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Aphrodite Encumbered -Book III: Firestorm

Aphrodite Encumbered -Book III: Firestorm

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Aphrodite Encumbered -Book III: Firestorm

Länge:
463 Seiten
8 Stunden
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Jul 2, 2013
ISBN:
9781301831500
Format:
Buch

Beschreibung

Zen continues refurbishing his and Bea's home for the last 20 years and attempts to fetch a good price for selling it.The crew of African workers are enthusiastic, but lack skills. Bea's expectations moving into a warm climate keeps her spirits up and she helps Zen albeit her handicap of nervous attacks. Hana supports Zen with her compassion, her undying positive attitude and soaring spirit.
Zen's professional work with supervising various building alterations for clients have always been successful, yet on one of the latest jobs he has to seeks an attorney's council in order to sue for unpaid fees.Hana meets Zen regularly online and as soon as her Internet connection fails, she displays jealousy. As Zen entertains his friends, women from all ages and in different countries, Hana turns possessive of him.Hana meets Zen and Bea at their hotel in Athens and invites them for her birthday party. Zen meets Hana in secret and they embrace in love lusting for each other, using every opportunity to make love, wherever they can steal time off their official lives. Everybody has a wonderful time and their spouses seem to get on together well.

Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Jul 2, 2013
ISBN:
9781301831500
Format:
Buch

Über den Autor

Z.J. Galos was born in eastern Austria. Educated in Vienna in art and architecture, he sailed for the Cape of Africa, experiencing the vastness and variety of the Southern African continent. Recently he enjoys travelling through Greece visiting its great cultural inheritance. In print also: www.StrategicBookClub.com; www.trafford.com


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Aphrodite Encumbered -Book III - ZJ Galos

APHRODITE

ENCUMBERED

BOOK III

FIRESTORM

By

ZJ GALOS

Aphrodite Encumbered

Book III

FIRESTORM

ZJ Galos

SmashwordEdition

Copyright 2013 ZJ Galos

Smashword License Notes:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thanks for respecting the extensive and hard work of this author.

Thank you for downloading the first book in a series of five sequels. If you enjoyed reading the story of a man who follows his inner call changing profession, following his dream with the help of his erotic Muse, who will captivate him like Calypso and spin him into the island of HaZe, where he feels secure and safe, even if the world around him crumbles, I am sure you will enjoy all other four sequels. I would appreciate it, if you give me your support and tell all your friends about it. Further please take a few minutes and comment on my website at: http://zoltanzelan.wordpress.com

If you wish to know more about me, visit: http://facebook.com/zoltan.galos

Books written by ZJ Galos can also be obtained from: amazon.com; Smashwords and online book retailers.

This book is about an artist and his unusual Muse.

Aphrodite Encumbered:

Book I Celestial Sparks

Book II Flame of Tryst

Book IV Ashes

Book IV Sea and Sky

This work is dedicated to the community of mature lovers and it is Adult Reading Material.

Other books written by Z.J.Galos:

Romantic adventure:

Spleen of Love

Romantic Thrillers:

The Informer

The Greek Muse

The Face

Memoirs:

Educating Pizzy.

A Portrait of Pain and Passion.

Books are also available from the author’s website at:

WordPress.com

www.wordpress.com/zoltan.galos

www.trafford.com

www.StrategicBookClub.com

www.RedLeadPress.com

Cover: ZG-ART Studio.

aphrodite encumbered

your powers over

men and women

one armed you

conduct a symposium

with a choice of

aphrodite’s beauty

beamed over

stones of marble

you stir to sudden

life.

"Love, like poetry is a

world, in which we confront

the impossible."

Zoltan Zelan.

1

He signaled me on my cellphone. I saw him walking toward me: white starched cap with a well known symbol, a check sign that follows many worldwide like a boomerang. George approaches my car, a young black man with a sped-up gait and brown, wide open eyes absorbing the new chilly day that hovers like a heavy blanket of white mist above the dark blue skyline of the Golden City’s north. Since some weeks George could not come to help, as Bob needed him urgently on another paying job. I phoned him to signal me when he is arriving at the taxi terminus. I am aware that he comes from Diepkloof, a suburb, one hour’s drive away, on the south western point of the city’s golden tentacles, which embrace a never ending urban sprawl. Hi George, I am glad that you are back. He mumbles a greeting and replies to my questions about his work with monosyllabic words. I understand that Bob the builder has loaned him to do my work for another two weeks.

I am glad that he is back, and we left the trial period behind us.

What about tiling? The conversation with the taciturn George is broken through my concentration of driving from the central taxi depot towards the centre of this giant head of a slumbering Titan dressed in metallic clothes of a varying city’s appearance, dusty and noisy. I try to keep behind position juggling Toyota taxis and avoid any involvement with their aggressive style of driving, they challenge all other users of the road to.

Yes, George said with a time delay, as if he is always short of words, or as if he would be in doubt about me, not seeing his innumerable talents in the building trade.

The first sandstone cladding to the wall niche behind the renewed toilet installation is a slow progress, but I won’t push George, as I can visualize his efforts to make it a first time success. I do not mind his steady working pace, his constant asking for tools and materials; he can only ascertain when the need arises. Besides I do not mind him collecting leftovers that will serve him well to do his own refurbishment at home. I have to finish these restorations that are otherwise great blemishes on a small but compact home, I intend to sell at the best price I ever have received for changes to the various properties, we have moved to. Like Bedouins we moved around from place to place in the northern suburbs of Gauteng. However we have a chain of stories that’ll accompany us forever.

This then, is our last resort of converting a non-movable asset into a liquid one. It’ll serve as a basis for the last episode in our lives. Mine: a dream to become finally the artist I always wished to be, and for Bea: to die in a country that is acceptable to her social expectations, the pace of life, the warm and often blistering heat , the endless stretch of beaches when one drives around its coastal landscapes. We have been experienced it often and for Bea it provides a peace of mind, an easy lifestyle without the strains of a mining city nearby, without the continuous dust and the faces of beggars at every traffic light. Without pistol wielding housebreakers and dangerous hijackers, without the failing of the ruling government to tackle poverty, crime, and lacking delivery of basic services to the growing community.

We have overstayed our time here, Bea said suddenly and I nod. I am glad she matches my thinking at last, but I have to concentrate on the daily tasks ahead I have to line up for George, who will be free for two weeks to work for me. The bathroom finished, the new toilet installed, the sandstone tiles glimmer in their natural beauty of water-coloured sand, George had coated with two layers of a matt sealer. I ask him to complete the area around the toilet where the floor tiles had been chopped out. He has done all to my satisfaction and I discuss with him the replacement of plug and switch covers. He carries on installing two new light fittings and commences to paint the bedroom walls, whose plaster he had repaired and mended in a few days. The room is cold at night and the heating is ineffective. I suffer from head colds and Bea from migraine. But we are determined to pull these renovations through. Besides time’s up for us, and I cannot make a living any longer, I have no place in a country where education has ceased to be an ongoing urgent issue and ignorance has taken a place in all camps of life’s businesses.

I am concerned to run out of savings that enables me tidying up our property that has become part of a booming fashionable suburb. I have drawn up a master plan within our budgetary constraints enabling us to present be a well attended medium sized property, acceptable and attractive for a modern executive couple. We never thought of the suburb becoming fashionable and in great demand for young people during our stay for close to 20 years. But with the greening of the main street many cafes and restaurants opened. Poets and artists, radio personalities and photographers moved subsequently and restored old Victorian style homes. The trend became big business and a compact country style shopping centre opening just around the corner from our property became the pinnacle of the booming development. Pubs and specialized restaurants opened along the half mile main road in a successful strip development. I congratulated Bea, who had chosen the property in the first place.

I feel that we have just enough energy left for one more move. It will be a bigger one and Bea is less energetic, her nerves are shattered badly, since the armed robbery in our home leaving us broke and intimidated for a long time. The police angered us a being ineffective to cope with hundreds of cases like ours. Of course there are continually worse happenings, we are aware of that, as statistics are depressing. I am trying to keep a positive mind, but Bea is rather negative. Besides I have an urgent drive of bringing our house in order, so I am certain to present it successfully to the property market. Bea assists as good as she can. But she complains a lot.

Don’t be negative, has become a stereotype sentence I use continually. Switching Bea’s mind around is proving to be a mission impossible. Then I could suddenly get through to her. We have to clean up this place, as it’s a store for collections during twenty years. Bea looks at me and I continue.If we do not sort the stuff we wish to keep from the one we have to sell, the black men will take it away. This seemed to have rattled Bea, as her furniture has taken every available spot in the home. Besides that my books clutter the remainder of wall spaces.

We have to get rid of your cane furniture. I challenged her.

You have to rid yourself of books you have collected and never read. Bea is right, but to get rid of books is for me as difficult as for her to give away clothes she hardly wore, besides furniture we never used for years. These are the traces and milestones of our lives’ histories. I gave George the wooden night tables, Bea said and I lauded her.

Well, if he is glad to have them, I do not mind at all. I felt that pondering about moving house, as every aged piece of unkempt furniture becomes a burden. The idea of finally moving has infested our minds with a fever and we work toward that goal that gives us new hope. It dawns like a glimmer on our advanced ages we try to escape from. The Mediterranean Sea has always been a a fountain of youth for us and we intend to make it our permanent home. It is a continuing adventure that’ll never stop, since we undertook the first big move from our homeland: The ship sailing from Trieste to Cape Town and continued to Durban has since vanished and turned into a silver arrow that flies us to the shores of Attika.

2

As Bea’s expectations for our move also hinge on moving to a warmer climate, I am glad that we had previously experienced pleasant and even hot temperatures in Greece. For me one major motivation is to protect our main assets and perhaps have good luck with a small cash business, where I could be part of a pub-style café that sells basic and essential food. Maybe I could do this for years, without a fear of being mugged or held up at gunpoint by criminals roaming about. I heard one story too many about friends, who became victims of crime in Joburg and its suburbs. Having a flexible mind will assist me in forging a lifestyle.

Yet, a strong inner drive has pushed aside all rational reasoning and all I wish to live for is my art. Besides, the art of writing is one side of my existence, as there is the other side of drawing and painting. These two professions have become competing twins that fight constantly for prime position. These exhilarating professions have become deeply engrained in me and the strong current of creativity stemming from their wrangling sweeps me away. Well, I am selfish and a lover of sensual women, I select with a good measure of pure luck, from a bevy of lined-up beauties. From the ones who vie for attention I select some, who might become friends and I call them Muses. They encourage my writing of poetry and prose and install new sparks for intuitive art in me, I fill note and sketchbooks with it. These instant ideas, and the writing from the gut, will aide me as basis for my paintings. I have conceptual instant art that will keep me busy for many more years. Given enough productive time, I will still do them all.

My Greek Muse is someone who stepped from the foam of the sea in the person of Aphrodite, resembling the sculpture of the Knidos’ variation, the callipygian statue, one with the beautiful derriere I fell in love with. In the state of love that is intuitive, passionate, all-consuming, firing desires of the flesh and all’s perfect, even if we all have imperfections, naturally. Ana’s legacy to me is Hana, whose name refers back to my former Muse: H-ana. It’s the eighth letter of the alphabet, following A, the first one and it adds up numerically to the number nine, the day Ana died. Besides Hana’s real name also starts with the ninth letter of the alphabet and these coincidences have been aired by Ana before her death. It might be coincidences, but there are too many to argue about it. I don’t. I accept the signs and thrive on their encrypted meanings. For me all art is encrypted that deals with the innermost consciousness. Life is love and love is art – here is my niche I have detected – I have followed this lifelong philosophy from a very young age.

Hana is the milestone reached at present. My existence is filled by her presence, her warmth, and her loving. I feel pleasantly lapped by her life’s juices embalming my body as we swim together in the Med’s blue sea. These feelings we have detected are genuine, even if they are transferred in virtual life and an exchange of our physical longings. They are as strong as our minds, drawn together like magnets we need to merge physically in this extraordinary love that engulfs us.

I have a feeling Ana has to do with this, Hana said.

Perhaps, It’s not for me to analyze it yet out of fear of destroying the intensity of feelings. I am tuned-in with Hana and there is no force in the world to change this. Like a lemming of love following the horde of my feelings with hope in my heart that my libido keeps up running toward her, but not down the abyss of the ‘Sacred Rock’ yet, where many secret lovers leaped together to their death.

We, the impeded, but passionate lovers want to taste, drink, eat and thrive in physical love like tomorrow never comes, before we give ourselves up to the scissors of fateful Atropos, who’ll cut our threads of life with her golden scissors. I see her wrinkled face, a woman, painted as an disliked, unappealing figure, an old woman with dried-up skin, responsible for ending our physical lives. Is this a job she enjoys? Is it the ultimate act of cutting us off from our world of the living that burns her face and shrivels her body to emaciation, sucking all strength from her? She is in a horrid position for such a job, but I recall the skeleton man, the bone man, death depicted in our culture as the Great Reaper.

I am in love with Hana, even if I push it ahead of me, waiting for the moment of meeting, testing our physical merging with the fire of our feelings, we harbor in our hearts for a whole year already. Will I be attracted to her when I see her, hug her, make love to her? Will my feelings sustain and will we enjoy the fruits of passion that change everything, even our imperfections? I don’t know it yet. All I know is that Hana loves to see me and I love to see all the parts of her body denuded that turn me on for her through her part showing and through her descriptions. She asks me always to see my cock and I masturbate for her without shame, without fear, and naturally as I have never done before for a woman, except when I was a young boy. Hana is turned on by my act that has transformed from autoeroticism to an enticement we share together, as she joins in stroking herself to a height, which in turn gives me satisfaction.

3

George has stripped my kitchen wall. I feared that the badly plastered wall might crack up and come down in a heap of rubble. It held up, but the facebrick, originally part of an external terrace, had not been properly primed and the plaster peeled off like dust, held together by many layers of wallpaper.

You have to plaster the wall entirely, I said to George, who agreed and started preparations. I awaited an estimate of materials from him, he usually told me before each task. I looked at him encouraging him to speak.

I have to cut the new plumbing in first, he replied. Of course I had expected that and fetched my kitchen design I had to complete in a hurry, as I had George only for another week. See? I showed him my design. He looked it over, but I saw his face changing expressions and I explained him what I had envisaged. He nodded as I carried on.

Help me to measure out the plumbing connections. He held the end of the tape, while I made marks with a felt pen onto the raw brickwork. This was a golden opportunity to turn my design into reality and George responded positively. I have a basic kitchen design to unit popular unit sizes, but I will need another quotation for it, which includes an item for installation. However, while George works on the plumbing materials he will need for cold and hot water connections, stopcocks and copper tubing, I will do my own check on material lengths and types checking with the local builders supply store.

I am under pressure. Every morning at 5 am, the alarm sounds. I get up, shower, and while Bea moves the linen, pillars and covers to the spare room, I prepare coffee. We eat some dry bread dunked into the dark brew, move the beds and to lean vertically close to the back wall, so George can access the master bedroom to attend to cracked floor tiles and bad plasterwork. There are plug covers to be changed for uniformity and two new ceiling mounted light fittings to be installed. George has stuck to a satisfactory working rhythm and the renovations are in full swing. I have decided with Bob the builder to order new kitchen units from his trusted manufacturer and have ordered a new sink, stove, and a ventilation hood above the electrical hob unit from a discount shop to match.

These tiles are loose. George points to the floor tiles that give off a hollow sound as he taps them with a broom.

Yes George, please remove them carefully. He has it off in a jiffy, and replaces the ivory coloured tiles from a heap left in the garage; I have kept since the first tiling efforts to our home. The colour scheme to our home is kept in shades of white and pastel colours. As the lounge walls have been recently painted in a light caramel colour, we will carry this tone through every room, but the ceilings we leave brilliant white. This way we created an impression of greater spaciousness. I have a walk through our rooms, checking for spots where plaster work has to be repaired. Bea retires to the guest room, while I amble down to my study to meet Hana online. However, I am at call and have to answer ongoing queries from George and attend to calls from clients. I am committed to my architectural work and provide good service to them. Yet, just as I have started to renovate our home, more clients phone in asking for a quotation to renovate as well. I feel stressed. Hana is the angel out of the magical blue of the Internet’s sky and when I face her smiling at me, I forget the stressful existence of my present life.

The two weeks passed like a fast train speeding through the plains of the African lands that lie to the east of the city. I pay George the wage on Friday and drive him to the taxi ranks in Randburg. We chat about the demonstrations at his township.

It’s at Extension No.1, he said referring to a part on the edge of his suburbia and relates to continued unrest in the informal settlements the government tries to eradicate.

He rushes off to catch the next available mini bus for the hourly ride to Diepkloof. In spite of trouble there, I am glad that George is not involved in destructive demonstrations, which are at boiling point in the squatter settlements nearby, makeshift huts of thrown away tin and cardboards. The protestors will not move from the land they chose to occupy illegally, although the government has offered them alternative land to be apportioned in an orderly way. There are some examples of successful establishments, but basic services lack behind.

It’s Saturday morning and I cannot sleep. At four in the morning I wake hugging Hana. I cannot have her yet even If I imagine her clasping my erection. Immediately my thoughts turn to George, as he is prepared to work Saturdays too. My sexual stirrings dampened, I have to fetch him from the taxi center, explain the task for the day and then pass the builder’s hardware to buy some materials for George. On top of it all I have to see a new client and listen to her ideas for alterations and additions to her domicile, not to mention another alteration with a tricky roof conversion. It seems all difficult refurbishments come my way as I have a good record. But I also know who is behind these jobs that are technically tricky.

The supervision at Wonder Gardens has run into difficulties with the acting builder on site. He suddenly fell out with a member of the Body Corporate. I will hear more about that at our weekly site meeting. I have offered George to do for me a decorative wall cladding at another building site, but the builder responsible backed out on the overall job. However, I notice more interest of clients asking me about interior work and an artistic input. When I draw up a quotation for them, most of them draw back. So there is no immediate work for George there, besides he is Bob’s man and would have to ask him for permission to work with him on other jobs. I am not keen to set-up a business at a time when I wish to leave in a year’s time. I wonder what happens to my life. A Russian geologist wishes to visit Joburg and asks me for help. Who is she? She is prepared to translate my second novel from English into Russian. Well, if it’s not just an empty promise, what a great breakthrough that could be. I have to think of I. Ritsos, who became successful with poetry and finally a Lenin Price laureate. Elena, the Russian woman believes in the forces of the universe. They help us or destroy us, she messages me. This all seems to me insane, hope is the only thing that keeps us going. Hope is the motor for all our actions.

4

I wake in a shock of constant coughing that zaps my energy and drains my strength. I feel Hana’s fingers all over me, as she has projected her desire to encapsulate me every night. I see the white winged horse with flaring nostrils and his powerful front leg scrapes the cold Gauteng air. He is impatient for her riding him back into the warm air of Athens, while we still creep below many layers of cotton and woolen covers. Our bodies, heated by love, burn the cold and radiate the room. Love not only heals wounds inflicted in life’s battles, but it is the best oven I ever could imagine.

I doff the crimson red shawl Ana gave me as a present. I usually keep it close by as something of her, as if I would sense a whiff of her body scent wrapping it around my neck. Love with Hana filters peace of mind throughout my body, I knew only with Ana before. She is always present as the ménage-a-trois spirit, its still participant, the one who introduced me to pure lust and pleasure, the one who kicked off a renewal of my neglected poetry interest with a great deal of vigour.

Are you feeling lustful today, Hana mou? I said softly stroking her neck and kissing her cheeks, my hand brushes against her breast and she presses against me. My finger slides across her lips and I feel them responding with a quiver. My lips move slowly to hers. The first gentle touch send quivers along my spine and enhances my erection, Hana appreciates with pressing her thighs against mine. As we kiss deeper, our tongues wet our faces and entangle in lust with fuller kissing and mutual licking that marks a trail along our bodies of how we desire to merge. The moment we are sliding down on each other to taste the sweet wine of our bodies, the moment in this up and down lie, when my lips and tongue play on her pussy and her lips fold around my hard crown, the fire of desire leaps to my chest and burns my nipples. I taste Hana’s hard knobs, strawberries she offers for me to feast upon. I will bring Hana to her first height and I will not follow until she is completely satisfied, for the first two times of cries in sweet climaxes.

In a sensual ride upon her breasts first with my penis sliding between them and across her nipples, I wish to possess her body’s mountainous voluptuousness continuing to her lips for tasting me and for a gentle in and out enjoying her warm tongue around my crown. It’s a great warm up of actions that come to me like poetic words or an erotic drawing. I slide down on her to feast on her thighs and play at her pussy eating her up some more. She’s wet and juicy and keen to do it together at the same time: A 69? Well, we both love it having clicked together into a position of comfort and great sexiness that’ll turn this fire of lust into its roaring furnace.

Hana makes me so hard, I feel pain in getting off, but whatever happens with my delaying the point of no return as long as possible, it’ll be worth it. Extending this lovemaking to its sacred innerness, some call tantric and others call pure lust, is a quality that I have cultured through tantric exercises. Whatever one will call it, as it’ll come to its triad completion only with patience and with giving all. The French call it ‘Le petite mort’, and it’s indeed like a little death. Like dying? Is death love? It must be a blessing to die in peace, without pain and suffering, just like turning a light off with a dimmer switch. I recall Ana burning up, unable to eat or digest, she drifted into coma, her brother told me, tears running down his cheeks. My tears came to wash me completely, all over my body, when I received the message of her death ten days later. I could not stop my sobbing, my sudden burst of pent-up emotions. It was the first time I cried like this from deep seated inner pain. The wounds of loss stayed with me and I felt betrayed by fate robbing us of love that we could have still enjoyed together. SHIT! Ana cried out with anger one day, when she became aware of her terminating illness. The writing’s on the wall, the dreaded message of doom, she murmured with an ashen face. Zen, we have only one physical life. I nodded, but I could not believe it back then.

Hana came, wounded and scarred herself, she met me like an Amazon on the battlefield of life, where we fused immediately, as if this sudden relief of making love seared our body’s gashes and our pains evaporated like a morning’s mist: A one of lovemaking perhaps? But it kept going and stayed with us. This feeling of sensuality that goes deeper, penetrates the skin, sets the flesh alight and rouses the best of feelings. I am lucky, she said and smiled. Hana has the most warm and sexy smile I ever saw since Ana’s death, when withdrew leading the life of a hermit, praying in front of her picture and writing those words down into my journal every day, religiously. Ora et labora became for me the way out in remembering a love that had been pure and intense. But as I talked to Ana’s spirit, I sensed deep inside that she never intended to turn me into a complete idiotic man, who venerates her like a Madonna in a church, falls on his knees and prays to continue a love that is autoerotic and will lead to Orphism.

I could feel the release of Ana’s sexual powers the moment I made love to Hana. It happened intuitively, wanted by both of us fulfilling our wishes and with blessings by my former Muse. Hana loved Ana too, being close to her from the way I described her and what she had meant to me. It seemed that at that moment Ana joined us in our lovemaking inducing a triad happiness she initiated herewith, as she initiated me once into the ranks of poets. It is a journey in love as it is on a cruise boat, on an airplane, in a car, on a bus, or with a train. Along the way many things might happen, be it physical or through a consciousness level, or if we are lucky we might meet somebody we like as well, or are attracted to. The heart will gauge the acceptance level and the consent of the partners will show the intensity of love, the commitment of purity, the intensity of lust necessary to keep the love match going or fading out. I feel Hana’s sensuality to keep me aroused at our meetings, as we have synced libidos for same levels of lust and desire.

This unusual state of erotic interplay lasted for nine months, besides it had started with Ana’s fourth year anniversary of her terrible death. In this fifth year I will meet Hana physically and knowing deep inside that she will be present, she will complement our lovemaking. It’ll be like a symposium and I feel it in my belly that we will enjoy it to the hilt of life that is still pulsing in us.

5

My persistent cough has kept me awake. During the early night I sank into deep sleep, but at 4 in the morning the wheezing started and my lungs feel congested. I get up to boil some water, remove the pot from the stove and place a few drops of eucalyptus oil into the steaming pot. Placing a towel over my head, I inhale the scented vapour. It burns me at first in my mouth and throat and I have to adjust my distance further from the surface of the pot. In time the inhalation releases some flam that has clung like glue to my lungs, but I dislike the allergic cough. It upsets my stomach as it bloats up and causes a loss of appetite. I think of frog’s bellies.

This morning there is a swooshing sound in our bedroom and it drives me nuts. B pulls the covers over her head to reduce the whistling sound. I check on the cause and find that it is not the water pipe for incoming cold water that runs partially through the bedroom wall, but the new bathroom tap that George has previously found to be faulty. Water rivulets run along it and I have to empty the plastic beaker below the installation. I am trying to screw the stopcock close, but it’s also faulty. I recall Jan mentioning a pressure reducing valve at a point of the coldwater supply pipe entering our property. I have learned my lesson the hard way. First, I close the stopcock, which controls the water inflow outside the house, and immediately compose an SMS message to Jan for a quotation to do the work. My next step is to disconnect the faulty tap in the bathroom and return it to the builders’ warehouse.

I have to investigate a proper way of installing a pressure reducing valve. It is difficult to maintain a reasonable standard in a one hundred year old house and I am afraid it’ll cost me finally an arm and a leg to complete the works to acceptable building standards. However, I still hope to emerge from this mess without losing my pants as well.

There is no reason yet for a depression, as the two clients who wish to have their existing homes renovated, are in a hurry, meaning that I will have additional income. Yet our own home renovation will be done slower and that concerns me with problems of finding artisans who are flexible enough. I did not feel chirpy this Monday morning at five am, when the night fades in its last phase before daybreak. It’s cold and city life has not yet stirred entirely. In an hour’s time first waves of noises, from starting cars and people commuting to work, will up everybody. I had to close my incoming water after filling a bucket for immediate use. I noticed that the tap outside had not the slightest leak. This water supply system is a strange arrangement and I have to get to the bottom of it.

An airplane hums with jet noise across our property and then growls with distant thunder. Soon the flow of cars on the motorway, a few miles to the south, will create the usual varied humming. In the stillness before daybreak the wintry skies will remain dark until seven o’clock. My pedantic neighbor will start his diesel 4x4 at six am. I will continue my drawing for the two re-roofing projects that are my bread and butter jobs. The humming of the noisy water pipe, whose elbow connection is in the corner of our bedroom, has put Bea to sleep again. However I am wide awake collecting my glasses thinking of the work to be done, while in my mind I have resolved the building problems that lie ahead.

6

Yesterday evening my software allowing my Nokia phone connection has stopped working properly. It might be due to the use of two different windows programs on the desktop and the laptop. I sorted photographs I wanted to transfer to the mobile phone. Some worked and others did not, as e-life has become complex and there are only a few people at the phone shop available who have all the answers. Usually only bits and pieces of information are aired by the present staff, the people in the know are summoned on demand.

I found Hana’s photos from the day she attended a wedding, dressed up for the occasion, simple but chic. A pretty looking woman with a warm smile and soulful eyes, the one surfacing from the e-world’s Milky Way to greet me and with her positive reaction to my emotional state. I found Hana to be as needy for sexual love, as I have been since years. Is it an accident? The combination of sexual sensuality and a soul longing for love is a rare occasion. Besides backed by maturity it is certainly treasured by me. This is what I have been looking for: An unbridled expression of feelings and a showing of unabashed emotions between mature and experienced partners. Love grows in this instance from a deep sexual need and as long as our libidos are intact it’s a heavenly feast, more of a god-sent gift that endures most difficulties in our present existence. For as an artist, it is a striving for success. My inner calling has gained increased strength since I have met Hana. She has become a soulmate, a model for my drawings, a lover and a confidante. Besides she believes in my art work and she translates my writings into Greek encouraging my talents.

All we do is out of love, Ana once said and it has become true for me. That I fell in love with Hana is coincidental with my desire of moving to Greece, It’s also what Bea wants and we have started to realize our dream. I have spent months in Greece with Bea’s and Ana’s generous help in finding a connection to my Greek Muse of the arts. My connection to poetry and mythology felt at times euphoric with pursuit of rising to a higher level. Bea commented that it’ll suit our lifestyles. Yet at present it’s Hana’s help that brings me back with renewed vigour to Attica’s shores. It’s a calling for love, the walk along Iera Odos to find personal answers through visits to Eleusis. I have partnered up with Hana, who appreciates the fulfillment of my dreams; she is prepared sharing with me. Besides she is intelligent and open-minded and an ideal partner in this triangle of love, where she is the sexual partner. Love’s unpredictable, like seeds of good luck, blown about by the wind of fortune. The plant will grow wherever its seed has fallen.

7

Hana is occupied with her visitors and she is in turn invited to weddings in Athens and on Corfu Island. I recall having bought a book about Corfu Island, due to the Achilleon of Austrian Empress Elisabeth, affectionately called Sissy. It’s a jewel of Classicistic architecture, a love song for the styles and culture of Greece.

Hana is turned on whenever she appears having pinched time off her daily chores. At times she opens her webcam and leaves it active for me, to see the shadow of her husband floating around, whenever she opens her laptop. Through this window for communication that her mind escapes through, I watch the movements of her lips and light and dark reflections in her eyes. I can sense the build-up of sexual tension, as we continue to turn each other on. This window of escape from a hackneyed life, has brought us closer, and has given us the pleasure of extensive talking, touching and kissing. Hana kisses passionately and her feelings are transported to me immediately. Their intensity arouses me and her wish to see me naked makes me stripping for her.

In this exhibitionistic atmosphere I will show her my lust through masturbation that entices her to join me acting out her own she cannot show to me completely. Fear of being detected by her suspicious spouse, she sits on the edge of her chair in her bathrobe or casual clothes. She envies my greater freedom, but I have a notion that her fear of being detected in the act tastes like forbidden fruit and renders her excitement to greater heights of pleasure. It has been for a long time on our minds to meet in real life and live physically through all imagined scenes of lovemaking we have described to each other. In this 21 century of open minds without bars on the exchanges of sexual imaginations, lovers and potential lovers find themselves matching partners with incredible speed using directness.

Hana prices herself lucky and I tell her that it’s more, as there has to be a greater purpose behind our magical attraction. Despite our imperfections, which do not show on a webcam that much and are left in the background of a clouded censor-mind, we do project solely our feelings for each other. As such, Hana has become hooked on my nakedness desiring to view my hard cock from close range, she caresses and strokes orally until through a mutual signal I let go and come for her. At times the pent up intensity is great and I cannot control my ejaculation for too long, but she moans and acts in gestures and words to lick me dry completely and that gives me an extra sweet kick. Her body flow will entice me in turn to love her orally and I describe it to her. This turns her on in short time and she climaxes without any force, calling us two natural children of the goddess of love, Hana comparing me to Eros.

I love Hana’s full breasts, perhaps a strain of my fetish exciting me, as I wish playing with them at all times. She embodies for me a mature Aphrodite with an earth mother’s voluptuous top, handed down to me from primeval mounds. The eternal Venus fertility symbol, callipygian Aphrodite, part of Greece’s erotic culture. These erotic notions are accompanied by the shadow of fear that I will lose my libido for her and that all these exchanges of immense sexual feelings will suddenly turn to hot air when I’ll meet her face to face. However, every time I meet Hana online and if she is in a position to switch on her webcam, I desire to be with her physically. She venerates my penis and I bury my heated crown in the soft flesh of her full breasts stroking it across her nipple’s strawberries. I thrive in this sexual love and I have no care in the world to even try explaining it. There’s no need for as everybody desires love and be loved.

Hana and I have clicked sexually at a time of ripeness through serendipity, which made us share fantasies of sexual gratification through our desires. We have opened them wide up for the other partner to take, to enjoy, and to feel completely. Indeed, it all felt highly excitable and our meetings generated great lust. Hana has felt that I have projected to her my mission, to detect love’s myriad of nuances, and we have begun just to do that together. Being consenting partners, we have started on this grand adventure that had its seed planted in my times with Ana, with a great reawakening gusto for sharing all our feelings along its winding way.

8

George busies himself in our bathroom. He calls me as he installs the new bathroom taps. Your tap is leaking,

Damned!

You can change it, he sounds disappointed. I prepare

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