings (and boobs). Please don't think you need artificial stuff to make them pretty. Fake is ugly, especially in feelings. And, like I said, your breasts are your feelings made visible.

Breasts are totally hot – just not in the way people usually talk about.A woman’s breasts will synchronize with her baby to become the perfect temperature for it. She does it for her lover too, if she is in love with him/her. Think for a second of when you hugged your mother as a child, or when your child hugs you… where is the head? That’s right, laying on the chest, on the breasts. Soothing. comforting, transmitting love. It is intangible, but no less real. This is how mothers transmit the nurturing, loving energy to their children even when they are not breastfeeding. This is how women transmit loving energy to their lovers as well, through their breasts. (By the way, this is how a man gives loving energy too, but his breasts are flat, so he transmits to his lover a sense of sturdy stability, of reliability and strength, as opposed to the woman's nurturing ).

Mother’s milk is completely unique and not possible to replicate (despite what you may have heard from the formula companies). It actually changes minute by minute, day to day, to provide exactly the right nourishment and immunities that a baby needs as determined by the breast through receiving information from the baby’s saliva on the areola. I breastfed all four of my children. I am so glad I did. But many mothers can’t, or don’t. What I want to talk about is the invisible aspect that is rarely talked about that every mother, whether she breastfeeds or not can give with her breasts: her feminine, nurturing energy.

A man sucking his partner’s breast, is remembering the feeling of suckling at his mother’s breast. Hormones of pleasure inundate his body in sheer ecstacy, feeling deep peace and pleasure in his own body and profound connection to their woman. At the same time, since breasts are connected to the womb, a woman is inundated with pleasure hormones as well and orgasmic sensations. This is the power of the breast. If you no longer have your own breasts, don't worry. The energy crenter -your heart- is still there, so you retain intact your powers to excite and nurture and soothe .

Your breasts are miraculous,
not just for what they look like,
but for what they are and for what they do.

Love them.
Be proud of them

They are your feelings and heart made visible

With nurturing Love
Eirini

4 Things Life Has Taught Me About Being A Mother

2016-06-04T15:28:00.001-07:00

I am the proud mom of four boys.

Like almost every parent on this planet, there are days that my heart feels like it may burst because I can hardly contain the love I feel for them.
At other times, thankfully few and far between , I feel like I've failed them miserably.

While society considers me to be their role model and educator, after almost 21 years of being a mom to them, I have come to realise that they are actually my greatest teachers.

And these are the 4 most important lessons they have taught me:

1. When in doubt, err on the side of indulgence

I have noticed that all over the world the prevailing idea is that a more lenient parenting style is often confused with neglect or not clear boundaries setting, while strict, authoritarian parental styles are thought of as 'tough love' and being a 'responsible parent' . But strictness of its own accord does not guarantee caring and protection any more than lenience of its on accord guarantees love and warmth.

Yes, I am an indulgent parent and proud of it.
Meaning, more often than not, I take the most relaxing road in child rearing.

God knows I wasn't always like that. With my first born, I wanted everything to be done perfectly, in a timely fashion and by the book. And if it wasn't, I had to 'discipline ' my kid. Which resulted in an awful lot of unnecessary tension and unhappiness for both of us and, believe me, little or no results when it came to stopping undesirable attitudes or actions. Eventually I saw the light and realised that my kids' mental, emotional -and physical - health is far more important than perfection or 'teaching them the right lesson'.

''But won't the kids turn out to be spoiled brats?'', you ask.

Honestly, I don't understand this question. It is as if my kids, and any other kid on this planet, are inherently evil little creatures that need to be taught the correct way or else their evil nature will take over. This is obviously a remnant of puritanical thought of eras gone by and I'd rather not debate the obvious.

Being a spoiled brat is usually the result of a parenting style that fluctuates between overindulgence and too much strictness, where the kid does not know what to expect at any given moment and as a consequence has never developed the inner self discipline to correct or check themselves when they are about to engage in assholish behavior. When there is always a parent or authority figure teaching you to do that or else, you 'll turn up to be an adult that only does things because someone makes them to.

Life has its way of using corrective measures to make sure that you 'll pay for the consequences of your actions, good or bad, no matter your age ( this obviously does not apply to life threatening situations). Studies have shown that when it comes to preventing unsocial or harmful teenage behavior, by far the most important deterrent is neither strictness nor neglect, but rather active warmth, meaning caring and showing up daily, in the good times and the inevitable bad times. Showing you care, and never giving up is the key for me.

2. My parenting style is ok and so is yours

Barring abuse and neglect, this goes for every single parenting style on this planet. There is no perfect parent. No one size fits all. And no parenting style is better than another's. We may differ, but so do our kids. Life abhors uniformity. In everything. Your kid is unique in all creation and so is mine. So love and raise her or him accordingly.

You are doing fine.
You are doing your best.
Keep going.
Don't listen -or read- to uncalled for advice. You are a great parent. Really.

Just keep at it.

3. When it comes to teaching values to my kids, this is the one most important thing I go by

Sure, I want my kids to be loving, loved, healthy, happy, prosperous, well educated, compassionate, resilient, open-minded, respected etc. Yes, I want for them all the wonderful things life has to offer on this planet.

But more than anything else.

I. WANT. THEM. TO. BE FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Freedom is my highest value. Top notch. Yes, even higher than love. So it is only natural that I want this for my kids more than anything else in this world.

Freedom to me means leading the most authentic and satisfying -mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually - life possible. If something feels restrictive, it is probably oppressive and soul crushing and, if tolerated for too long, contributing to ill health and misery, ultimately depression and physical melt down. Our bodies and hearts know. It is our minds that trick us into repressing our souls in all ways imaginable.

It is ok to do your duty and avoid instant gratification, but look at all those people feeling chronically depressed, sad for no reason, or that they are somehow trapped. All clear signs they 've been lacking in freedom, first of the soul, then of anything else.

I don't want this sort of life for my kids. This may be the case all over the world, but it doesn't have to be so. And it all starts out when you're too young to know any better.

If freedom is your guiding post, if you are taught from a very young age to value your inner guidance more than ANY authority figure (yes, your parents included ), anything that feels oppressive, you have the clarity and strength to change . And thus save your soul from being crushed down by society's demands that only wants obedient cogs in its machines.

Freedom "gives" happiness because the state of being free is aligned with your true nature. The more you are aligned with your true nature, the more you are well. When you are completely aligned with your true nature, you are completely well, and completely free.

And ultimately, the only way to teach your kids to value freedom is to set the example for it, but even most importantly, to raise them in a way that allows them to make free choices and value their inner guidance system more than ANYTHING else in this world.

Because this guidance system is the Holy Spirit in them. ( Ok, their life force, if my religious jargon bothers you).

And because freedom is the way we are ultimately loved by God.
(or the universe, or whatever, I'm sure you got the point)

So love your kids like (a) God , teach them the highest value there is.

Freedom

4. Ultimately, my kids are first God's children, then mine

It’s not always easy for me to trust that God's plan for my children is better than any dreams I might have for them. I’m just one piece of their story, even if that piece is a very important one. Thankfully, I can fail -though not intentionally!- and make all sorts of mistakes, and God is still sovereign over all and His Grace will eventually be evident in my kids' life.

Just like in everyone else's.

Love Our Story

2016-02-11T17:28:00.000-08:00

Our Story

''What shall I be writing about today''?
she asks him.

She loves it when he gets to see her story
before anyone else does.
She imagines him reading it and reliving their moment,
the one she's writing about.

''Did I render it correctly?'' she asks him.
''Perfectly'', he reassures her.

''C' mon, write one yourself,''she urges him.
''One written from your own point of you,
your own vantage point, you know?''

''No'', he says.
''I love your rendition of our story.''
''Pitch perfect. Beautiful.''
''Straight from your heart''
''I wouldn't change a thing''.

And that's about
the sweetest thing
a man could say to his lover
who is writing their own love story..

The moment she let him into her heart

She can remember the exact time
she let him into her heart.

It wasn't on the day the actually met.
No, it was earlier

She's crying .
Easter time.
She has lit some candles.
Αt work, alone.
Everything seems to be crumbling at her feet.
And she feels so alone,
as every human being has felt
at one time or another in our lives.

Phone rings.
It's him.
His soothing voice.
Maybe he's just fooling around.
Maybe he truly missed her
and wanted to catch up with her news .
Just a voice
with no face.

Then, for some reason,
at that particular moment
she let him in.
Into her heart.
He kept banging at the door
of her heart
for quite some time.
She would answer politely,
but wouldn't invite him in.

On that day,
she did open the door
and welcomed him inside.

Then all kinds of magic broke loose....

Every Inch

''Ι' ll be inspecting every inch of your body'', he said, over the phone.

She laughed.

Firstly because of the choice of words, 'inspect',

what a strange thing to say...
And because she doubted they'll ever, (ever!) meet
And even if they did, they'd have other stuff to do,

more likely nothing like inspections, right?

Plus, inspecting what???
imperfections, came to her insecure mind
or harsh reality,
so different to the imaginary world they had been building over the last 5 months
she didn't like the sound of it
and quickly brushed it aside

14 months on
his fingers caressing her body
after a passionate session of love consummated
i n s p e c t i n g
every inch of it
the curve of her back
between her thighs
under those ear lobes
the sculp of her head, running fingers between locks of hair
the rough spot on her heels
inspecting
again and again
looking for signs of change since the last time he met her
noticing the passing of time through his fingertips
just like he did the very first time they were naked together
i n s p e c t i n g
every inch of her body
as he had promised...
then tracing those inspected itineraries with soft kisses

Inspettore dell' Amore..

Just Souls

What's so strange
about falling in love with a soul?

She fell in love with his mind
and ideas
and his kind heart first.
Then, got enamored with his voice.
Then his deep caring for her.
His sensuality, ever present in all their interactions,
finished her off.
Swept her off her feet,
totally smitten
with everything except his physical.

She had no idea
what he looked like.
She did have a few clues of course.
Still, no expectations.

She knew she'd love his features.
She just knew it.
No two souls can be so infatuated with each other
unless the physical spark is there,
even in its potential form.

But having spent all this time
getting to know him intimately
without even seeing his face
meant that
his physical form
was imprinted in her subconscious.
His face already sweetly familiar to her heart.

And when he did come along,
her soul exclaimed
''There you are! I knew it it was you!''

And later on, looking at his picture, she goes
''How perfectly everything about him
matches his physical...''

Both right

''When I come to you, you won't even know it's me'', he said.

They were talking about their first meetup.
First ever.

''Of course I would! The very idea!
My soul would recognise you!
Anywhere! ''

He says nothing. Only chuckles.

It turns out, both of them were actually right......

First Impressions continued

What are you doing tonight?''

There is this younger man ,chatting her up.

She's bored.She is trying to find a way

to politely let him know she's not interested

without hurting his feelings.

''Well, my kids are waiting for me and so...''

He presses on, undaunted.

He is too young and not her type anyway.

Then HE comes along.

Approaching quietly, like a tomcat.

The one she was so hoping to meet that afternoon,

the one she didn't know she was talking to at that moment.

''What kind of eyes are those?

Gosh....so sweet and tender!''

( Her first impression of him)

and

''Who are you? It feels like I already know you from somewhere.''

Her second thought:

''Please ask me out.

YOU should be the one to ask me out,

not that boring boy who's trying to chat me up.

Go ahead and ask me out, I'll say yes!''

He doesn't ask her out.

Instead, he offers to escort her

to the nearest subway station.

It's getting late.

And she asks for his number first.

Fuck convention.

She wants to have a way to keep in touch with him.

But he wasn't planning

on leaving her alone, anyway.

He had already schemed and staged their meeting after all...

Her clever schemer of a man...

And this is when I first felt it

Sitting in that cafe
in your part of the world
on our first real date..

That moment
when I told you
the things that were on my mind,
the burden in my heart
that I had been crazy afraid to say,
and you just looked at me
in the most heartbreakingly beautiful way,
(as if I had already told you before),
a gleam of recognition of a kindred spirit
in your kind eyes,
looking at me like,
“why was this such a big deal to tell me?”

And I felt it,
felt it going through me
the electrifying feeling:
''I'm as much in love with the real him
as with his crafted persona.....''

The Signing Of The Deal

She is tipsy
it's late afternoon
the restaurant is crowded
and they are both full and in a great mood
after a hearty meal
on this fine autumn afternoon
neither cold nor hot,
mellow, mellow,
his voice mellow,
sunshine mellow too
neither glaring nor weak,
but just fine,
and they are fine too
their first real date ever
(first meetings don't count)
and somehow it seems like they 've been dating for ever
a cozy familiarity between them
the thrill of anticipation
and the warmth of familiarity
both present
''and how can that be?'' she is wondering.

She was nervous before
in the long hours it took her to reach her destination
overthinking, overanalysing
and eager, oh ever so eager and excited
then she goes ''fuck it, I don't care, I'll just take a nap''
and she does,
but when she wakes up with a jolt
she's finally there,
and she suddenly sees him, waiting for her
''on time'', she mentally notes
but she's still half asleep, eyes still dreamy
and suddenly she's so shy

like the awkward adolescent she used to be years ago
and she wants some comfort to overcome her shyness
but the only comfort available is his arms
so she hugs him tight,
taking him by surprise,
because he didn't see it coming,
because she seems nervous and agitated.

There goes all her poise and plans to look fabulous
she kisses him on the cheeks
he smiles
and opens the door of his car for her
she sinks in her seat
then suddenly a heavenly calmness dawns on her
it feels so natural and sweet being next to him
soaking in his smile
it feels, well, yes, a platitude, but so true
it feels like home.

Time flies
sparks fly
sparks and warmth
familiarity and excitement
how could that be? she wonders
tipsy and full and content
in that restaurant
a sweet, indescribable feeling
of belonging
all so natural and soul-soothing
her cheeks flashed by the wine
him leaning a bit too close

Then, out of the blue
he leans forward more
and kisses her
a kiss as soft as a whisper
tentative
his lips soft soft sweet
heavenly
the velvety, moist texture of his lips
giving
and asking
inviting her in...

She walks in on his world and closes the door behind her without making a sound.

''You had me there, with that kiss, in that restaurant, ''
she tells him, months later.
''You sealed the deal with it''

''But you didn't respond at first,
you didnt kiss me back'', he remarks.

''No, I didnt'', she smiles.
''You see,no deal is carried out
immediately after it is signed.
There is some waiting time involved''.

''Some waiting time it was! '' he laughs. ''A couple of hours later''

''Yes'', she answers back.
'' I just couldn't wait to get my hands on the bonus!''

Αmazing Grace

Haze....

In a haze of pleasure

no other word can describe the sensation

and even that

doesn't come close

to what she has in mind to describe

to her memory of that first night.

First night

their night

in that homely room apartment

up the second floor

of a small village house

so much cozier than an impersonal hotel room

so thoughtful of him

to arrange it this way.
Away from everyone and everything

She has no expectations

just trust

an overwhelming sense of trust

like,

it's all so well arranged,

so well taken care of

she can just relax and enjoy.

Neither of them in a hurry

no, not steamy

but shimmering

sensuous anticipation

no urgency or hurried tension

just this amazingly soothing feeling

of having done this a thousant times before

though their bodies have never actually met

in lovemaking before.

Warmth creeps onto her

as if emerging from his heart

and she can sense it

feeling ever so safe

he, in turn, tells her

''you are so, so sweet''

somewhat taken aback by her openness

her precise responsiveness to him

as if in a slow, velvety tango

He lets her dictate the pace

nevertheless leading expertly
lets her catch her breath for a moment

then takes her back to the dancing floor

again and again and again and again

His stamina astounds her

-won't he ever get tired???-

she is unaccustomed

to so much loving

coupled with a whole feast of

touches

and kisses

and cuddling

and hugging

and whispers

and tenderness

and exploring fingers

and his truly gifted superpowers

like whipped cream on a yummy cake

She keeps wondering

''How could he possibly know

that I like this, and this and that and that?''

''Have I told him? Or is he just guessing?''

In a haze of pleasure

she keeps falling asleep, exhausted

only to be gently woken up again after a while

soft whisper in her ears

''come on, doll face, it's yours for the asking...''

After a while

she surrenders

to the sweet feeling

of being pleasured again and again and again

of not knowing

when this sex marathon will ever end

of being fed and ravished and feasted upon

of the purely physical joy of endless lovemaking

Then it's morning

and her first thought upon waking up

(after just one and a half hour of a night's sleep)

is:

''Whipeee!

We still have another day

ahead of us!
Another day of THAT!''

More freedom. More life.

''This string necklace is choking you'',
he observed.
Morning after their first night together

''Now that you mentioned it,
yeah, it kind of feels too tight.
Please cut it off'', she asked.

And he did, with a penknife
and the immediate sense of relief was enormous.

''Boy, that one really was choking me''.
she observed.

Then went on to cut off all 6 of her necklaces.
New beginnings.
More freedom.
More life.

For both of them....

Real Tears

He was crying

Real tears
of the kind that can soak up a pillow,
of the kind that cannot be held back
of the kind that keep rolling down cheeks
like twin silent little streams of distress.

She sat up on the bed
perplexed
deeply moved
unsure of how he'd like her to deal with it
and of why he was crying.

Τheir time together -first ever!-
almost up

she was still in that special haze of pleasure
he had intentionally set up
the orgasm fairy world
of his own orchestration
and she was trying
to let all those miracles of body and soul
sink in
that orgy of colors
and smells
and whispers
and sighs
to just cool down.

''Ι won't think long term', she told herself.
'It was a once in a lifetime experience
'I'll just cherish the memories
make do with just this
a one time thing...''

that's what she told herself
plus, she didnt have much time to think of anything
at all,
too much fucking
too much loving
in that big, big bed
in that small, small rented room
in that small, small neutral town
in that heavenly, blissful date
of consumated love.

But it was almost parting time
and he was crying
in a very real and human way
her stud crying
for what?

''Why?''

''The dream is over'', he answers.
Just like that.
Simple.

''Then, you dont want it to be over?''
His calm, deep voice:
''No...''

Just like that,
they decide to
keep the magic alive
to keep it going
to be together.

No drama,
no waiting by the phone for her
like a true chivalrous knight
he spared her the pain
or the inner doubts
or the misgivings
the 'what ifs'
of ambiguity

no commitment phobia of his male ego
just gliding gracefully along
smoothly,
flying
along the dancing floor of their budding love story.

She kisses him gratefully.
''But..how?'', the details seem too confusing to her.

'We'll find a way', he reassures her in that velvet voice of his.

Then off she goes,
all the takeaway delicacies he bought for her journey
forgotten
left behind in his car.

His Talisman

''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

Worthwhile

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....''

Unexpected Bonus

Stressed
she was back then
extremely low in life energy
her energy system on the verge of colapse
accident prone,
in fact
alternating between stressed and lethargic
desperate..

There was no way out of her prison
except..
except for her to find something to love
and be loved back
something she deemed worthy
in essence, the only solution would be
to be focusing her mind on something positive
and powerful enough to cause the transformation.
Love was the name.

He observed her from afar
tried to help in the abstract
didnt work..
she needed the tangible thing
the verification of another human being
in flesh and blood
caring...

So he took a deep breath and approached.

They created a strong vortex of love energy
that slowly started healing her
energising her
rejuvenating her
uplifting first her body
then her heart and mind.

then the unexpected bonus:

it worked both ways
empowering him too
filling his cup of joy too...
their vortex of love
the one they were lost in
hiding from the world
and finding their true selves

Molten Lava

It is real.

That Vortex of Energy is real.

Every time they come together,
to play,
talk,
laugh,
eat,
make love,
touch,
hug,
kiss,
text message,
sing,
smell and bite each other,
their strong vortex of energy
created afresh.

A vortex of irresistible power.

Not just love power.

A vortex of a myriad of streams of unique energy,
made up of their combined vibrations
produced and dispersed into the world around them
palpable
almost visible
certainly tangible
like a yummy rainbow of palpitations
surrounding them
oozing silently,
soaking up their bodies
then their bed,
their nest,
their neighborhood
their town
thei silently radiating to all four corners of the earth.

The life force of each
his strong, intent, intuitive one
hers sweeter, charming and joyous
combined in a unique gem of energy.

They sense it themselves
nourishing them
relaxing them,
rejuvenating them.

But so do other people.
People smell it off them
on their bodies
his and hers.
Like a fine aroma.
Or an exquisite film of golden pixie dust.

Most are attracted to this fine blend of super-charged merge
wanting a bite off it
or curious, not quite knowing why
few are enraged (envy?)
but all noticing it
and usually commenting on it:
''Hey, what did ya do to your face?''

Their combined love energy
spilling over
like iridescent molten lava.

Off They Go

Those very first moments in his car.
She gets in
Sits down, flustered. And happy.
Their time together begins, that's why.
She adjusts her skirt, looks up at him.
He is always half smiling, merriment, amusement and?...
She always talks first
Something silly, a platitude.
''I missed you''.
''Me too''.
He shifts the car into gear, wheels screeching, off they go.
Their private haven, their sanctuary, their salvation.
Off they go,
off they went....

''You dont know me.
You don't love me, you love the experience'', he accuses.
She lowers her eyes, tears hovering, tears rolling down freely.
So harsh, so unfair....

No explanations.
She shuts eyes.
Whispers:
''YOU are the experience...
You are my experience.
I love YOU...''

Off they go ...

Eye Poetry

''What's the first thing you noticed about me?''
''Your eyes. You?''
''Your eyes...''

Lost in his eyes, she is.
Unspeakably attractive.
Radiating warmth, interest, amusement.
Kind eyes.
Extremely intelligent eyes.
Loving eyes.
Lying eyes (sometimes)
Calm eyes
Penetrating eyes, reading souls
Sexy and serious eyes
Reliable, trustworthy eyes
Wide-eyes
Eyes that know how to hide or take on roles
Naughty, playful eyes
Adoring eyes
Compassionaste, so compassionate eyes
Smiling eyes
Flirty eyes

His eyes.

'Your eyes are strange', she tells him.
Not because they keep changing.
But because they are so intense,
no matter what expression they are wearing.'

First time one sees those eyes,
one feels like stepping back.
Like,wow, this is too much.
Too much of himself
piercing into your soul.
And it catches you unawares
and you feel a bit like gasping.
Too intense. Way too intense.

Then, you exhale and begin to enjoy it

First Impressions

-''What was your first impression of me
when you saw me?'', she asks him.

-''Honestly?''
-''Yes.''

-''I thought you were too thin
back then
and with a drawn out face...
But I was so taken by those eyes of yours,
they sort of obliterated everything else.
''Those eyes had me...''

Up in the Mountain Cabin

Up in the Mountain Cabin

To be snowing outside

and the wind howling like it does up there

blowing billows of snowflakes

and to be pitch dark

because there aint no street lamps up in the mountains baby

and the fire crackling away

and the wine is red red red and sweet

and the chocolate treats are sweet sweet and chocolatey

and the water up there is tasty

because it comes from a special spring

and the cabin is cozy

and the bedcovers are warm

and his smile is warmer

and she feels all warm and cozy inside

as she always does in his presence

and they spend all time there is

talking

eating and drinking

and fucking

and basking

in the warmth of each other's presence

content

happy

in love

their love story

και χιονιζει και χιονιζει

κι η αγαπη τους ανθιζει

και η αλεπου χορευει

και ο λυκος αγορευει...

Like A Dog. Or A Wolf

She'd sleep in his arms, exhausted,
during their first weekend in the mountains together,
then wake up after a while still in his arms to see him still wide awake, waiting for her...

Hours upon hours of loving
and cuddling
and talking
and enjoying each other
no sleeping or eating for him
like a dog
or like a wolf
mating
intent on an age-old purpose.

She'd admire his stamina
his strong will guiding an equally strong body
his insatiable desire to please her body
and nourish her soul
she soaked in that sweet sweet feeling
of being the intense focus of one's tenderness

''Oh but surely, he's bound to fall asleep eventually?'', she wondered.

Then after two sleepless days of strong amour
he finally falls asleep
she tiptoes away from the bed
relieved for him to finally be getting some rest

she treats herself to some chocolate
watches the shadows growing longer and longer
on the mountains out of the window
warms herself by the fire
warmth creeping into her mind, her heart, her body
still open and a bit raw from their lovemaking

she checks on him lying peacefully on the bed
then she realises he's been watching her behind half closed lids
his gaze following her around

she climbs on the bed, laughing

''You must be either a genius or a saint to be able to go 48 hours without sleep'', she whispers to him.

''Or a madman'', he jokes back, smiling

''Like him'', she mentally comments.
''Exactly what I was looking for, equal parts of madness and genius.''

''That's my man''

Then she stops thinking
and starts feeling
as she always does when buried in the nest of his arms

On The Importance Of Lingerie

When they first started dating
she'd go on a lingerie hunting spree each time they were about to get together
she loved the feeling
hunting for sexy lingerie for him
frilly, flimsy, lacey, pretty little things
to adorn her body
make her pretty and desirable in his eyes
''men have a thing with watching , just as we women have with listening'',
she'd repeat to herself
as she kept rummaging through aisles of bras

laden with ribbons and lace
she would try to find a particular set that would set the right tone for their next night:
sexy and seductive
or all pastel and girly and innocent?
as the sales girl was handing her her shopping bag
she'd mentally recreate the atmosphere
around those sexy underwear pieces
she'd rehearse the looks, the moves, the sounds
smiling to herself
in sweet anticipation
girly, silly enthusiasm that crept into her heart
keeping her warm and happy
until it was time for him to come back to her

then he was there
and they were kissing in sheer abandon
and it was time for her to do her thing
her sexy underwear thing
to drive him crazy

but..
he was crazy for her already...
and she was oh so hungry for him
and so
always, always, always
she'd get rid of the carefully selected, seductive underwear
throw them carelessly about
needless distractions that they were
and head straight into his arms
butt naked and giggly and warm

and happy

''My beauty''...

''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...

Dates

Watching the light outside
getting dimmer and dimmer,
the car windows
getting more and more fogged up,
their breaths quickening,
bodies engaged
in the ancient tango
of love and lust...

Precious,
steamy moments,
all their own...

Back and Forth....

''How long will you be staying?''

She always asks that.
It goes like this:

-''What are you doing tomorrow ?''
-''Nothing much. Why?''
-''Because I thought I'd be coming over, can you...???''
-Yaaaaaaayyyyyyyy! How long will you be staying?''
Answers vary:
-''Three days'' or ''three hours'' or ''just for today''

The three hours thing makes her weep.
Secretly.
With gratitude.

Realizing he goes to all that trouble,
expenses
time he cannot afford
planning
sometimes even scheming
and plotting
just to come to her,
just for a few hours
just to hold her
make love to her
fill them both up
with stars and stardust after he leaves again,

to beam himself to her place
as if by magic,
except this kind of magic utilises
his own exhaustion
at the end of the day.

She weeps secret tears
of gratitude
for his thoughtfulness
tenderness
and chivalry
at doing this for her
and not the other way round...

Her archangel of lust
beaming himself to her
for three hours of bliss....

How do you combine two different worlds?
Totally different worlds?
You don't.
You just beam yourself there
loving all the way
back and forth...

My Cartoon

''Yeah, you're my cartoon!'' he tells her.

Sitting at that busy outdoor cafe,
people coming and going,
he tells her she looks like a cartoon character.

'' In an ugly, horrible way?'', she asks, laughing.

''No, in a cute, sweet and adorable way!

Her charming man.

Who has a way with words
and with cute little endearments,
all their own,
just for them..

Σκυψε Ευλογημενη

''Quick, duck down!''
He pushed her head down at the right fraction of the second before they were spotted.

''Come up now,'' he said, ''it's over.''
And they start laughing hysterically
at the absurdness of it.
''What says you?'' he asks.
''One. Your reflexes are vey good'', she smiles.
''Two. You kept reassuring me, 'dont worry, dont worry
we weren't spotted' the whole time. That's very sweet.
And you operate well under stress.
I love you''

He kisses her goodbye.
So much for ducking down in the first place!
And as he revs up, windows rolled down,
he makes the ducking movement with his hand
and the hysteric laughter goes on.
Filling that small town
with the merriment of love

Same star sign

The joy.

The sheer joy
of being loved by someone
whose mind works
in the same range of frequencies,
whose heart beats
to the beat of the same drums.

So comforting
to have your thoughts almost read at times.

To be so much alike.
To be born under the same star signs.

''There's a special magic
about the time we were both born, baby''
he tells her.

''In times gone by
conception of people born under our sign was rare,
because it would have to happen during Lent
-the fasting period before Easter- when people had to observe fasting and abstain from sex... the church somehow knew that people born under that sign are too rebellious, weird and uncontrollable for the establishment's safety,
so they had to stop their creation by raising religious taboos''.

Yes, she loves the way that mind of his works...

Forget humdrum about opposites attracting each other.
See what happens
when two people
born under the same star sign
fall in love
and set out to love each other
as only they know how....

Changes....

Everything we have changes us at a physical level
like a fever
like a new job
a new car
a new friend
or a soulmate

Soul mates change us the most, admittedly.

The body follows suit , she observes,
as the soul renews itself
the soul playing in physical reality
with new things, new people, new experiences.

Observing, noticing
in her mirror
in his eyes
or in other people's stares:

Her face
getting dewyer
sweeter
hues of peach
eyes radiant
body softer
each and every one of the cells
in her entire body smiling
gait lighter
stars and glitter
except of the real kind.
She feels soaked in stars
and it shows, oh yes, it shows.

The real surprise though
is the ripening within
heart dripping mellow acceptance
of what is
and mind laser focused
sharper
more eager than ever
even her writing style changed.

'Energy transfer,', she tells him
'that's what it is'
'My female part
becoming extra receptive
to your energy'.
'I like your energy', she adds.
'It's loaded with stars'

'What about star overload?' he mocks

'No worries,' she mocks back.
'It goes both ways'

'Communicating vessels'

That Old Churchyard

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....

Rose Magic

A person who is in love has wings on their feet,
she knows that
everyone knows that.

Love heals everything, empowers everything

She loves rituals .
Rituals that have meaning only for her.
Her personal brand of magic.
She wants to celebrate an anniversary of love
on a beautiful full moon week.

She chooses roses, her favorite flower.
Their love is a multisplendour thing,
so multi-colored roses it is.

She won't buy the rose,
for love has nothing to do with buying-and-selling.
It must be found, searched for,encountered or freely given.
She walks all over the town, outskirts and all.
Many abandoned homes with gardens
full of rose beds
surviving as if by miracle.
She has spotted them on her daily walks.
Then there are friends' and relatives' gardens
she 'll stop by, asking for rose blessings.

She returns home with one red, red rose
seven multi-colored ones in full bloom
and a tender rose bud.
All hand-picked, found or begged for.
All so fragrant and beautiful,
you'd think you're gonna faint
just by smelling them.

Each rose stands for an aspect of their love

-Crimson-Red Rose for the physical, sexual part of their love
-White Rose for the pure, unconditional, selfless love
-Pink Rose for the romantic, tender, youthful, cherished love
-Violet-purple Rose for spiritual communion of soul love
(a rare thing that emits the headiest fragrance of them all)
-Magenta Rose for passion, empowerment and freedom
-Orange Rose for joy, exuberance, festivity and lightheartedness
-Yellow Rose for deeper understanding, companionship, frendship
and a small rose bud so that love is always new and budding

She boils the petals of the red one
mixes them with honey and some brandy
makes herself a delicious rose tea
puts the rest of the roses in a crystal bowl
She drinks to their loving
his and hers

Blessed be the love that stands the test of time.....

My Houdini

She says:
''I'm your personal Houdini.
I do my disappearing art
and you disappear in my arms
lost to the world''

He nodds his head
'You are my haven,my retreat.
I come to you and I'm lost to the world,
away from everything'

She smiles.
She loves magic tricks of disappearing

Revelations

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...

That Square

''I'm warning you'', she tells him over the phone.

''We're gonna be holding hands tomorrow.
And kissing in public,
'tis the right city for public displays of affection''
''Downtown?'' he asks.
She can sense a smile in his voice.
''Yes. You'd better get used to the idea''.

Then the next day he's waiting for her
at that picturesque historical square
bearing the name of an ancient philosopher
on the seafront, under those beautiful arches.
Early morning,
the city awakes
to a cloudy, gloomy sky.

She is late,
or maybe she isn't,
she's just so eager to see him.
Missed him.
It's been almost two weeks.
She's in the upper part of the street
leading to the square,
she's just gotten off the bus.
God, how she missed him.
Eagerness and happy anticipation
swelling in her chest,
she starts running towards the seafront
towards him, waiting for her.

Cheeks flashed
-it's still cold-
she's running
among empty cafes and tavernas
lining up the side of the square.

There he is, smiling
and she can sense his smile
even before she sees it
and she almost throws herself at him
kissing him
and now he is laughing:
''Judging by the way you ran,
that passer by thought you were about to attack me,
you should see the look on his face''
''Told you to get used to public displays of affection'',
she retorts, face buried in his collar,
getting quick whiffs of his beloved smell.

She can sense his joy too.

What a glorious feeling,
to be your lover's pride and joy....

Old Houses

They are in his car, he is driving.

Scenic landscape out of the windows.
Sunshine. And cold.
Early Spring it is.
They joy of having a whole day ahead of them.
His calm, reassuring presence.
Her eagerness and excitement.
He is up to something, she can tell.

Arriving at a small village.
He is making a phone call.
''To a friend'', he says (the little lier!)
''He has a room for us''.
A man is waiting for them.
Guides them to the place
and
she goes ''gosh!'', catching her breath.
A very old, granny house.
Like the ones she used to explore
as a kid in her hometown

Abandoned-like exterior
Wooden front door
Derelict atmosphere
Long, winding interior staircase
lovely mustiness
dust and memories of times gone by
nice little rooms
granny feeling
antique lamps
whitewashed walls
paint peeling
lovely

and a cheerful lady changing sheets in the bed for them
silk ones
extra blankets
inquiring look on her face
and a few questions hovering on her lips
''This was my mother's-in-law house,
'needs renovation, we haven't gottwen round to it'',
as she is trying to determine their status
couple? engaged? affair? fucking buddies?
she gives up, she cant tell
leaves them
murmuring about coffee and buscuits
in the cluttered little kitchen

they jump in that little bed
to warm themselves
cold, crispy atmosphere
befitting that old home
old bed covers
decadence view from battered shutters

heaven....
her teenage dream come true...
did he know?
or a coincidence?
who cares?

Afterwards
she's concerned about the stained bedsheets
they are leaving behind
a few bloody splotches
of her menses
''Don't worry'', he laughs
''she 'll think I ''deflowered ' you

Off they go, laughing and teasing
it's getting darker outside...

In Full Bloom

''That's the place'', he says
pulling the car over to a litttle sideway.
''Nice and cozy here''.

Early spring.
The heating on
inside his car
their breaths and desire
keeping it nice and warm.
And soothing, too

Dusk time,
beautiful, soft magenta and purple colours
of a heart-warming sunset
dying the country sky,
to their right green sloping hills
dotted with villas or little country houses
to the left a small country road
with the occasional lights of a car
interrupting the falling darkness.

His mouth, his teeth, his breathing
so close to her ear
as he lowers himself ontο her
''my little foxy...''

She engulfs herself into his energy
enjoying the moment
rises with the familiar wave
of those love-induced, passion-lit,
spine-quivering highs of hers,
and as she is slowly coming down from her peak
she turns her head and sees it:

they are parked under a beautiful tree
in full bloom
a magnificent canopy of white flowers
hovering over the car
white cascades of (plum?) blossoms
framing the windows all around them
like a joyous statement
punctuating their lovemaking

His breathing still in her neck
his body lightly draped over hers
and the stars already visible
through the branches of that gorgeous tree
ladden with white, white blossoms

'I love being a country girl'', she reminds herself

A cold, cold winter's night

''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...

Bull's Eye

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!''

It Began All Wrong

''But It began all wrong, '' he thinks to himself.
''The wrong way.
''Wrong is wrong.
It started out shallow,
almost a prank,
for fun, you know??''

Another conquest
to prove a point
as many other countles, countless times.
He felt powerful, all-omnipotent
and clever.
And invincible
By all.
By love and other nonsense.

So he realises along the way
it's now gotten to something serious.
Palpable.
Cherished by both.

Who did it?
Her yearning?
Or his secret longing?
Who cares?
All it matters is, it's here now.

He realises and tells her so,
tells her,
so that he soothes his heart
for starting it out the wrong way.
He tells her, ''we need to talk, this is getting serious''

She looks on, wide eyed.
She knows, how could she not?
She is part of his heart now,
so of course she knows.
No need for words to come tumbling out,
she just knows what's in his heart.

He has started craving a simple and true thing
in a world full of fake,
overly complicated
overly irrelevant nonsense.
He wants s o m e t h i n g that fits.
Nicely.
Doesn't wonna hurt her.
This beautiful thing they have,
he wants it all purified.
All perfected, sparkingly clean.
Sanctified.
Dignified.

And the fact it started out all wrong
pains him.
Like a thorn in a rosy, young flesh.
It just doesn't belong there.

He wants to either put it to rights
or release the pain.
Or make everything about it perfect,
to make up for its fake beginning.

''Baby, the word doesn't work this way.
''All dolled up.
''This world we live in?
''Full of mistakes.
''Full of regrets.
''Imperfect.
''Fragile.
''Nothing fits like a glove.
''Nothing is hustle-free,
pain-free,
wrong-free.''

''You are here
and all I need.''
''Perfection reigns only in fairy tales.''
''Gimme the raw you.
''All of it.
''Real and Raw.
''And Hurting as Hell sometimes.
''Because it's real, in the flesh.
''Imperfectly beautiful
and so divinely perfect''

I'm done wirth fairy tales'', she says.
''Give me the real, raw thing''.

Then waits, until her message could sink in.

And keeps waiting
for imperfection to surface
and to be lovingly shared.

The Nest

Their nest
To house and nurture their love
Small, perched up there
their one-bedroom portal to their universe
their extra big bed
for extra big doses of velvety hugs
and honey-dripping lovemaking
and him kissing her again and again
hungry, noisy kisses leaving an invisible trace all over her body
and her smelling his body
like a happy little animal
and coffee making
and moon gazing on rooftops
and spilling love over the world
like molten lava

Wishing Time Would Stop On Its Tracks

Happens to her all the time since she met him.

Wishing time would stop on its tracks

please God,
please universe
please time fairy
please my angel
please rainbow of good luck
please whoever is in charge of the passing of time
freeze time for me

when...
-kisses and sighs are happening in equal doses
-soul gazing into each other's eyes
-her in his arms
-him in her
-them in each other

please freeze time for me, she asks
whoever you are in charge of the passing of time

it aint fair
this passing of time...
like a flash when they are together,
then going into reverse mode,
in slow motion when they are apart

time goes by so quickly..
when joy is dripping from every corner of their soul...
then it's time for him to go away again
back to his grey world
and her back to hers

'when's the next time?' she asks
he answers
and she immediately counts days
mentally classifying...
either 'fine'
or 'bearable'
or
'oh God please give me strength'...

then she realises
all those mystics are right
time does not exist
we always live
in the eternal Now
of
Togetherness

Forever
Like a happy ending of a fairy tale

loving is in the eternal forever of Now

and she falls asleep smiling...
dreaming of their Now...

Five Times Five

''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...''

First Moments

That very first moment.

When she sees him again
after it's been some time.

First, there's this initial shock.
No better word to describe it.
'Cause his eyes are so intense
that they make her shudder.
Something indescribable about that face
making her shudder with joy.
She is taken aback for a moment,
by those intense dark eyes
fixed on her eyes,
searching her face,
piercing her soul.

You gotta love those eyes.

Then she's overwhelmed with joy:
''God, I love the shit outta this man!
And he's here, with me!
And he will be here for sometime!
This is Heavens!''
She throws herself at him
hugging him,
kissing him
melting in his arms.

Yes, she loves him..
But the best part is,
that sweet feeling
that she is loved back....

I Shall Eat

''Why is it that I can't seem
to get enough of you?
Ever?''

She is asking in earnest
and expecting an answer.
She trully believes
he might have a clue.

''Why can't I get enough of you
in the physical?
Like, even when I'm full,
I still wonna have some more?
Have I turned into a greedy bitch, or what''

''Don't know'', he laughs.
''But there is a greek saying
that goes
'when there is food offered , eat it.
when there is a beating up , beat it'

''Eating it is then'', she declares.

And digs in

Countryside Chapels

''Let's drive down this road'',
he points at a small winding dirt road,
lost in the woods.

She hesitates.
It's her homeplace,
but she hasn't been there before,
has no idea where it is leading up to.

''Οk, let's go''.

Just a dirt road.
Among fir trees.
Late spring
but so windy.
She likes it being there
of all places with him.
She likes his driving.
His calmness matching the serene countryside.
He is always calm,
except when he gets mad.

Winding further down that road,
descending,
ascending
and it occurs to her it doesn't matter
whether they reach a destination.
Anywhere is great
so long as they are together.

Driving, driving down that dirt road.
Idyllic woods scenery.
Then they see it
That lonely little church
perched up on a hill.
''Countryside chapels'',
they are called here,
varying in size and architecture
scattered all over roads, highways and village squares .

They arrive on that hilltop.
Breathtaking view beneath their feet.
''Please park the car a bit closer to the churchyard,''
she pleads.
Too near the edge of the cliff,
it makes her nervous.

But then,
it's lovemaking time
in that car of his
overloaded with love and lust
parked outside a country chapel
overlooking the green valley.
And her nervousness
turns into that cozy feeling
of hotness rising, building up
in waves and cascades.

It's windy and the sky is getting darker
and it's drizzling
when they are finally headed home
car stereo blasting one of his favorite songs
he'd like to share with her.

It's moving.
The song,
the silent road
lit by the car headlights
that blissful feeling of contentment
in this moment they are sharing

Is there a thing such as

bliss overload?

Transfering

''I dont believe in energy transfer
and the like bullshit'',
he tells her.

The next moment he puts his palm
on her forehead
doing energy transfer.

She senses it.
Smiles.
She likes that particular brand
of energy.
Strong and calm.
Her favorite flavor.

''We are communicating vessels after all'',
she tells herself.

Parting

When it's time to go,
melancholy sets in,
a clenching fist in her chest.

Maybe he feels it too,
but they get busy
getting dressed
sorting things out,
picking up stuff,
putting out the rubbish
and the pain gets numbed for a while,
until he locks the door
and off they go
down the stairs.

But on the way down
she always poses
as the parting pain
is gripping her again,
so she in turn grabs him
and kisses him
long and hard
there
on the stair landing.

He kisses her
long and hard too
murmuring
'mmmmmmmm'',
as they both comfort each other
with their goodbye kiss.

She tries to concentrate
on the beauty of the days
they 've just spent,
concentrate on the comfort
of the moments they've shared
but the pain is still there.

It's parting time, baby
but my heart never parts with yours.....

Missing you

I miss you.

I always miss you so.

The second you leave,

I miss you.

And even before sometimes.

I swear I miss you

even before you leave,

knowing that parting time is getting closer.

I've learnt to love you

missing you all the time.

Sometimes the missing is

bitter sweet,

bearable, hopeful.

Othertimes it's searing hot,

hard and unbearably sad.

Then I tell you about it.

And you somehow feel responsible

for my missing you

and you get angry for 'me not being reasonable',

because it's hard enough for you

trying to contain your own missing of me,

but mine,my sadness for missing you

that is too much for you.

And you get distant and angry

for my missing you like that

because your being distant somehow

makes parting sadness

more bearable...

Until next time....

Sleeping

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...

''What is it?''

''What is it that makes me so 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.
Advising.
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 like all 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....''

Smells Divine

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

Wishes

''Make a wish'', she asks him.

''All right''.

''Now, let's blow the candles together.''

So they do.
Blow the two birthday candles simultaneously.
One for him, one for her.
Each standing for a heartfelt longing.

Because time flies.
But loving moments
stay in memory forever...

Heady

''Don't park the car this close to the edge'',
she asks.
''I get dizzy..''

But she soon forgets
about her fear of heights
because their lovemaking
is by far
a much headier drug
than heights...

Make a goddess of me

You moan,
deep inside me
as you give youself to me
as you're giving me your true essence
and you are free
and you are your true self
and you are my god..

I love your moans..
they are making a goddess of me...

Duck Feeding

''He scares me'', she says.

''How can a male duck scare you?'' he asks, laughing.

''He invades my personal space.
Too close to my hands for comfort.
And that malicious look in his eye?
It scares the living shit outta me!'',
she answers back.

He doesn't seem to mind the duck
demanding crumbs
in a passive-aggressive manner.
Animals love him,
naturally gravitate towards him
begging for food,
play or petting.

Attuned to them he is,
because he knows
how to love them back.

But she knows his best petting
is kept only for her!

Greedy

''You were so hogging the blankets last night!''
he tells her over morning coffee.

It's one of the rare,
ever so rare occasions
they can sleep together
the whole night through.

''All of them? Hogging all three of them?''
she asks, laughing.

''All three of them'',
he says, faking seriousness.
''You had one wrapped around you,
another one you half-snatched away from me
and the last one was all crumbled up
behind you so that I couldn't take it
without waking you up''.

''You 're making this up!''
she protests, playing along.
''I ain't never done such a thing!''

''You did too, you did too, you did too!
he is laughing that hearty laugh of his.

''You're a greedy little vixen''...

Ever since

You love women,
in a tender, totally protective way
and they sense it and love you back, my love.

Watching you interact with women live
you just listening to them
as they become bubbly and talkative
like little girls in your presence,
I sit there by your side, half smiling,
watching your charisma unfolding in action.

And I 'm one proud, proud woman
because
you picked me first
before I picked you
and you keep picking me up ever since.....

Sweetly

It was her trust
that first did it for him,
her trust that kept him going.

She gave it
with no strings attached.

What exactly was the thing
that he found so enticing about her?

Pretty, ok,
but there is never a shortage
of even prettier ones
in his life.
She could see how
there were many stares,
many suggestive smiles,
even overt invitations from women .

She enjoys seeing him admired,
wanted,
lusted after.
Of course.
He is charming,
intelligent,
handsome.
Has his way with women.

So what's about her
that makes her special
to his heart,
makes him want to stay?

“It’s your heart”, he told her once.
''You are open and honest,
no pretences, nothing fake. ''

She knew what he meant was,
it’s more than that she loves him.

She loves him sweetly.

With all her heart.
No reserves,
just pure, unadultered trust.
Trusting his every motive,
thought,
word,
action.

Being held captive
of his mind and heart
as much as he is of hers.

She loves him sweetly.
And so does he...

Οur Poems of Love

Warmth
creeping into my heart
discovering a long, golden hair of mine
tied around the gear lever of your car
like some sort of talisman,
on our second time together.

My heart melting
like hot chocolate fudge
discovering my purple lace g-string
of our first night together
tucked up
next to the driver's seat of your car
1000 days after that night.

It is because our common story memories count
for you as much as for me,
it is because of this
that I keep writing those stories,
our Poems of Love...

It cant be real

''You can't be together,
it's physically impossible,
it's not real''
this one commented.

''Let them wonder how''
he said

His very real, very warm, very tender hands
going up and down her spine
caressing her belly,
warming up the place her ovaries nestle
keeping them in perfect working order,
working his personal magic on her body.

Her very real orgasm
warming her insides,
as he nestles her head
on his chest,
pulling her close
his hands still warming her back.

''Go home now baby,
you are needed'',
his caring always a warm blanket on her soul

''Just five more minutes'',
she bargains,
''not yet''...

''Yes''she muses, walking home.
''It's not real, it cant be real.
Something this heavenly must be a dream.''

A dream that goes on for years....

Beautiful Things

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
and holding hands
and talking
and basking at each other's presence.

Because most beautiful things
are never meant to be enjoyed solo...

Fifty Shades Of Boring

A friend gives her Fifty Shades of Gray
to read
in an ebook form
to see for herself what this fuss is all about.

She has high hopes,
she likes reading since she was three
and erotic is her kind of thing.

She cant get even to read half the book,
utterly
totally
uninspiringly
boring...

Then she knows and smiles
and tells him so:
''It's your fault ya know.
You destroyed all erotica books for me.
All shades of grey are doomed to be as boring and grey as their name denotes
compared to the lush of colors
you have painted our lovemaking with...''

Fifty Shades of Boring Grey
or my Real Lover's Rainbow of Love?

Beating The Odds

'The odds are against you two',
a little she-devil whispered in his ear
when they first met
the serendipity of their bumping up on each other
getting to know each other
keeping in touch
being too surreal and fairy-like
to be considered either true or viable.

'The odds are against him', she told herself
'I will guard my heart,
'he's used to playing around,
'it won't come up to anything,
'it's just, you know, talking,
'there are no feelings involved,
'I won't risk my heart'.

'The odds are against you', friends told her
'too much competition,
'he's just having fun,
'you're just a new toy, soon to be discarded,
'too many difficulties to be overcome,
'it won't last,
'brace yourself for the truth,
'for the odds are against you'.

'The odds are against us', they thought,
battling with too many things that could tear them apart
too many things that could go wrong
too many things that could
but didn't...

Then one day,
in their little bird nest,
their bodies and tongues and hearts and minds interlocked,
their smells and dreams fused in a sweetly orchestrated melody,
they knew
without saying a word, they just knew.

'The odds are against us
but
we are beating the odds'

Since day one
they've been beating the odds
to the astonishment
and perhaps envy of many
they keep going
they keep loving
against all the fucking odds.

Because you see
odds are just abstract, lifeless numbers
whereas love is soul expressed
love is pulsating, dripping, sweating,
loving,
life-affirming,
life-creating
joy-giving.

Against all odds
Life and Love
always goes on....

Their never-ending love story
their happily ever after of the eternal Now...

Love Can Heal All Wounds

changing seasons

again

she met him in glorious autumn

her favorite season

autumn is about love, dude

about snuggling and cuddling

that's why

a year gone

four seasons gone

still in love

still in tenderness

still in amazing body bliss

slow kisses and cinnamon aromas

touching and intimating secrets

happy driving and old 14th century churches

fluffy dogs and everyday life caring

relaxing massages and meaningful nicknames

staring deep into dark or blue eyes

heavenly smells and salty tears of gratitude

deep,husky whispers in the ear

strong arms (the way she likes it)

and very, very soft skin ( the way he loves it)

6 hungry puppies playing in the mountain mist

in front of the most picturesque cafe ever

and expensive gift perfumes

blond hair pulled playfully

and hot spring water cuddles

online rambles

and hot sex dates

white, knitted grandma heirloom bedcovers

spread over pristine bed sheets

wine and whisky and cupcakes

cigarette smoke and hair extensions

dirty little text messages

and naughty games of love

sighs of ecstasy and giggles of merriment

words of adoration and prayers for strength

his and her teardrops combined in a rare shampagne of emotion

poems and stories and pictures and quotes

written and quoted, pregnant in meaning

his adoration, her admiration

his imparting strength to her,her loving beyond limits

Their private world....

Loving Deep

Once you fall asleep
-or pretend that you have,
to see what I'm up to-,
I cradle myself along your back
and take in the smell of your skin.
It never fails to give me a high.

Lying there,
I swear to myself that I wont sleep,
that I'll just smell your skin
and absorb your aura for hours.
Because shared sleep is rare for us
and I dont wonna lose even a moment.

But my body fails me.
Still full with our connection,
my physical self blissfully relaxed
I fall asleep before you do.

Then , in my slumber,
I feel your body coming closer,
you observing me,
cherishing me,
silently watching over me,
over us,
but I'm already asleep
and I cant snap out of it
and so the awareness of your tenderness
seeps deeply into my subconscious
or traces of it surface unto into my mind the next morning.

And I love you for it.
More.
For loving my soul deep.

Even deeper than our lovemaking

Rose Magic

A person who is in love has wings on their feet,
she knows that
everyone knows that.

Love heals everything, empowers everything

She loves rituals .
Rituals that have meaning only for her.
Her personal brand of magic.
She wants to celebrate an anniversary of love
on a beautiful full moon week.

She chooses roses, her favorite flower.
Their love is a multisplendour thing,
so multi-colored roses it is.

She won't buy the rose,
for love has nothing to do with buying-and-selling.
It must be found, searched for,encountered or freely given.
She walks all over the town, outskirts and all.
Many abandoned homes with gardens
full of rosebeds
surviving as if by miracle.
She has spotted them on her daily walks.
Then there are friends' and relatives' gardens
she 'll stop by, asking for rose blessings.

She returns home with one red, red rose
seven multi-colored ones in full bloom
and a tender rose bud.
All hand-picked, found or begged for.
All so fragrant and beautiful,
you'd think you're gonna faint
just by smelling them.

Each rose stands for an aspect of their love

-Crimson-Red Rose for the physical, sexual part of their love
-White Rose for the pure, unconditional, selfless love
-Pink Rose for the romantic, tender, youthful, cherished love
-Violet-purple Rose for spiritual communion of soul love
(a rare thing that emits the headiest fragrance of them all)
-Magenta Rose for passion, empowerment and freedom
-Orange Rose for joy, exuberance, festivity and lightheartedness
-Yellow Rose for deeper understanding, companionship, frendship
and a small rose bud so that love is always new and budding

She boils the petals of the red one
mixes them with honey and some brandy
makes herself a delicious rose tea
puts the rest of the roses in a crystal bowl
She drinks to their loving
his and hers

Blessed be the love that stands the test of time.....

Thunder rumbling

Last day of their first-ever vacation.
Torrential rain.
flashing lightning.
Tea-lights reflected in the mirrors.

Slowly,
sensually,
lovingly
enjoying his body
and relishing every moment of it
all night long....

Falling asleep on his stomach
and waking up in his arms
as her menstrual flow gushes forth
reminding her of her goddess-like
goddess-giving
goddess -creating
nature...

Why I'm Writing These Stories

''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 imortalised.

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...''

If only

''If only I posted the juicy details on one of my posts...''
the mouth watering, body melting little details...''

''Don't'', he says.
''Keep them just for us''

And I shall, baby.
Keep them just for us.
But if only....

Fuller than the one before

That moment
when you told me
that I have loved you
more than any other woman ever
and that no woman will love you that way
because you only strike the jackpot once in your lifetime
and that, if you re really lucky...

I can live off those words
for the rest of my life
except
I don' t need to,
cause each time we are together
you are feeding me
new and fresh helpings of love...

Feeling full and sleepy
in your arms
every single time
fuller than
the one before

Love you

Finally,
a weekend
just for us.

Glorious lovemaking afterglow.
Icecream crepes
for lunch
in the glorious sunshine at that outdoor cafes.

Eventually we get back
and we somehow gravitate towards bed,
meaning to just get warm and cozy under the bed covers,
enjoy the close proximity
of each other's body.

Somehow in between basking
in each other's smell and touch
both drifting off
into the most comfortable, easy nap.
Long, unplanned
glorious nap.
Glorious.
Like the rest of the weekend

Almost dark when we wake up again.
And....
time for you to catch up that plane.

But the warmth of your arm
around my tummy
lingers on..

Love you.
And so do you.
Cause nothing else matters...

A Moment

Morning light streaming in.
Vacationing together.

She stretches herself on their bed.
Contentedly.
Well rested.
Well slept.
Well fucked.
Well orgasmed.
Well loved.

She closes her eyes
and stretches some more.

He catches that expression of contentment
on her face
and desire surges in his chest
all over again
and he has to pull her close to him
all over again.
He has to be
closer to her.
In her.

He adores her contentment.
Especially when he is the reason behind it...

Happy Anniversary

''I am mad at you'', she moans,
as he enters her. ''I don't wonna cum for you''.
''I dont give a shit'', he whispers in her ear in that sexy voice of his
as he's working her up to her climax.
''I wont be cuming'', she is protesting,
feeling the familiar wave surging too dangerously inside her.
Too closely , too late.

''I dont give a shit'', he repeats,
breathing deeply into her ear,
half kissing , half nuzzling her,
steadily thrusting,
inexorably getting her there
driving her mad with pleasure.
He knows her body,
its rythm, its needs and wants.
His arrogant confidence angers her
but her body has taken control now
shutting up her mind.
Surging. Overflowing.
Subsiding in his arms

''More, I want more'', she whispers.
She is hungry. For him.
It's been the longest they've ever been apart.
Fuck distance.
''I want more. More''.
And he gives her more.
Always.
Watching her closely.
To gauge how much.
And how.
His tenderness translating in
acts of passionate caring for her body.

''You only want one thing from me'',
he tells her afterwards, an edge of bitterness in his voice.
''It's just sex you want from me...''

He's referring to her angrily demanding of him
the weeks before:
''I need you here, regular doses of the physical you,
regularly. I cant make this
unless you come to me often enough.
I need you in the physical often,not once in a while
just talking over the phone or skyping wont do''.

As they are lying there,
in the afterglow of love shared,
his words take her by surprise.
Most of the time she won't let him speak
because she talks too much
and he listens patiently.
Though it's his voice she's craving to hear.
But at that moment,
words fail her.

How can she tell him what's in her heart?
''That's not true..'' is the only thing she can come up with,
her eyes and heart full.
She thought he knew,
she thought she told him often enough
how much she loved him,
she thought he needed no reassurance.

''Write us a story'', he would tell her
each time she wasnt feeling herself
because of his absence.
''Write a story, cook a yummy meal of words of love
and feed us both with it.''
Those were his words.

Because all her stories are for him.
Fore his eyes only,
Even if hundreds read them
its just the two of them, reliving it
through her writings.

So now she knows what she's gonna do.
'' I' ll tell him in one of my stories''

I used to convince myself in the beginning that it would never work.

Slowly I felt myself becoming a healthier person, and although it was happening gradually, his words of soothing encouragement were always running though my head.

All the pain, betrayal, and abandonment that I have felt in thοse past years before he came seem to mean nothing anymore. He loves me more than I could ever possibly love myself. Is that possible? I don’t know what it is, but this man has kept me happier than I’ve ever been despite of how far he is. Not just by how he loves me, but by the way he is as a person. I’ve met many people I could connect, but none of it can compare to the way my soul, my heart, and my mind connects to his.

Nothing compares to him, absolutely nothing. I want a lifetime of craziness with this man. I want to fall asleep in his arms, I want to be half asleep and feel his arms around me. I want to lay there and feel his soft lips gently pecking my forehead because that’s when I know I am the safest.

This life altering kind of love.

When I'm hungrily listening to his thoughts and I become intoxicated, it's my body that hungrily asks for his touch.

When he is giving me passionate physical love, my mind and my heart craves his.

How can I separate one from the other?

Why should I?

I want to be your one life stand, my love.

Every fucking day.

For the rest of our days.

Happy 1.627 days of Love Anniversary

Love you

Moments

Moments...

Him, ordering a second cup of hot chocolate
with extra whipped cream on top for her
on their first official date....
her, hungrily diving for his dick
as soon as she first set eyes on it
in all its erect glory....

Him, standing up in front of the fireplace
feeding the log fire on that cabin
flames dancing happily....
her, kicking off her high heel shoes
and posing with him for the camera
barefoot and all airs and graces...

Both of them naked and languid
and exhausted from too much lovemaking
in that private hot spring bath chamber.....

Him, telling her on the beach ' I've got a present for you'
then uncurling his fingers
and showing her a little shell...
Her, telling him, half indignantly
''my energy is as strong as yours,
even more so if I choose to!'
and both of them bursting into hysterical laughter....

Him, giving her an intense orgasm
by just caressing her hair....
Her, asking him silly questions
expecting a serious answer
as he was lying there snoring
pretending to be half asleep....

Her, making him pose naked for her camera
'but not your head, just your hot body , please'...
Him, stuffing her lace knickers in his jacket pocket
like some kind of purple trophy
after their first weekend together...

Both of their faces lighting up
like a firework-lit sky
on a national holiday night
as soon as they see each other after a few days of being apart...

His sexy smile,
warming up every nook and corner of her heart
her eyes
welling up with tears
and him going 'I love them like this, they look star-ladden'....

Moments,
yummy
delicious moments
adding up
filling up their cup of joy
reminding them
what life is all about......

All the sad things they predicted for us

I remember
every single thing
other people have said
to me
about our love story.
People full of good intentions, mostly.
Trying to put some sense into me

Their words
burning in my memory.
Sad thing, usually,
doom predicting things.

-''He 'll never come to you'' (you did)
-''You won't like the real him as much ( I liked the real you exactly as much )
-He's leading you on ( you are turning me on, constantly)
-''You'll be part of his 'harem' ( ''I'm part of his heart '', I tell them)
-''He's making fun of you ( you are making love to me, in every imaginable way)
-''It won't work because of the distance ( you are making it work, in spite of the distance)
''It's not real love, it's infatuation ( yes, it's not j u s t real love, it's spiritual love bliss)
-''There are too many problems and difficulties for you to be properly together (all of which magical dissipated, one by one)
-''It won't last'' (it's lasting, on and on and on)

And the recurring one:
''Just you wait , until you actually move in together...''
Implying the magic will fade eventually.
But actually, all the while, half fearing
that not only it will, but it'll grow stronger
and stronger and stronger.
Proving them all wrong.
Confusing them
by defying their preconceptions.
Lite it does already.

It's alright
No real malice intended.
They meant no harm.
It is pure rational thinking talking.
All those people.
Meaning no harm.
Trying to protect.
Me, you.
Talking sense.
Talking through their brains.

Meanwhile, WE were loving
through our hearts....

Just our combined aura felt
lights up space, baby.
Baby of mine.

We go on lighting space.
We go on loving.

Just because...

The Power of Love

Realising
you are the first person
I've been this close, soulwise.

Realising this is so
because you bring out the best in me
the most vulnerable,
open and sweet
version of my self.

Realising, through this,
how transformative love is.
How it makes me
the best version of myself
How it lifts me up
and because it is a source of strength
a source of solace,
helping me lift other people up as well.

How the power of love
is stronger
than anything else indeed..

A Prayer

Lord,

help us always remember
when we first met
and the strong love and joy
that grew between us

Help us work that love
into practical solutions
so that it grows stronger every day
and nothing can keep us apart

We ask for hearts, words and deeds
full of tenderness and compassion
forgiveness and understanding,
we ask for the miracle to keep unfolding

Dear Lord,
we put our beautiful love story
into your hands..

My One and Only Resolution for 2016

2016-01-01T14:07:00.001-08:00

Buying a Life Planner ready made is great and amazingly inspiring
and helps you be on track and focused throughout the year and quite possibly achieve many goals.

But if you want real Miracles manifested,
you need to stop relying on other people's blueprint of dreams
and create your own life and magic planner.

There is an amazing flow of energy that comes from creating such a powerful life designing tool from scratch.

Here is my word for 2016:

Flow

As in, I flow, nature changes around me

To remind myself that reality is malleable and pliable and easy to manipulate.

So long as you flow.

So I am replacing my to-do lists with to-flow lists.

Actually, goal-setting can slow your progress and diminish your potential if you rely too heavily upon it.

My aim is to let life be a deep let-go.

Life can change in a nanosecond.

There are no rules.
Everything is possible.

You create with ' Being '
much more than ' Doing '

Happy New Creating

Why you should never tell your kids to finish what's on their plate

2015-08-31T14:53:00.002-07:00

Τhere is no way to beat about the bush around this one.

Dont force your kids to eat what they dont like, good people.\

Food is ,apart from necessary to sustain life, closely related to pleasure and love.

Can you think of anything else that is closely related to pleasure and love?

Right. Sex.

Teaching your kids to disregard their natural aversion to certain foods and forcing it down their stomach?

Same as teaching them that disregarding their natural instincts is ok if someone in authority tells them so. Also, that pleasure has nothing to do with food, but you have to gulp it down , no matter how disgusting it is. 

Please, dont do that.

I am not judging anyone's parenting style here. Really , I am not. Strict or relaxed, that's another story.

But food, it's too important to teach discipline with. Let boundaries learning be done in other ways, there are countless of them.

Dont lay the foundations for a distorted, sick relationship with pleasure by forcing food down a very unwilling little stomack.

No, your kid is not doing it to spite you.

Have you ever tried swallowing something that doesnt agree with you?

Torture, right?

What makes you think then it is right to impose this on your child, out of a sense of  'respect for rules and how hard I've worked to prepare this'?

Nature gave us the perfect example of what our relationship with food should be like:

"Breastfeeding is an unsentimental metaphor for how love works, in a way. You don't decide how much to love — you respond to the beloved, and give with joy exactly as much as they want." ~Marni Jackson

Try making a baby suckle when they are full and not hungry..impossible. That's how love should work, never imposed, given freely and the beloved decides when, how and how much. The most pure and perfect model for love, given to us by God as a compass for later in life

Men, especially, who have breastfed to their heart's content, NEVER become rapists...because they model their sexual behavior after the fashion of how the first woman in their life gave them love: freely and as much and when they needed it.

Food = Pleasure+ Love

Let your kids decide how much and of what kind pleasure and love they need.

Their needs as individual as their fingerprint.

Don't spoil it for them

Pleas, dont

Because no big harm will come out of their not eating their greens.

But love and pleasure?

You bet they'll be needing to be able to enjoy that....

How to Steal Like a Real Artist

2015-08-26T05:25:00.002-07:00

The idea, of course, along with most of quote pictures here, comes from Austin Leon's popular book,

How to Steal Like An Artist:

Every artist is influenced by what has been done before their time. If not by direct exposure, the information the artist is exposed to through other people, media, etc. influences them. We are all a product of our times and have the benefit of those who have walked similar paths we are now on.

Here are some photo interpretation of mine inspired by popular photos online:

(mine is on the left)

We all borrow because it has all been done before and we are not the originators. To merely copy is to take an existing interpretation and not run away with it. To steal an idea is to take something of value and make it yours. To make an artistic element yours you have to interpret it your way with your own approach.

This cannot be done when you are merely copying the idea. When copying the idea you are just doing everything exactly like it was previously done. When you have done it your way you have used the element and not simply duplicated it.

It is not required that you advance the element. You can go sideways and even backwards with the idea and you can be stealing the element and not copying it. On the contrary, when merely copying the element you have failed if you do not match the original.

Here are the rules of the game:

My recipe for staying and feeling hot and sexy

2015-08-19T05:35:00.002-07:00

To me feeling sexy is the prerequisite for staying alive, passionate, juicy, happy

-So I like watching my figure and exercising
(or at least trying! On a daily basis, I eat whatever I want, drink what i want, but all with a degree of moderation)

-refuse to spend time with people who complain about how old they feel, because they just pull me right down with them and make me feel old too

- take the time to plan wonderful things for the future instead of dwelling on what's missing from my life right now

-flirt with life- and men-,with all of what life has to offer. This makes me feel young, hopeful and desired and it shows in my face as well.

- surround myself with lively, smart, fun and interesting people who adore being around me, and if they arent around offline, welcome them online
(that's you, guys! ;) )

- dress the way I feel MY real age to be, not what others tell me about my 'age group'. If I feel 19, - and I regularly do, mind you- I keep that energy up and I feel like a teenager for as long as I feel like it.

- pay particular attention to teenagers, because their carefree energy of talking, moving and relating to life is exactly what I'm after on an energetic level. Whenever I'm around them, I soak in their energy and send them loving energy in exchange for it. Believe me, it works

-keep telling myself that I'm getting prettier and prettier
( even if I am not, it still makes me feel great about myself!)

- treat myself regularly to wonderful little things, especially if they seem unnecessary and frivolous. This are my grounding and my stay young for eversecret, reall

-take time to make myself beautiful daily. I can’t feel both haggard and worn down and fabulous at the same time. So I pose for selfies, because this makes me put in the extra effort. Guess what, it makes my day too

-Love. Lots and lots and lots.

Passionately, irrationaly and deliberately.

That's the greatest secret of them all

May you always feel the hottest commodity around!

On self love

2015-07-18T22:39:00.003-07:00

I have a knack for selfies.

I mean, I can make my body and face look fantastic
by just striking the right pose (what works for me is leaning forward a bit and twisting my torso for the right angle, also having light directly above me in front of a mirror)

But the thing is,

my body is not nearly as perfect as it looks in my selfies.

And that's ok.

I tend to put weight from the waist down and my hips have grown wider from childbearing, my breasts are the breasts of a middle-aged woman that has breastfed four babies (and loved it) and my mretabolism has acquired the pace of a snail ever since I hit 40.

And that's ok.

I never pretend I had the perfect body

Then why do I pose for selfies?

I'll tell you why.

The sparkly eyes pics you see and the cute poses that make you smile (or not) are my way of letting go. We hold so much resentment about our bodies emotionally. Posing for selfies, then picking up the best to put up is releasing resentment. I no longer resent my body for not looking perfect and a cute selfie is my way to do that. It's my way of getting rid of the fears and judgement ( from myself mostly, but from others as well) that I have about my body buried deep inside. It's feeling cute and pretty and letting that radiate to the world (proof of that is that when I dont feel well, no matter what pose I strike or how many pics I take from all possible ankles, I still look like shit)

This is my way of self-love.

Maybe yours is different.

And that's ok.
For both of us, you and me.

The world thrives on diversity.

Another thing, too.
Yes, I do get positive comments and feedback when posing such pics-this is good, who doesnt like that?

But that's just the bonus.

The real thing, self fove, is never dependent on other people's opinion about our body ( anorexics are proof of that).

A beautiful self portrait is connecting to what I love about my body.

As I look cute in a pic, I learn to accept my feminine, sweet side.

As I pose for the camera, I learn to fearlessly express myself, not just through words, as most people do after a certain age, but through my body truth as well.

As I release tension for what I should look like, I release fear, frustration, sadness for not looking magazine-perfect. I learnt to surrender to what is AND love what is AND make the most of it through said selfies.

Can you think of a more perfect tool for self love?

It's accessible to everyone and this is one of my ways of feeling good about myself.

( My favorite, though, is lovemaking. When I open up to the one I love, to be filled by his love, strength and adoration of me and of what I am and give back the same. But that's another blogpost topic.)

Today is a beautiful day to feel beautiful.

Seven secrets to looking younger and feeling better with each passing year

2015-05-29T04:49:00.000-07:00

Lowering your biological age (how many days, weeks, months, years you’ve been on this planet) is not possible, but lowering the ‘relative’ age of your body or your physiological age) is easy and doable .

Why would you wonna do that?

Just because! No need to apologise for having a wish, a wish within you is all the reasons you need for doing it.

Vanity?

Vitality?

Feeling better?

Achieving goals?

All legit reasons for doing it.

No justification needed.

So you wonna look younger with each passing year?

Here are my tips, short, sweet and to the point:

1. Decide you're gonna be looking younger with each passing year

Yep, it's a decision, like any other you've ever taken. Somewhere along the way you decided that you're going to age (you've even decided on the exact rate of aging for you!) based on assumptions, prejudices, the media etc and now your body is following obediently that blueprint you're feeding to it. It's like a program running in a computer.

You are the programmer. Not the computer itself. So change the program.

I keep affirming and reaffirming to myself;

''I am getting younger and fresher looking, physically, mentally and emotionally with each moon cycle''.

For us women our period is a powerful rejuvenating mechanism. Take advantage of it.

If you are not a woman, or past menopause, the same holds true for you. Your sexual organs hold an amazing rejuvenating power. They are the source of your life force, along with your heart. So they have the power to keep you young and rejuvenated and in perfect working order. Use them!

2. Sleep more

No need for an explanation here. Even half an hour a day more sleep is going to make a great difference to how young you look. Cell growth and repair happens when you are asleep. So sleep more . Make it part of your self care routine. Dont feel guilty for being 'unproductive'. Sleep is cheaper, (actually, its frrreeeeee! ) than all those expensive treatments or supplements , procedures etc, so you're saving money in the long run!

3. Do some weight training

The human body is meant to be symmetrical, and this is something we innately desire in the opposite sex. Over time, we tend to round our shoulders, hunch a bit, often in one side more than the other. This is one example of how an asymmetry can form, but there are many more. Since you are asking your body to look younger it’s always a good idea to re-align it with weight training. When your body posture becomes better through this, your body alignment changes as well ,and you look younger (among other health benefits you get!)

4. Change your attitude

Being younger is also an attitude. As people grow older they tend to become embittered, enraged, sarcastic and not at all flexible in their opinions. Believe me, it shows. And it's dead boring, aside from aging. Young people are playful, fun, relaxed and mostly great fun to be around. Drop sarcasm or bitterness, if only for a day. Voila! You got younger by a day!

Seriously, bitterness gives you fewer friends and harsh lines to your face. Just drop it whenever you remember. It's a habit like any other. And it can be changed with conscious effort.

5. Fall in love

Or fall back in love with your current partner. (Yes, its doable. Just wait for my upcoming book, Soulmate Manifestation). Love is the very same rejuvenating power that helps cell regrowth and even creates a human being, body and soul, from scratch. Love is real and palpable and visible in the physical as well as the spiritual realm. Use it to your advantage

6. Dont dress your age

Who decides on a dress appropriate code for each age???

Seriously, think about it.

Don't dress your age.

Dress for your mood, dress for your love of life, dress for your inspiration, dress for your elation, dress for your celebration of life, dress for your uniqueness, dress for the sex you've just had or are about to have ( yes you will,eventually!), dress for your lust for more life. That's enough of guiding rules to set you on the right path. Do it for a day, dress for your mood and see what happens

7. Walk and move like a young person

What happened to your lust for life, to your brisk walk, to the spring in your step? Put it right back, consciously . Do it. It's like a smile that makes you instantly feel better. That youthful way of moving instantly alters your vibration to a feel-good vibe that is young and invigorating and instantly transforms your looks.

Here's to you getting younger with each passing day!

How to Manifest Moments of Fun and Relaxation with your Love

2015-05-11T23:55:00.001-07:00

The Law of Attraction teaches ( well, I hate that term actually, it's Law of Life, really ) that we create every aspect of our reality, including attracting a specific person in our life or healing a relationship that looks impossible.

Ιt is important to work on both the physical and the metapysical plane when you are summoning life force to manifest love or healing love in your life.

Α very powerful form of summoning force is writing, because it combines both the physical-the actual act of putting pen to paper and the metaphysical - ideas and feelings becomε formed and structured as they expressed in written form.

My upcoming book ''Soulmate Manifestation Book'' focuses on that: how vto commit your thoughts and emotions to paper in such a well-structured and magical way that life/universe/ your higher self etc hears your CLEAR call and responds accordingly.

One of my favorite writing activities when I've been teaching for endless hours and I'm in dire need of mind relaxation is to begin to summon the energy of beautiful shared moments with my love, be it holidays or just fun, relaxing times together.

I often feel amazed at how , after calling such moments forth through the act of writing, these moments turnup exactly the way I envisioned them in my life.

Here is a fun journaling activity to help you do the same:
Use the prompts below to manifest a specific holiday with someone you love.
Let the words flow, dont overthink anything or limit yourself, just write

''I 'm visiting...

''I'l m sharing this experience with ..(specific person or not)

''We're getting there by...

''Our accommodation is..

''We're spendind at least.. ( number of days) ..there

''Some of the things I'd really like to try there are ..''

''Some of the places I'd like to stop off include....

''One of the things I love most about being there is...''

''The things I have taken with me are ..''

''Some of the things I'll be taking back home with me are...

'' The best part of our time there is..

''By the end of our time there, I will...

Feel free to add to this, color it, decorate it, imbue it with your own energy.

Above all, have fun with it!

12 Things You Should Do For The Woman You Love

2015-05-09T13:44:00.004-07:00

12 Things You Should Do For The Woman You Love

1. Look at her across a room or table like she's magic and make every other woman present green with envy at her good luck.

2. Dont just give her an afterglow. Give her so many orgasms (in a row) that she'll be glowing like a fuckin Christmas tree afterwards.

3. Bring her wine and her favorite chocolate often. The wine goes before, the chocolate after the afterglow.

4. Don't tell her she's got a gorgeous body that you lust after. She won't believe you. Show her.

5. Listen to her complaining or venting. Even. if. it. drives. you. crazy.

6. Take away her pain. Especially her emotional pain.
For instructions on how to do that, see No #5.

7. Be a man she admires. I bet you know how.

8. Be romantic. And fuck hard.

And be descerning as to when is the right time for either.

9. Include her happiness in your priorities.

10. Make her feel taken care of. Daily.

Whatever care may mean individually for her.

11. Include her in your plans for the future, even if they're just plans for next weekend

12. Tell her she's beautiful. Right now

Tell them

2015-05-03T01:39:00.001-07:00

Start off the most beautiful month of the year right:
Tell your partner 5 things you appreciate about him/her

Me first:
-I like how you keep me practical and down to earth, how you help me stand on my own two feet and be strong and independent and get on in life
-I love how playful you are and how you give me magical experiences in bed
-I like how you protect me and our relationship from the mean world and other people's indiscreet eyes
-I love it how you are firm and strong and able to guide in a beautiful way whenever I need it
-I love it how you keep me on my toes about everything and give me things to anticipate combined with generous doses of love and tenderness

Now your turn
Go tell them!

An old Pic-father and Daughter

2015-05-02T23:14:00.002-07:00

That is a 33 year old polaroid pic of a 64 year old man and his 12 year old daughter
The man was my father John and he was to die 3 years after the pic was taken .

Ηe and I were very close. He was 52 when I was born and he could easily pass for my grandfather. I was a kind of an 'accident' in lovemaking, when all my 4 other siblings were already teenagers or preteens and my parents thought their family was complete. They were poor, working class people and they both worked two jobs each to take care of their big family and give to all their kids a good education their own parents hadn't been able to afford for their own kids.

When my mother found out she was pregnant, she announced to my father she'd be getting an abortion. He begged her to reconsider ,I was told, using all the tender words he could master to change her mind, but she was unmovable. ''I cant, no money, I'm too tired, too old (she was 40), I work too much to have yet another kid''. So he gave in, because he was extremely fond of her and he always respected her wishes.

So she was given an abortive injection- twice !- but with no success. Although she bled lightly, the stubborn fetus , me , hang on to life in her womb. So she was scheduled for a more aggressive procedure to terminate her pregnancy. On the actual day of the scheduled termination my oldest brother, a 16 year old boy who was one of the kindest and most loving boys a mother could have, I am told again, had a tragic accident. He died a very agonising death because of internal brain bleeding in the abulance in my father's arms, as he was being transferred to a nearby town. My father never ever talked about it. My mother decided to keep me, thinking her son's death was a punishment from God for wanting to have the abortion. She buried herself in grief and wore black for almost ten years in mourning.

As a child I would often come home and find my mum crying over my brother's photo almost daily, look at her and feel immensely guilty. Guilty for taking his place, the place of a brother who was obviously her favorite when I wasnt, guilty for being a 'difficult', quiet, opinionated, reserved child myself. I truly internalised that I was her punishment from God. And I hated her for that. I hated how she resented me, how she would never ever hug me or kiss me or be tender with me, how she wore black that made her look old and haggard and miserable. She loved me , I now know how much she did love me, but her pain and guilt wouldnt allow any of it to surface, except for acts of caring and overprotection towards me. It took me decades of soul searching and having my own kids to forgive her and realise what she'd been through, going through a pregnancy after such a tragic loss and how that changed her .

But my father, that was a different matter. He clearly showed it to me and to the world how he loved me. I was always perched up on his knee when very young and since he became a pensioner he'd take me with him everywhere. I was the apple of his eye. He was infinitely fond and proud of me, proud of how cute a little girl I was, how smart - I could read and write when I was three and was thought of a precautious child- and how wittily I could outsmart any adult in any kind of conversation. His love, and the love of my sister who practically raised me because my mother worked all day long, nourished my soul and made me more fond of adults than kids my own age.

On the day the picture was taken he took me for a very long hike in the nearby fields to pick flowers, as was customary on the 1st day of May. On our way there we stopped by at an old woman's house, as we did every year on that day. He called her 'my second mum' as she was a lady that nursed him to life when his own mother had a very hard labor of twins- his other twin died- and could not nurse him. ''I owe her my life '', he'd say, 63 years after this happened. ''Always be grateful to those you owe gratitute to, Eirini. This way you'll add more good things to your life''. Then he would take me to 'listen to the nightingales''.

Nightingales choose shady places with lots of water. And they love an audience, contrary to what people thing. ''Listen to them, Eirini'', he told me. ''They are not like other birds, they dont chirp the same old tune over and over again. Their repertoire constantly changes. Listen...'' And I would listen to this little bird singing blissfully hidden and when he was done my father would call out to him ''A different tune!'' and the bird would oblige, in fact seemed to be expecting his calling to resume singing! ''All singers enjoy a good audience'', he would say, being a canon in church himself and with a masculine, mellow voice I found as sweet as the nightingale's.

The year that pic was taken was the last one we went flower picking, he had a stroke the next year. His death was the first tragedy of my young life. First it devastated me. Then it taught me to be strong. Then it taught me to be spiritual. Then, to deeply appreciate the people I have in my life right now, knowing only too well I could all too easily lose them.

A few days ago I met this old lady whose husband was a close friend of my father's.''You will never know how much he loved you, your father, '' she told me. ''He said 'that girl gave me back my life after our son died' .

I miss him. Always have, always will. I miss his kindness and his unconditional love. And I realise, at the same time, how lucky I was to have such a loving father, a masculine figure, a paragon of a father really, that made me love, trust and appreciate men the way it is supposed to happen, the way God intended it to be between a father and a daughter. The way we were loved during our early childhood is the way we will tend to believe true love actually is.

Love you, father John.
I hope you are proud of the kind of woman I've turned into.

In deep gratitude
Your little lamb (as you used to call me)
Eirini

Survivor

2015-04-23T11:59:00.001-07:00

Being emotionally abused regularly by someone is agonizing.

Here is what emotional abuse feels like:

Someone
-Monitors (or tries to monitor) what you're doing all the time
-Yells, swears at you, insults you or calls you names all the time
-Unfairly accuses you of imaginary wrongdoings
-Prevents or discourages you from seeing friends or family
-Tries to stop you from going to work or to your obligations
-Gets angry in a way that is frightening to you, threatening you with physical viloence
-Controls or tries to control how you spend your money, but he will never accept any similar control over his, goes through your things regularly, hacks into your online accounts and mocks you about any interaction you have with other people
-Humiliates you in front of others, especially your kids
-Threatens to hurt you or people or pets you care about
-Says things like, "If I can't have you then no one can'' and ''Ι'll never let you be happy again''
-Decides things for you that you should decide (like what to wear or eat or not eat)
-Tells you they are happy when a relative or pet dies, because you deserve it and more harm will come to you if you don't repent and do as they dictate to you
-Wakes you up in the middle of the night, yelling at you for some real or perceived shortcoming of yours they've just discovered
-Blames you for the emotional abuse you receive from them

The obvious question, of course, is :
"Why are you taking this?"

The answer, apart from the practical reasons, is always one:

This kind of abuse changes you. Over time, the verbal abuse slowly chips away at your self-esteem or even your discerning powers. You fall into a pit of inertia and sluggishness where nothing seems ever possible. It damages your psyche, like bullets against armor. You are slowly groomed and brain washed into believing what they want you to believe in order to continue the abuse: to feel there is no way out.

That is the common ground in all kinds of emotional abuse.

Feeling that there is NO way out
(for a gazillion reasons).

There is a way out
and
IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!!!!!!!

If you are being abused by your partner, you may feel confused, afraid, angry and/or trapped. All of these emotions are normal responses to abuse. You may also blame yourself for what is happening. But no matter what others might say, you are never responsible for your partner’s abusive actions. Abuse is not caused by stress, anger, or provocation or, as some might allude , by too much love.

It is always a choice to be abusive.

As it is always your choice to leave.

Please ask for help
and

LEAVE NOW!

My name is Eirini
and I am an emotional abuse ( spanning over more than two decades) survivor.

I have been through each and every item on the above emotional abuse list
repeatedly and constantly and relentlessly

but I survived
and found love
and thrived
and will continue to thrive and love.

And this is me coming out

in the hopes of helping people, especially women, like me

How To Turn On A Woman's Vulnerable and Sweet Side

2015-04-19T13:53:00.002-07:00

My best friend of 26 years- we get to see each other every year or so since we live in different towns- is sitting across the table from me, over a cup of coffee. We are discussing men and women and communication problems and how one pasrtner's insensitive remarks make the other one withdraw and grow distant and indifferent and resentful and unapproachable.

''You both need to remain vulnerable and keep communication channels open, or else small things put up big walls'', I tell him

''Yeah, I guess we need to sit down and talk things over'', he says.

''You do that'', I agree.''But before the big talk, I'll give you my recipe on How To Turn On A Woman's Vulnerable and Sweet Side.

''Really? And what's that?!'' he asks, intrigued.

Are you too, ready for it?

Eirini's Powrful Recipe on How To Turn On A Woman's Vulnerable and Sweet Side After a Fight??

Here goes.

Push her hard against a wall or a bed/couch/counter and tell her how you're turned on by her smell/tits/ass/whatever and how you're gonna fuck the living shit outta her, first passionately and furiously, then tenderly and slowly and how she's gonna love it.

Then do it.

Fuck the living shit out of her.

Melt her resentment and walls with kisses. Preferably the hickie kind kisses.

No, it's not politically incorrect . Yes, she'll love it. She''ll treasure it .Might even talk about it with her best friend in ecstatic whispers.

Then have The Talk, if you feel like it ( You won't, but she will, so oblige , but only the day after, or else you'll spoil the afterglow)

A woman is her most receptive when she feels loved and desired.
Dont tell her, show her.
Then watch what happens

Note: the above recipe does not apply to:
a/ total strangers meeting for the first time
( this is called rape, dude and it'll end you up in court)
b/ men who've been total assholes to their women consistently and for a long time
( no banging can makes up for past intentional cruelty , in fact it might even make things worse)

My Blessed Weekends

2015-03-21T14:04:00.001-07:00

Friday night and Saturday, my sacred days off.

No alarm, no lessons, no chores, no kids, no pets.

Our personal space.
Shutters down.
Soft candlelight.

Drinking coffee and eating bougatsa and koulouri and chicken hot from the oven , talking and sharing, teasing and laughing out loud and watching the news and commenting (him) and catching up on things (me).

And lovemaking in between,sweet and strong, like a hot cup of coffee, and cuddle making and soft kisses making. And deciding it's not worth it going out anyway, because we agreed we can't cuddle and smell each other in public the way we do in our place, so what's the point?

And his support at all my plans, discussing my upcoming book and him reading the manuscript and making jokes about the idea of cosmic ordering for a soulmate and giving suggestions and massaging the small of my back.

And my heart swelling with pride and joy at having so much tenderness and support from such a hunk of a man, in awe of his mind and his heart and his everything else he'd rather I didn't talk about.

And as if love overload wasnt enough, when I'm off home for the night, love sexting in three different languages and playing with fb.

Precious time with my love.

Feeling blessed and ready to take on the world

Tomorrow it's kids and pets time

How to be a Woman

2015-03-09T05:05:00.005-07:00

Woman is a title of honor

Anyone can be born a female
A girl is a woman in training, but some females stay girls for ever

A woman makes everything taste better, a girl whines everything tastes shitty

A woman makes a man feel great about himself, a girl tries to feel better about herself by using him
A woman enjoys taking care and being taken care of equally, girls demand service out of men
A woman is nurturing, a girl is an empty sack that needs to be filled

Women cherish their men, girls shove other men in his face.
Women treat men as their equal, girls demand respect or try to tear down men that intimidate them
Women honor their men, girls treat men like some abstract notion or enemy
Women are secure in their worth, girls make his heart bleed, to prove he's human
Women know that their power and service is creation, girls feel intimidated by men and resort to evil tricks and games
Women support and learn from other women, girls engage in petty bitchiness over an imaginary prize ( some dick or other)
Women know freedom and love come hand-in-hand in parenting, girls play house and suffocate members of their family

Woman is a title of honor
Dont call me a girl
I aspire to be a Woman

Who am I to write about love?

2015-02-28T12:50:00.000-08:00

“Who am I to teach this?

Who am I to write about love/soulmates? I’m no master. I'm a struggling human, like everyone else. Besides, everything has already been said, right? Is what I've got to write book-worthy? Parts of it are soul-baring. I hate baring my soul to stangers as much as the next person, plus even that can't make it book-worthy. I’m not that good yet. I’m not ready. I need more experience/ time/ recognition/improvement. I don’t want to feign that I am some kind of expert or that I’m some big deal.”

Been struggling with this.
For a long, long long time. Still am.

Sure, I can just say 'I believe, therefore I am''

But that's not good enough. Not for me, or you, for that matter

One way to answer this question is to wallow in shame and self-conciousnes: ''I'm not good enough for this''.

Another reaction is to pretend I'm better than I am, heighlight my story, my achievements, my whatevers. Do the self-touting thing.

Or be real. Even more real
And think aloud, in the hopes of inspiring someone else along the way

Most of us lead our lives feeling not good enough.
Not good enough to do this and that..
Not good enough to be creative
Not good enough for what we have in our heart to give
Not enough

So here's my advice to you and me:

Do it anyway
Start pretending you are needed
If you arent needed, the market will tell you, dont worry.

''Oh, but how am I supposed to deal with rejection?''

Like a man. Or a woman
Grow some balls
(or better yet , grow a vagina, it's incredibly more powerful than balls)

Don't take rejection or non-success as a sign of personal failure.The most disempowering belief in the world is feeling like a failure when things don't go your way or fall apart ( take this from someone who lost a successful business of a decade and still survived)

Here's a more powerful belief to concentrate on:

You actually might not have the skills, wisdom, experience or talent to do the work you’re so drawn to do. But here is the thing:

History is full of people who thought they were ready, thought they were invincible and then, because of hybris ( ancient greek notion of excessive pride and confidence) failed blatantly. There are many examples of those whose arrogance led them to their doom .

So we might not be really ready but it’s important to ask ourselves, “ready for what?” Ready to be a guru to the masses? Probably not . Ready to pour your heart on paper and let people be inspired by it? Probably yes . Ready to earn millions? Probaby not (but hey some people out there did that too, so why not you?) Ready to earn royalties from your brainchild? Probably yes.

Often by asking the question “Am I ready for this?”
you mean “I need to be perfect to be ready.”

Ah my friend..

WE WILL NEVER BE PERFECT.

Not really, not in this plane of existence

But do you have something to offer that could help people?
That could have helped you, if someone else created it?

Yes?
Then go ahead and create

I know It’s really easy for you to look at other people doing the kind of work you want to do, people who have already achieved stardom status and compare yourself to them and feel like crap.

I promise you that you are not.

Don’t compare your start with their middle or finish line.
It is a recipe for misery.

Here is what I tell myself each time I post, write etc:
I will focus on creating something that moves my heart, beautiful to my eyes and useful to at least a few. I put my heart into it and let it go. That is more than enough.

And the results?

Tell yoursel that whatever comes is fine
( again, losing one's business and being broke for what seemed like ages helps you put things into perspective. Like, not caring about end results ever again, not really)

My failures are my lessons , therefore my credentials

“Give up the notion that you must be sure of what you are doing. Instead, surrender to what is real within you, for that alone is sure.” —Baruch Spinoza

Specialising is boring. Dead Boring

2015-02-09T05:46:00.003-08:00

She said she'll help me 'rebrand my site'. For free.
On account of our online friendship.

I'm grateful and eager.

''You have to decide on a subject'', she says. ''Your blog is too generic. Pick up a subject, what you stand for, what you are passionate about, and stick with it. You want people to come to you for a specific reason''

I tell her it makes sense.

''So what do people come to you for?'' she probes further.

I pose to think.
'Tell me what you love doing on fb and what people like your posts for'', she tries to help me.

The next day I get back to her with a list, as instructed.

It reads:

''I express myself through:
-Delivering happiness and hope
-Raising awareness for important issues
-Inspiring by example
-Making connections and harboring interconnections
-Promoting my work (blogs- ebook)''

''Still too broad, you need to narrow this down,''she insists.
''How about, Sexuality combined with Spirituality, or Eternal Youth of Mind and Soul? Just revolving around a theme...You get the idea...''

Yeah, I got the idea.

Problem is, I dont like that idea.

I cant for the life of me restrict myself to a particular subject for my blog. I simply cant. Even if that means missing on the chance to 'brand' my blog, or me or both, as is usual in blodsphere.

To me, man is a multi-dimensional being.

All of us can do many, many things and also do certain things better than others ( think specialisation).

But all great discoveries, inventions and breakthroughs in this world were, are, being made by people who do MANY things and are capable of combining many seemingly disparate things and notions.

Out of those many kinds of things, a sort of cross-breeding happens.

Let me give you an example.

When a great musician starts painting, no painter who is simply a mewre painter will ever be able to do the things he/she does. Some of the energy of his music will permeate his work and give him different perspective and insights and cre\ativity. If he/she is passionately in love too, then something of this passionate love will be present in that painting. If a painter is just a painter, the painting will be flat, one-dimensional, without much depth. Maybe technically perfect, but neither inspiring nor awe-inducing, in other words, no great work

This holds true of everything.

Even physical attraction.
Most of us are attracted to types of people physically and emotionally different to us, because nature makes us choose unions by which the children borne will have a variety in their genetic pool and a richer life full of diverse expereiences from both partners.

Everything physical thrives in combining different things.

Sameness is boring and unproductive.

Yet, how we all crave it.
To blend in is a deeply ingrained instinct, so we crave assimilation, uniformity, safety. To each their own, we say. Then we yawn and die of boredom. Because safety, specialisation and uniformity are neat and necessary, but so not miracle-inspiring.

Sure, I can have a blog created around a theme( see my
love-a-story.blogspot thing)

But I cant confide myself to it, It'd dead unispiring, like feeding on the same meal of ideas every day. And when something becomesboring, the flow of ideas stops.

I love trying and learning and writing about many many different and highly unrelated things. That's who I am; and I figure being who I am in my writings is more important than specialising ( also, I'm a tick-head, non-teachable material blogger, as my rebranding expert friend realised :) )

Go try as many things as possible in life. They will all contribute to your energy, each of them making you a bit richer, with a bit more depth and more dimensional

And your work, any kind of work you happen to be doing, creative or other wise, will reflect that. People will pick on that. They will be attracted to your creative efforts. They'll instinctively think ''this is good'' and they'll want some more of the same.

Even if your blog leaves a lot to be desired ,design and brand-wise

5 Metaphysical Ways to Generate Cash-Real Fast!

2015-02-03T13:08:00.003-08:00

Here are 5 super easy, unconventional ways to bring into your life money you really needed yesterday.

Tried, tested, guaranteed:

1. Clean something in your home or office thoroughly.
Stuck or stagnating energy of mess and dirt in our home drains our cashflow the same way emotions and conflicts tend to drain our immune system and energy circuits. So start cleaning. The dirtier the task, the more spectacular the results. If you think your home is spotless, tackle the mess in hidden clutter-attracting closets, drawers, wardrobes, pantries, you get the picture. Go do on small area. You'll see what I mean real quick.

2. Change a stubborn belief
That one is tricky because there are some beliefs so deeply ingrained in our system we dont even know they are there. So start anywhere. Pick up a belief. Any belief would do. No, I am not talking about catastrophic or negative ones. Evden positive ones (we are not talking about values here, just beliefs, so dont bristle on me ok?). Seeing a thing that you hold dear from a different perspective , makes money pour into your life. Don't know why-though I do have my suspicions- but it is so.

3. Save some money
'You mean, I actually have to save money when I need it the most' ? Yep, that's right. Save some of what you already have, even if it's just a pittance. Put it aside. Don't spend it. Just let it be there. Then wait and see what happens

4. Spend some money
Let the whole damn thing circulate. And trust thaty more is on its way to you

5. House overflowing with money meditation
A very powerful one. Do this incessantly and obsessively for three consecutive days . It works. Real fast

Why Dieting and Exercising Won't Work For Me Right Now

2015-01-23T05:54:00.003-08:00

Don't get me wrong.

I love, admire and aspire to have 'the perfect body' .

Who doesnt.

Even those who claim they dont want that,
secretly do.

The above pic was taken two and a half years ago,
when I was in peak physical condition
after seven months of intensive dieting and
daily one-and-a-half hour workouts.

You know, the whole package
Flat belly, cute behind, (almost) cellulite-free thighs
shapely legs and arms, shoulders proudly thrown back,
for that awesome good posture look.

Loved that body and that disciplined me
(while it lasted).

Today, my body leaves a lot to be desired.

You see, the body in the above picture,
requires an insane amount of maintenance.

Lots and lots of exercising, both cardio and free weights.
Lots and lots of sleep, at least 9 hours a day,
to recover from such strenuous exercise,
or else I was dead tired all day long and looked old and haggard.
Drinking galons of water and frequently running to the toilet.

And dieting, gosh, the dieting...
no sweets, minimum carbs, minuscule food portions
and being almost always hungry:
hungry when you wake up,
hungry when exercising,
hungry after you finish your meals,
going to bed hungry,
sometimes waking up from hunger pangs in the middle of the night.

Back then I was happy, healthy, fit, hungry ,and awesome-looking.

Right now I am happy, healthy, not so fit, not at all hungry and still decently fine looking.

Surely, you can see my dilemma?

Happiness is a constant with me, so that never changes anyway.

As it is, I have to choose between going hungry and looking awesome
or enjoying my food and looking less than awesome, but still decently good.

Who in their right mind would choose the first option, when the second one is there?

My point:

As I am at the threshold of my 44th year,
I am pondering on life's questions concerning body image.

Do I starve myself and sweat half the day to look awsome?
Or not?

Can I do it? Yes, of course, been there, done that, several times in my life, especially after giving birth to each of my 4 kids.

Is it fun? Yes, lots ( love me a good challenge)

Is it worth it?
Depends on what I'm prepared to lose for it.
(food, sweets, sleep, time)

Can I afford time, sweat and sleep to achieve this kind or rock-hard body,without going insane?
Only if I won the lottery ticket and needn't worry about working for money any more.

Does that mean I'm giving up entirely on fitness and healthy eating?

Of couse not. I exercise daily and remind myself to make healthier food options daily.

Will I ever do that whole perfect body thing?
Most likely, yeah.
Sometime
(probably when I win the lottery ticket and/or marry again and need to look perfect for those wedding pictures ;) )

Most likely, not in the near future though.

As a final note, here's some insight from my love on the matter:
''It is an uphill struggle for you trying to 'lose weight' right now.You are at a stage in your life that you've switched to 'pleasure' and 'gaining' mode, so trying to 'lose' anything, even if it is weight, doesnt agree with you''

Maybe he's right.
I am totally attuned to allowing and receiving at the moment.

But I'm still hoping for that lottery ticket thing anyway!

Love
Eirini