At Times My Women Reflect Sadness

Yesterday was not a particularly happy day with the women in Martyland.

  1. I had one of my favorites return home far from my time zone. I enjoyed her being near.
  2. I said a sad, but firm goodbye to another. It was time.
  3. I was less then utterly kind with one. That patience thing.
  4. One of my loves was distraught due to a family member’s sickness.
  5. A woman I treasure has her own serious health issues. Though she will be fine, I lament her illness.
  6. Another favorite had a parent pass.

A time for reflection.

 

I Can Remember Istanbul

Turkey (and Istanbul) have been often seen in the news of late. Each mention brings back some strong memories for me. Memories that had been, if not forgotten, deeply archived.

The hitchhiking had been poor from Plovdiv toward the Bulgarian-Turkish border. Not a lot of non-commercial traffic back in those days. But finally, a Turkish couple with relatives in the Plovdiv area had given us a lift through to the border, and just to the other side. They turned for home near Edirne which is not far in from the Turkish frontier. It was late afternoon and for some reason the day had been tiring for us. We decided to pitch our pup tent in an empty field off the road.

It was quite chilly when in the morning we awoke. It was unseasonably cold for an early October morning, with frost on the ground all around us. A quick breakfast of boiled eggs and cups of Nescafé heated on our mini camping gaz stove warmed us quickly.

We expertly packed things up, and not long after beginning, a trucker picked us up and took us right into the beginnings of Istanbul. The trucker’s English was surprisingly good, and his truck a new Mack, so different from the usual Scanias, Mercedes, MANs and DAFs on the road. He explained to us what a dolmus was, how, and which one to take to get us into the heart of Istanbul on the European side.

The hustle and bustle of old Istanbul was, at first impression to our untrained eyes, a cross between Moroccan cities and older European centers. Dirty, noisy, chaotic, exotic, yet organized well enough to permit large crowds of traffic and people to get on with their business.

This was the time of Billy Hayes and Midnight Express, where hashish was everywhere, and Istanbul-Constantinople was, as it had always been, the crossroads between East and West.  It seemed that the majority of travelers were youth like ourselves, on the overland route to Nepal, perhaps India, or even Australia. In Istanbul North Americans and Europeans on their way East would meet up with Aussies and Kiwis coming overland from down under. Notes were shared, advice given, and road stories exchanged, often at The Pudding Shop with its infamous bulletin board. The overland route went through Turkey, Iran, and then through Afghanistan and Pakistan to India. While we primarily hitchhiked, the Magic Bus was a popular and easy way to travel, with a major stop in Istanbul, although it cost much more money than we had, plus we had no definitive destination in mind. We went where we thought the wind was taking us.

Soon enough we settled into a dirt cheap hotel, as at that time we were living on less than than $5 a day for both of us. Though cheap and far from cheerful, the hotel was close to all the action and we could see the Hagia Sophia from our window.  It was early afternoon and despite the gloomy surroundings of the room, we both heaved a sigh of relief as we dropped our gear and flopped onto the low rising bed. As I turned to her, I could see that familiar twinkle arise in her hauntingly beautiful hazel eyes.

“Stand up” I said. She rose to her feet beside the bed.

“Strip!” I lovingly commanded.

She bent over and unlaced her boots. Pried each one off with the opposite foot while she steadied herself with a hand on the nearby wall. Then removed her socks. I saw a wry smile come across her thin lips as she undid her belt and slowly lowered her jeans. She began to unbutton her blue denim work shirt …

“No … now the panties,” I said.

The smile grew wider as she slipped off her dingy-colored panties. I reached over and undid the bottom two buttons of her shirt so I could see the landing strip of her crotch. It was my turn to smile. I put one hand on her ass cheek and moved her toward me. As I raised myself on one elbow at the edge of the bed, her pussy was exactly at face level.  I eased my tongue along her slit and heard her sigh as her knees buckled just oh so slightly as I softly continued my leche.

“Now the rest.” I whispered as I raised my head back up.

She backed up a step and unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. She dropped it to the floor. Then she reached behind and unclasped her bra, releasing her 38Cs from their clothed prison. I took all of her in. In great gulps of soothing visual hydration. My heart stopped in awe.

I rose from the bed and kissed her tenderly. I moved behind her and gently pushed on her back to position her over the bed. As she stood, legs apart, slightly trembling, I removed my own boots and socks, unbuckled my belt and dropped my jeans and underwear to the floor. As I slowly began to fuck her I could hear myself beginning a growl. In tune, she began to moan as each stroke went in deeper, each thrust a little firmer.

“Shush” I breathed as I deliberately upped my pace. I wanted to make it as challenging as possible for her to keep quiet. But the walls were paper thin, and there had been movement in the hall just a few minutes before, so clearly others would hear unless we were careful.

While she continued to moan, her body began trembling and I knew she was oh so close. I reached around, and lifting her head I put my hand across her mouth to muffle her cries. Her eyes were wide as she sobbed into my hand and her torso shook with the impact of her orgasm. I gently eased her head back onto the bed and continued with my thrusting, so very close now myself. With gritted teeth in an attempt to hold down my own noise I emptied into her.

We stayed still for a moment … freed from the frenzy but forever caught in the connection.

Then we laid down above the covers of the bed, me with my shirt still on.

After 15 or 20 minutes we began to stir. We were hungry. And we wanted to explore a little while there was still light.

 

Remembering How To Count – ONE

ali1-sized[1]He was 21. He had met her on day one that he was on the island. But she wasn’t the first woman he dated there. In fact, she was the fourth.  Yes he had met her shortly after his arrival. She was more than pretty enough, and had a body straight out of Hollywood casting with those dazzling breasts and her long, strong muscular legs that an Olympic high jumper would covet. And her eyes were hazel hued, so tantalizing. But he had also met the cutie from North Carolina. And North Carolina was more his usual type, fairly short with shoulder length dark hair. One’s hair was cut short, too short for his liking, just below her ear. And North Carolina’s accent! Who wouldn’t fall off his chair watching a girl that looked like North Carolina, with every word out of her mouth dripping honeyed tones that reverberated like raw lust in the ears.

But in less than a month North Carolina had to go home. The Brat Girl fell into his lap next. It wasn’t too long until she grated him enough that he actually traded her for a roommate’s girl. That lasted a couple of weeks.

All this time One hovered. Not front and center, but peripherally. Around. Part of the group, but clearly her mind was set on him. It wasn’t that long until he knew it.

One wasn’t the first woman who seriously pursued him; 2 years prior he had had significant relationships with two older women. But she was the first younger woman who had wanted him badly … so badly he could see it now in every sinew of her legend-making figure. Her hunger. It was strange … to see it in her … the just below the surface craving … a girl … no, a young gorgeous woman … but still. He could almost smell it. She was making him want to taste it.

He just knew, if he wanted, he would be the first to fuck this 19-year old filly. She was prepared to give it to him. Surrender the cherished virginity she famously flaunted. And a young filly she was.  That slight, tiny awkwardness when she walked … but with all the hints of the gracefulness that was soon to come, stealing your breath like the young Ali McGraw with her movements. One was the first to have that kind of effect on him.

The sex would become extraordinary. One was the first he could teach and show what he knew. And she learned quickly. And well.

And he learned, as well. He learned how to share his soul. For the first time.

He began, too, to learn how to fully appreciate a woman. To drink in and completely immerse himself in all her gifts. How to recognize the starlight in all her features. The beauty in her whole, physical, intellectual, and emotional. One taught him that.

He would use those skills when Five came along.

I Once Knew A Golden Girl

I once knew one. One of those women. Beautiful. Intelligent. Talented. The kind of woman easy to fall for. Built. Stunning to look at.

Like most of us, she had insecurities. But rather than controlling her insecurities, she let them control her.

She could never deal with her fears and insecurities. It was not in the cards for her to overcome them. All she could do was run. I could never do enough to help her change. I failed. Miserably.

One day she just disappeared. I guess she ran away.

I never saw her again.

 

When It’s Easy

Some say I’m complicated. Others think I’m pretty basic. The reality, naturally, is it depends.

I adapt to what is required. Or is inspired.

Last week SBW, the queen of vids, sent me a very short video.

Wearing only matching black bra and thong, her large blue-grey eyes looked directly at me. The cleavage tantalized.

With a quick movement to push a wayward golden lock behind her ear, she smiled to me.

Tilting her beautiful visage she said only,

“Love you Baby. Have a great night.”

7 words … 6 seconds to completely make my evening.

It’s easy.

 

Contact Info (5) … Looking For The Past

Past-Street-Sign-Featured[1]This is a followup to my post about receiving the contact info of a very long ago girlfriend, Amy. You can read the first post here , the second can be found here , the third is located here, and the most recent is right here.

I stopped in my tracks and opened my arms. Amy slid between them, and reached up and hugged me … hard … like she had always done those so many years ago. I held her close. Then kissed her cheek. At last!

I’m fairly tall. And Amy is very short, but solid. Nothing had changed over the years. As a teenager and young woman, her dark hair had been long down her back. Now, still dark as promised, it extended only to her shoulders. She hugged me tightly.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Marty.”

“Amy, you look great!” I replied.

“Oh Marty! So do you.”

“Come, let’s get a drink,” I said.

We strolled into the bar, and the hostess found us a table near the tall windows. Amy ordered white wine and I chose a beer. We just looked at each other for a few minutes, both smiling. Amy rested her head on my shoulder.

“Where do we begin?” Amy asked.

“How about when we last saw each other?” (I had asked her in an email if she remembered that. Sadly, she did not).

I said “It may be you won’t want to remember. I was staying at Paul and Mary’s when you and Tom came over.” Paul and Mary were married friends of ours who lived close to where Amy was living at the time. Tom would become Amy’s first husband.

“Oh,” she said. “I tend to block out anything to do with that time with Tom”. She had married Tom, but that had ended in a very adversarial divorce not too many years later.

Then she told me how she had been the “other woman” for 13 years to her next door neighbor in the little town she then lived in. This fascinated me because, when I knew her, she was anything but the radical. Fairly prim and proper. I admitted to being very surprised.

Eventually she married that man and they’re still together. But he has serious illnesses. She then told me of their dream property they had bought, and invested heavily in with some overseas contacts. How the contacts had cheated them, and now she and her husband had lost everything. They had no financial security, no retirement savings. And a devastating fire a year ago had eliminated most of their remaining personal assets.

I looked into her green eyes that so sparkled those many years ago. Maybe it was the dimness of the light … but I saw no sparkle. Still, she smiled weakly and invoked the Buddha.

“Life is difficult. When we accept that life is difficult, it becomes less so.”

I looked at her and could tell that truthfully there was no sadness, but neither was there much joy. I held her hands as she opened up more about her life, and what she felt she was missing. We chatted a bit about old friends. She was surprised at how many I was in contact with still.  She regretted not keeping up.

She started to get excited as she said ” … and I’m going to touch base with Andy and catch up on all the things he has been up to over the years. I heard how well he had done in business. We were so close for so long!”

Andy, our age, had been a neighbor of hers growing up. They were always in the same class all through school, and had been the closest of friends.

“I’m sorry, Amy. Andy died 4 years ago. From cancer.”

I watched the tears quickly rise in her green orbs, then overflow, and creep ever slowly then to crawl downward in rivers on both sides of her still stunning face.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “It’s all too late now.”

I changed the conversation and talked about about some of the activities I’m involved in. Amy surprised me … she confessed she periodically googles my name, and was even aware of my Twitter account. I was shocked.

“But you never contacted me?”

“No,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t know why not. I should have.”

We reminisced some more, and she made me laugh.

“Oh Marty! I so love your smile. I’m so happy to see that hasn’t changed.”

It was my turn to be sheepish.

Then she said, “I know I was so shallow as a teenager. I was all about being popular.”

“Yes, Amy you were very popular. I was so timid, despite being so crazy about you, I could never take that next step. And all teenagers are shallow, that’s what a teenager does.”

“No, you were never shallow, Marty. I always admired that in you.”

I’m sure I smiled to that. And I wondered if she knew how much I appreciated that little compliment.

We talked on. For 3 more hours and a few additional drinks. Nothing was awkward. Nothing was sacred. It felt so comfortable. Close, touching.

Yet something was not right. Not as I would have expected. I was feeling a little confused. Confused with myself.

Where was the fire in my loins for Amy? Was there even a spark? The Marty, who is so used to his thoughts of lust around attractive women was missing. But yes, there was a spark. And I could feel an eagerness in return from Amy. I’m certain I could have had her. Or at least gone to her room for a nightcap.  And then seen what would have happened.

But I didn’t. I didn’t feel the need. The wont was absent.  As the clock approached midnite I begged off, mentioning that I had a morning out of town appointment the next day which required my early rising.  Clearly disappointed, Amy said he understood. We clasped hands and she kissed my cheek.

After the tab was paid, we inched our way back to the front desk and then a final embrace.

And promised to stay in touch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contact Info (4) … It All Comes Together

This is a followup to my post about receiving the contact info of a very long ago girlfriend, Amy. You can read the first post here , the second can be found here and the third located here.

Amy and I arrange to meet at her hotel …

We exchanged several emails back and forth while she made her way towards my town on the train. Mostly some quick catch up on the missing 40 years since we had seen each other. She asked who I was still in contact with from our high school days, and she was amazed at the list.

“I have tremendous regret for losing touch with all the amazing friends I had then.  Huge mistake,” was her response. In essence, she had walled herself off from her past for these many decades.

I asked her if she remembered the last time we were in each other’s presence. Amy confessed she did not. Now that was a bit crushing, since I remember it so vividly.

“When was it?” Amy asked me.

“I’ll tell you about it when I see you,” I said.

We laughed back and forth wondering how well we’d recognize each other. She claimed to really have no grey hair yet. Even she was surprised. I chuckled and told her I was now “arctic blonde.”

“My train is arriving!” Amy wrote back. “I’ll be out of communication for a while. I have to check into the hotel and then head right out for my gathering.”

With that, I got back to work. Soon enough it was time for me to leave for my evening appointment.

It would be far from incorrect to say I didn’t obsess about meeting Amy in the past. I had wanted to see her again for so many years. Those so many decades ago when I was wandering, I had often thought of her nonstop. And as she reminded me, I had written her many letters. And now we would see each other.  Strangely, I was already feeling a little “let down”. Let down, because I was disappointed in my lack of overwhelming enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong with me?” I wondered. “Why am I not over the moon right now?”  I bewildered myself. Why was I not nervous at all? Sure, I was looking forward to this. But damn I was being calm!

Pretty much on schedule, my activity was done … Hi there. I’m just finishing up. What’s up with you? … I texted.

… I’m all done – a very few people left here. I’ll head to the bar in a few minutes. What works for you? … she texted back.

… I’ll be there in 15 or 20 minutes. Meet you in the bar? … I responded.

… Sounds good …

15 minutes later I was at the hotel’s front door.  The bar was on the immediate right. I headed in.  I searched all the faces in the bar. Clearly, Amy wasn’t there  … or did I just not recognize her? No, she wasn’t there.

I exited the room and headed toward the front desk. Maybe there was another bar? Then, as I strode around the corner, there she was! She saw me the same instant I saw her. She ran towards me.

I stopped in my tracks and opened my arms. Amy slid between them, and reached up and hugged me … hard … like she had always done those so many years ago. I held her close. Then kissed her cheek. At last!

To be continued …

 

 

 

 

Contact Info (3) … Message from the Universe

This is a followup to my post about receiving the contact info of a very long ago girlfriend, Amy. You can read the first post here and the second is here

Then I relaxed a bit. And wondered how long I would wait for a response. If even there would be one.

After I sent the email, I went back about my tasks, and didn’t really think much more about Amy.  Well, that’s a small fib. She did cross my mind, and I was curious what she would think when she read my note. And how long it would take her to answer, if she did.

14 minutes later, this arrived

“Holy smoke!  Huge flashbacks!!
I could never forget you, Marty!!”

Ah, well that was quick! And dare I say, somewhat positive at least. I read further …

“This is awesome because I was recently going through a box from long ago and I found old letters from you when you were in Europe.  I was back to that time in an instant!  Such fond memories of you.”

Whoa! Hold on here. She has letters from me from this time when I was traveling? And she recently reread them? Isn’t that something! These “letters” would actually be aerograms. I know most of you won’t know what these were, but think of the flimsiest  paper imaginable (to save on air transportation costs), colored a light blue, and prestamped. As I recall there were 4 sides you could write your “letter” on, then they would be folded up, a tab licked and sealed. She still has these flimsy pieces of paper from over 4 decades ago? This is becoming very interesting.

“Right now I’m sitting in the train station heading to a conference. I’ll email you later this evening when I’m finished with the stuff I have to do.  We’ll catch up.  Is that OK?”

My mind went numb. I have eliminated from her  words the town where her conference would be happening. That’s because it’s MY town! Amy is ready to board a train headed for where I live. But she doesn’t know that because in my emails I have not mentioned where I reside.

I swallowed hard. Now I’m excited. And very unsettled. Because this is now at a place where I have no control. And that makes me uncomfortable. We exchange several more emails. I tell her my location, and that coincidentally I too have an event to attend this evening downtown. Less than 5 minutes from Amy’s hotel. And I shall be finishing about the same time as her initial gathering will break up.

Ponder this for a moment faithful Reader. Amy is one of those “who got away”. A girl who occupied my thoughts fairly significantly until I met Kate. A girl I last saw on a date perhaps 45+ years ago and whom I hadn’t seen and heard from in 40 years. Who recently had a chance meeting with one of my best friends in an emergency ward in a rural hospital, and gave him her contact info. Who on the day I decide to write her is boarding a train to my town and will arrive in several hours. Where our evening schedules overlap not 5 minutes apart.

I feel helpless. There are no choices to make here. Only instructions from some invisible force to follow.

Amy and I arrange to meet at her hotel …

Contact Info (2) … Should I?

This is a followup to my post about receiving the contact info of a very long ago girlfriend, Amy. You can read the first post here.

You knew, of course, thoughtful Reader that I would contact her. But how would I open it? We are talking 4 decades since any type of contact.  Rachel asked in the last post if I had tried to find her on Facebook. I had, of course, many years ago. Google searches in the past revealed a bit of her professional life, but nothing significant on a personal level.

And let’s remember, she had never tried to contact me, and my online profile while not outlandlishly extensive, is not hidden either.  So she obviously had never felt the need to initiate any sort of contact.

I stared at the sheet with all the contact information.

I thought.

I tried to be logical.

Did I WANT to contact her?

Yes.

What was I expecting in response?

Unknown. At minimum a friendly “hello” and perhaps a brief email catching up after all these years. At maximum? BIG unknown. I’d just go with the flow.

What if she doesn’t answer?

Well, that would be an answer, wouldn’t it?

If I heard nothing back within a week or 10 days, would I try again?

No!

I started writing the email. The first line was extremely lame.

“Hello Amy! Perhaps you might remember me. But then again, perhaps not.”

Lame in so many ways … most glaringly in the fact that I knew full well she would remember me.  But I hoped she would take it in the vein it was intended … jocularly.

The rest of the email was rather nondescript … mentioning that her contact info had been given me by my friend who encountered her by chance in a hospital emergency ward. And I hoped the years had been kind.

I sent it off.

Then I relaxed a bit. And wondered how long I would wait for a response. If even there would be one.

 

 

 

Contact Info

I’ve been staring at it for 10 days. Off and on. And not every day. But sometimes for an unusually long time. The paper sits mixed among the scattered piles of paper on my (to the untrained eye) very messy desk.  Right there underneath a recent P&L statement I was looking at, next to an outline of a project I am grappling with, and shielding me from some invoices I need to pay.

When I first saw it, I recognized the penmanship of course, even though I haven’t seen it in almost 50 years. Neat, tight, and clear, as I imagine it always has been. Name (including nickname back then) in block letters. Home telephone number. Mobile number. Email address with a ” * ” beside it. Then another email contact point. Finally, a long rural home address printed neatly in block letters.

“It” was given to me by one of my closest friends after we had said our final goodbyes to another. He filled me in on the chance encounter. They both had been in the emergency department of a rural hospital, and despite the travails causing each of them to be there, the serendipity of their crossing paths didn’t escape them. Our home town was hundreds of miles away and eons in the past.

I was so different then. I often chuckle at the innocence and most surprisingly at the timidity I exhibited as a teenager. I know we all mature and grow, but we do so in various ways and to different degrees.  There is much of me that is vastly different to when I was 17. I’m certain we all can say that, of course,

We dated. Quite a bit. But Amy was one of the most popular girls in her year. Beautiful and tiny. Long dark hair down her back, with sparkling green eyes. She and her two siblings were near-certified geniuses, too. She had a long line of suitors from not only our school, but several other schools throughout the city. All better looking than me I felt, most more athletic. She liked me, of course. Heck she wouldn’t have spent so much time with me, given all her choices, if she didn’t. But I wasn’t confident enough then to push and pursue.  And I dated several others, too. We saw each other a few times while we attended different colleges, 500 miles apart. But that never works and it didn’t.

I’m still staring. What will I do? Well, dear Reader, you and I both know what I will do. But when? What will I say? And will she answer?