Oh all right, this morning, as dawn was breaking, the red sun just poking up over the horizon, my penis rose up like the Eiffel Tower. Without permission, of course, without having been in any way solicited, entirely on its own initiative. “I do precisely as I please!” it seemed to be saying, and indeed it did. No doubt to admire the rising sun, to view the celestial orb from a good vantage point, to get a better view like some ardent fan of the Tour de France, to greet it at the start of its diurnal course: “Good day to you, Monsieur Sun!”. I heard nothing of this, needless to say, but felt the stirring of his morning vigour. His good humour is contagious and makes me echo its words, “Good day to you, Monsieur Sun”. This magnificent red sun more than deserves this double salutation!

My piece of wood between my thighs is demanding attention – a little tender loving care. It woke me up, pulled me out of my dreams for this, the impertinent fellow.

My lover is sleeping by my side, her breathing barely audible, her little face peeping out from  the sheets: dishevelled hair, black on white, pink cheeks, carmine lips, faint smiling at some fleeting dream, delicate features that I want to run my hands over. She is so beautiful against the white backdrop. Under the sheet, over her soft, warm skin, my finger and then my hand are tracing paths. Tenderly.

I love my lover, my sleeping beauty of the sheets, she is part of my life and all is well with the world.

My caress is filled with love, and the glimmerings of desire; my palm follows the hollows of her hips, the swell of the thighs; her breasts start at the touch of my hand. My lover has very sensitive skin.

Her frissons have disturbed her sleep and I am annoyed with myself – well, just a little – for having been the cause. I lean down and to kiss her, lightly brushing her lips with mine.

At the touch of the kiss, she stirs sleepily and wraps her arms around me and draws me close. Ah, the soft clutch of her arms around my neck, her lips on mine! Such pure gestures of love! My heart melts like butter or snow in the sunlight, like ice in the tropics!

Love-making is not always what it should or could be. Sometimes it’s mere animal coitus, the crude act of penetration, a release of bodily fluids and tensions. Afterwards both partners are unsatisfied, there being no soul and no tenderness at the sating of the body.

But on this beautiful morning – could it be the response of the sun to my dawn greeting – nothing was missing to stop us from loving each other to the limit. Our two beings were in perfect harmony as if under the conductor’s baton, vibrating in unison, resonating together. She opened her arms, her mouth, her entire body to my love, and in return I gave her my arms, my mouth, my body. We received and gave each other without constraint. Body, heart and soul, our two beings joined to form one: unique and complete.

This was a moment of marvellous love and happiness.

 

 

 

 

I let my lover go back to sleep. She seemed so comfortable under the white sheet, her nose poking out, relaxed, unguarded in sleep and dream. It would have been a shame to do otherwise.

Sleep, my love!

I took my golf clubs and headed out to the greens.

The first hours of the day are the most beautiful; the artist sun makes the sky flame with colour, the air is uniquely redolent, the happy birds sing at their loudest, you feel strong, vigorous and victorious; a new day is there to be discovered, to be seized, to be conquered.

I hit a few practice balls to warm up and then one towards the first hole.

Par 3, n° 7 iron, beautiful fluid swing. The tee goes cart-wheeling away, and the ball lifts up into the heavens … curving its trajectory …

… and lands one metre from the hole!

 

 

I am overwhelmed with joy, as if I had created a work of art, a masterpiece, a perfect and pure act.

My game is not often so brilliant. Scarcity raises the price and for this rare, excellent shot my reward is commensurately intense.

I putted and got the birdy: jackpot! Oh, the soft song of the ball as it glides lovingly into the hole to make one under par.

 

 

The whole round was the same, as in a dream: spectacular shot with the n° 3 wood on the second hole, the most beautiful drive of my life on the third, and so forth until the ninth hole which was defended by two sand bunkers just short of the green, with a narrow corridor between them, hardly enough for a mouse to squeeze through, but I was that little mouse, tripping along on tippy toes, and bingo! The ball went where I wanted to put it, another birdy no less.

All told, 4 under par.

 

 

Oh, the joyous road home!

I stopped off at the florist’s to choose a bouquet of flowers; the interior is always cool and filled with exotic scents, colours and shapes. It’s a delight to stand in their midst. The beautiful and smiling florist is herself very like her shop, and it wouldn’t take much for me to love her as well. But I’m here for my lover, who adores flowers, so I want to give her an extravagant mass of them, bunches, armfuls, basketfuls, whole crates brimming over …. This morning she hadn’t come with me to the golf course, but the thought of her hadn’t left me for one instant; my performance is all due to her.

When I got back, she was bustling around in the kitchen, making something. “It’s a secret”, she said, ushering me out of her territory.

She looked delicious herself in her pink apron which covered her from her chin to the ground. My caress brushed the length of her body up to her neck which is as soft and graceful as a young doe’s. My lips touched hers, her kiss was in return as tender as mine.

“Did you play well?” she asked. “Are you happy?” and I said yes and my joy became hers.

She plunged her face into the flowers I had brought to breathe in their heady perfumes. Her eyes shone with joy. She flashed me a smile.

My lover likes to cook; for her own pleasure but also for mine. She knows how much I like my food, and appreciate good cooking. So I let her get on with it, not so that I can slouch around doing nothing, or get out of household chores – far from it, I like cooking too – but simply to make her happy, because I love her.

So, because I wasn’t allowed to help her, I settled down with a beer, happy as a pig in clover, to wait for her to finish.

She was happy amongst her ovens, and therefore I was, too.

I cast an eye over a magazine, kept half of the other on the telly, which is on with the volume off, so as not to spoil the silence. I can hear the soft song of the pressure cooker and the rustling movements of my kitchen fairy, I breathe in the wonderful cooking odours wafting towards me.

Happiness is often a simple matter: reciprocated love, two people that love each other, that’s all it takes! This was our sort of happiness: we loved each other.

“Come and get it” she sings out. Grunting and snuffling like a famished animal, I rush into the kitchen and pretend to snatch the dish out of her hands, baring my teeth and snarling. She pretends to recoil in fear and horror and we both burst out laughing. She loves me horsing around in this way, so I indulge her.

Everything is perfect. My lover is a real cordon bleu cook!

 

My lover wants my taste buds to take wing, to rise up and sing the glories of her cooking, to proclaim their delight high and loud! Accordingly she has put all her skill and all her love into this meal and has succeeded. I congratulated her and at the end gave her a kiss for each mouthful, which came close to wearing away her tender lips. She knows how I have enjoyed it and so is happy.

We were hardly able to hold a conversation. Hardly able to speak of the beautiful sun outside, which had travelled a fair distance since our dawn encounter, or of the post-prandial walk we planned to take together; hardly able to speak of the birds pecking at the lawn outside, of the children playing within earshot; of the clouds that dotted the sky, of the aeroplane high above with a contrail behind that stretched out of sight, perhaps to the distant south sea islands where it came from. It was a beautiful day, a lovely Spring day, we were together and we were in love and it was a magical moment. My lover likes her food too, especially sweet things. Knowing that, I brought out from the drinks cupboard a liqueur bottle, one small antique glass, and then a few drops to fill it. Her eyes shone, and mine did too.

 

 

We had a nice walk. We don’t have any children, or dogs, or cats, or fish, but we do like all of these things. And all of them were there in the park, children, dogs, cats, fish, as if assembled deliberately, playing on the lawns, sniffing around the trees, fluttering through the air, swimming in the depths of the water.

This life is a pleasure to live.

On the terrace of a café, we took a refreshing drink: oh what a perfect moment, in the company of my loved one, in the soft sunshine of a Spring afternoon.

We spoke of everything and nothing in particular, enjoying the goings on in the park, and finally, arm in arm, headed for home, giving little kisses as we go.

Suddenly she feels like going to the cinema; so I feel like it too. We had no idea what was on, but no matter.

Our classy and attentive servant the car took us down without fuss or incident.

There were two places for us in the queue. The film was very funny; my lover laughed like a hyena, and blubbed like a child at the sad bits. Me too, I laughed and wept, if anything even more. Both of us had glistening cheeks and aching facial muscles by the end. How good it is to laugh together!

We stopped off at MacDonald’s afterwards; a Big Mac is good, two is even better, but one each was enough for us. My lover and I were hungry, so we enjoyed it, the coca cola and the beer, too. With our mouths full, we relived scenes of the film and started laughing again very loudly.

 Driving slowly back, me holding the wheel with the tips of my fingers, my sweetheart, my beauty snuggled against my shoulder. I carried her into the house, as on the first day of our love. Her arms wrapped round my neck, drew me to her lips and our kiss went on for a long, long, long time …

Until Bedtime.

“I love you”, I was saying with my kiss.

“I love you”, she was saying with her kiss.

Sleep closed our eyes, but our hands remained clasped all through the night, and our hearts beat in rhythm.

Happy day … happy day … happy day.

 

 

Happy day … happy day … happy day.