Smoking

Monday

Beep, beep.

I groaned, snuggling closer to the warm and hairy chest that had been my cushion for the night. Sandwiched between the pristine covers and the fantastic bedding, I just couldn’t force myself to move.

I was still high from our delightful Sunday spent leisurely strolling on the lake bank – even though we couldn’t go far enough for our taste, the car culture was akin to the US there. There weren’t so many uninterrupted paths to tread on. Yet, we hung around like a couple of European tourists, holding hands in the cold weather, snuggled on a bench as the sun set and kissing at every turn.

I loved him. How I loved him, my handsome man. And when eventually he dragged me to a medieval tournament dinner, we enjoyed the show – hawks, horses and choregraphed combats – just like any other visitor. In the dark, no one stopped him for an autograph, and we spent the evening with our eyes locked in the dim light.

Beep, beep.