The Tortoise Time Catches A Chameleon

They were so young, of course. Barely into their 20s.

The buried pain. The deeply felt inability to ever trust completely again. The resentment. This is where it all began.

Naturally, he blamed himself. The inattention. His single minded focus. Never there. When he was, hiding behind the daily news. Sure, he told himself, it takes contributions from both to end a relationship. No one party can shoulder all the blame. Nice sentiment, but he never bought into it.

And he had thought he had fixed all that.

It’s pretty near impossible to literally live 24 hours a day for a year with someone, never more than 10 feet away, and then one day discover you never knew them at all, is it not? How can that happen?

From the Sahara’s sands, nearly dying together, the frights in Algeria, to that crumbling hotel in Istanbul. The freedom of the beaches in Crete, the lights in Paris, the museums of Florence. The canals in Stockholm. They had fully experienced together so many highs and anxious bottoms. Surely no two people had ever been closer. Knew one another better. An impossibility. He knew that in his young heart.

Until it all ended so suddenly.  He had had fears something was coming, but nothing like this.

Now so many years later, there were no more questions. He could see there were no commonalities. It had all been nothing but a spectacular mirage. That was bad. To realize the heart can be so masterly deceived.

But the enormous guilt and shame he had carried since that time vanished like melting mist in the warm morning sun. This was monumentally good. He finally could get some understanding. His soul … at last …  felt released.

He hung up the phone; no need for further words. He couldn’t think of anything more to say in any case.

I’ve Been On The Road To Damascus

No, not actually.

Damascus is a very dangerous location these days. But figuratively, yes. So much has been revealed. My mind is ablaze. What follows may seem at first like a religious rant. I assure you, it is anything but.

Damascus has been a major Middle East city for over 8,000 years, and archaeological evidence of settlement in the area dates back 11,000 years. Imagine the learning buried beneath its walls and in its ruins. The history to which it has borne witness.

It is not only a Saul of Tarsus-type voyage, revelation and conversion I have been on. Lawrence arrived in Damascus, too, on October 1st, 1918, the Great War only 49 days from its merciful end. A very different man than when he was first posted to the Arab revolt.

I have always loved the story of Lawrence of Arabia. It’s a story of clashing civilizations and cultures … Arab, British, Turkish, waning empires, the call of family and tribe, the role of duty, rugged individualism, unthinkable victory, and devastating false hopes.

And how what happens today has a long delayed and unknown aftermath. We are all an imperfect, badly flawed replica of our history.

Just before he left Damascus 4 days after its surrender, Lawrence wrote:

‘I was sitting alone in my room working and thinking out as firm a way as the turbulent memories of the day allowed, when the muezzins began to send their call of last prayer through the moist night over the illuminations of the feasting city. One, with a ringing voice of special sweetness, cried into my window from a nearby mosque. I found myself involuntarily distinguishing his words: “God alone is great: I testify that there are no gods but God: and Mohammed is his Prophet. Come to prayer: come to security. God alone is great: there is no god but God.” At the close he dropped his voice two tones, almost to speaking level and softly added: “And He is very good to us this day, O people of Damascus.” The clamour hushed, as everyone seemed to obey the call to prayer on this their first night of perfect freedom.’  T.E. Lawrence Seven Pillars of Wisdom

I wish I had perfect freedom. I do not. But I have always felt that knowledge, while not full, perfect freedom, is certainly liberating. I feel more liberated.

The Guardian published this at the time, about the capture of Damascus by the Arab armies:

Arab horsemen from distant Hejaz today galloped in triumph through the streets of Damascus. As the sun was rising over the mosques and spires, Major TE Lawrence, the young British officer whose tactical guidance has ensured the success of the Arab revolt, drove through the lines in an armoured car. One Arab rider waved his head-dress and shouted, “Damascus salutes you”.

Led by Emir Feisal, son of Sherif Hussein, now to be King of Syria, and his British friend Lawrence, who had fought the Turks all the way from Arabia, the Arabs were first into the capital.

At about the same time that they arrived, the first patrols of the Australian Mounted Division of General Allenby’s army also converged on the great city, having fought their way from Egypt to Gaza, captured Jerusalem, and freed Palestine from Ottoman rule before finally entering Damascus.

The capture of the most famous city in the Arab world was an event filled with high emotion for Major Lawrence and for Feisal, the Arab prince who had led tribesmen on their long fighting, camel march from the barren wastes of Arabia. Multitudes of Syrians thronged the streets to celebrate liberation from the Ottoman Empire. The only Turkish soldiers remaining in Damascus today are the wounded, crammed in hospitals and abandoned by their doctors.

There is a serious danger that law and order may break down in a place packed an excitable mixture of desert and city Arabs. Notables who until the last minute worked with the Turks now proclaim their loyalty to the Allies. Already there are reports that some have been shot. General Allenby’s first task will be to install a military government to keep order and restore the city’s public services.

Conforming to arrangements agreed with Britain, the French will take control of Syria. General Allenby’s army is preparing to move east to link up with French forces whose task is now to take the port of Beirut in Lebanon.

In that dispatch can be seen the seeds already sown but yet to surface of treachery, promises unfulfilled, and dreams and hopes dashed. Another legacy from Damascus.

Will I fill you in on what I learn if and when I get to Damascus? It is possible. Then again, maybe not. Like most things in life, it all depends.

The Carnality (Part 4)

This is a continuation of my story about Juliet. You can catch up here for part 1 and part 2

and part 3

As we entered our little courtyard of the house where we were staying, it was clear while Liz and Jimmy were probably getting to know each other, nothing sexual had happened, and it appeared nothing like that was going to occur.  I think Jimmy just didn’t have that sort of energy even though Liz may have been willing to engage.

After putting the new batch of wine on a small table off to the side, I joined Juliet on a small bench. She edged in close to me.  What with the warm sun and her hot body caressing mine, plus the effects of the wine, I was feeling a bit sleepy. Juliet could read the signs easily, and in her soft, charmingly accented voice said “Come … let’s go in my room and lie down and rest for a bit.”

I nodded my approval, and with that she clasped my hand in hers and with nary a word to the others, lead me across the yard to the door to her bedroom. Once inside the room and the door closed, she put her arms around me, raised up on her toes and lifted her beautiful face to match mine. She kissed me tenderly. Not with particular passion, but sexily, softly. My breathing quickened, and I was instantly hard, my drowsiness suddenly completely evaporated.

Juliet lifted off my t-shirt. She bent down to untie and remove the boots and socks I was wearing. Then she unbuckled my belt and pulled my jeans and underwear down in one stroke. As I stepped out of them, I stood before her, displayed and fully erect. Juliet eyed me up and down, smiling, happy with herself.

We laid down on the bed, kissing fiercely.  I unbuttoned her blouse and as she removed her bra, I began stripping her of her jeans and underwear. She was incredible to look at. Touching her all over felt like a mystery revealed. This youngster really had arrived!

“I want you to fuck me hard” she breathed into my ear.

She was already ready, wet, anxious. No foreplay. No waiting. No backing out. No more time for banter.

I climbed aboard and slipped in. It had been about 6 weeks since I had fucked, and I was worried about how long I was going to last. I wanted no disappointments with this woman. This was a gift I needed to keep happy.

I pumped into her deeply, but slowly.  Her legs pulled up to my hips, her heels on my ass, I loved hearing the sounds of her soft moaning. I really don’t remember the time frame, all I do recall is that it was sudden … she arched as she came, with only a tell tale grunt giving it away. Then a long hiss.

As I continued to give her more, I tried to keep the speedometer way, way below the red line. I wanted to increase the pace, my hormones pushing me. But I held back, fearful my youth and relative inexperience would end it much too soon.  The level of her moaning increased … Juliet arched again … and then again. I knew Jimmy and Liz could hear us, but I didn’t really care by this point.

Juliet’s sounds became louder, they were no longer moans, but short, sharp cries. I knew I was a gonner now …  she’d pushed me to the edge and I had to increase the tempo, as I would explode in her no matter what. I wanted it now … she wanted it now … I raised myself on my arms and it was my turn to cry out and arch …

To be continued …

 

 

 

Hidden In Plain View

It was quite the place for a young man to spend the summer. The beaches, the bars and restaurants, and most of all the girls, in the process of becoming women.

She was becoming a woman. We were all still boys.

It’s not that I underestimated her; I just wasn’t paying attention. I really wasn’t interested in her at first.

Oh she was cute enough. But right at the beginning I was told she was “Miss Wholesome”. Proud of being a virgin. The virgin with the goddess’ figure.

Early after my arrival, it was Faye who caught my attention … what with her Southern accent, long dark hair and charming, disarming smile. Until she left for home. And then I hooked up with the Party Girl. She was fun, but much too skinny for what my 21-year old body wanted. So my friend from home and I switched playmates. That’s the only time I’ve done that, but I thought it worked out pretty well at the time. No muss … no fuss.

I had no idea she was closely watching with those hazel eyes and evaluating the whole time.

When she decided she wanted me though, she made certain I saw her every day in her bikini in the surf. It was quite a sight. Even to his day, every time I see a beach scene or the surf pounding, I picture her running through the waves, long loping strides, her tits bouncing and craving escape. And she never missed a night of drinking if she knew I’d be there. Eventually she caught my attention. And my focus.

When we were in the bar or back at my apartment, I loved the way she wrapped her arm around my thigh. No one had ever done that before. Or since. She was the only one. A signature move if ever there were one. We would sit sometimes for hours like that, downing our beers. When we were like that, I knew I would be the one to ruin her good girl image.  I knew she wanted me to. It was the first time I ever could feel and be so sure of something like that. That I knew exactly which way she was headed. And why.

Once we started, we were inseparable. I guess all young love is that way. But I had made my mind up I wouldn’t be falling in love. There would be too much distance, too many restrictions, too many complications.

But someone had a different idea.

The Carnality (Part 3)

This is a continuation of my story about Juliet. You can catch up here for part 1 and part 2

This was going to be interesting. Was I equipped to handle it?

My friend, Jimmy, and I had arrived mid afternoon. As the conversations continued, it soon became apparent that our supply of local wine was rapidly dwindling. Luckily replacement stocks were very nearby … the village winemaker was one narrow street over and up a small hill. I volunteered to make the trek. Juliet offered to accompany me. Not so surprisingly,  I enthusiastically accepted the assistance.  As we walked up to Nikolas’ home and winery, Juliet tucked in close to me.  I judged her about 5′ 4″. As we walked, she mentioned she was especially fond of men over 6′ like me.

As Nikolas drew our wine from his casks, his wife and daughter fed us cheeses and cakes while we waited, and we all feigned conversation in a patois of various languages … Greek, English, German. Meanwhile in the shadowed reception area I had ample opportunity to drink Juliet all in. Perhaps it was the several glasses of wine already earlier consumed, but I was now far from subtle in my gazing. She was a stunning woman to behold. And both intelligent and well traveled. And lest I forget, her figure was a magnificent masterpiece of womanhood, too. I was longing to do more than behold it.

She, too, began to let down her mask. Every phrase of conversation seemed to finish with a sly smile from her. I was not unfamiliar with women’s eyes following my movements, but typically their glances, even stares, would flicker and dance across my physique, usually ending with my eyes. Juliet’s approach was oh so different. Her dark eyes mimicked a slow, crawling serpent, absorbing the feel of every muscle, each turn and nuance, seemingly tasting every square inch of my body. From her chair, 4 feet away. I didn’t feel violated certainly, though I was recognizing that Juliet was not going to be the usual  fling, if we were, in fact, going to have a fling. Perhaps not surprisingly, my 20 year old hormones were anxious to be out of the starting gate and get a crack at this 25 year old beauty.

The flasks and bottled filled, we headed back to the small house we would be sharing. In fact, that was very much the topic of conversation as we marched down.

“How long will you be here, Marty?” she asked.

“Well, I’m not sure. I need to be in London in about 3 weeks, but I’d like to see if we can get Jimmy a whole lot stronger before we head out. A week perhaps.”

“Hmmm” Juliet replied. “That sounds like enough time so we can get to know each other.”

“I think I’d like that” I said with a wink.

“I know you will.” she stated matter of factly. “And so shall I.”

To be continued …

 

 

 

My Christmas Witch List

Boudica_Modern_by_quickreaver

Boudica_Modern_by_quickreaver

I have decided to revisit certain posts from time to time. Call them a Marty-Replay.  Posts I like. Or I’m happy with how they were written and catch the moment just right. Or are particularly relevant even now. But mostly that I like. Here’s the 1st.

Beautiful Boudicca. I wish I could call you mine. But no, I can’t.

When you arrived late to the gathering, I found myself at the other end. Trapped, away from you. I saw you glance my way so many times. And send me smiles and eye missives.

Finally you motioned for me to come to you. It had been over 4 months since I had even seen you or talked to you. And now talk we did. Standing nose to nose for more than 30 minutes, we caught up.

But it was much more than catching up. I saw the repeated flicker of want in your pale blue eyes.  I peered beneath the exterior, glimpsing into your depths.

I have always known of your powers. We are few who recognize. And my knowledge gives you pleasure.

I wonder if you and Cassandra would get along. Celtic princesses, mystic sisters of the same spirit.  Your pale blue, her olive green. The Artist and the Warrior. You would know each other and understand, identify. But you two are very different. I wonder.

Then your husband grew impatient. And drew you away.

I await your text. Or are you awaiting mine?