It Made Me Smile

I used to have a Greek boyfriend who was able to shape and control his tongue such that it became like a calligraphy brush with which he could work artistically on all sorts of surface. Each evening, he would write "Trina, I love you" in beautiful cursive script on and around the top of my labia and clitoral area. Then he would sign his name.

Oh, how I loved Nikolai-Alessandro Zakariopapadopalis.

I first met him at the airport when awaiting my holiday flight to Thailand. We happened to be sitting side-by-side in the departure lounge.

A security guard passed by with a beautiful, though presumably trained-to-be-fierce, dog on a leash. We each admired the animal, and Nikolai mentioned he had at home a cute little puppy dog of his own. I told him I too had a treasured pet - an adorable little pussy. He seemed temporarily lost for conversation, probably self-conscious about his lack of a grasp of English.

To rekindle our dialogue and help put him at ease, I turned to the subject of our respective destinations. "Are you going to Phuket?" I asked. But again he seemed to misunderstand, and looked embarrassed, so I just smiled benignly.

I told him I was going to Bangkok. He seemed to understand, but for some reason looked disappointed. "Me too" piped up the blonde to my right, having overheard our conversation. "Bloody men" she complained, "they'll love you and leave you. Better off without them. Ban 'em all, I say."

We seemed to be talking at cross purposes. To be polite, I asked was there some particular experience which had triggered her chagrin. Yes, apparently. She had just returned from Thailand and now recounted her misadventure in the capital's Tai-Pynn district.

It seemed she had been accosted by two virile young men in a back alley, one of whom overpowered and ravished her repeatedly, while the other ransacked her handbag and stole her purse. I raised an eyebrow and sympathised. Our aeroplane flight was imminent.

As usual, I found myself seated next to the hypochondriac with a fear of flying. I told him it was not the flying he needed to be afraid of, it was the crashing. My unsubtle attempted humour failed to calm him and I had to summon the stewardess. Under sedation, he did however make a valid point - you know that indestructible black box that is used on airplanes - why don't they make the whole plane out of that stuff?

As it expired, I subsequently was able to testify to the authenticity of the blonde's earlier tale, an exact same thing happening to me on the very first day I was in Bangkok.

And it happened again on the Tuesday.

And twice on the Wednesday, although by then I had discovered a handy street market selling incredibly cheap purses.

Thursday's Thai Jungle trip was nearly a complete a waste of time. I dislike creepy-crawlies, so at some point miles into uncharted forest, I decided to remain in the camp tent with Dr Livingstone, one of the resident expeditionary leaders, while the others went off to get eaten by anacondas and such like.

The doctor and I had a pleasant little afternoon fling, although the sex was nothing special. "Well, what did you expect?" he said, defensively. "I AM a missionary."

Quite by chance, I bumped into Nick again on the Friday whilst visiting the world-renowned Phat Khao Buddhist Cave at Phetchaburi. We joined a tour party and quickly became good friends.

As they usually do at a certain point during cave tours, the guide extinguished all the lamps and torches to demonstrate how incredibly dark the place naturally was. Just as I was thinking how indeed scary a total absence of lumens can be, I became aware of Nick feeling me up with one hand down my blouse and the other up my skirt. I reciprocated - well, I *was* on holiday, and fondled his dangly bits in exchange.

We were going to be so embarrassed had the lights suddenly come back on, but the thrill of it all got the better of me. Fortunately, as if by perfect timing, the lights did return a moment after our grope was done. I smiled at Nick, though disappointingly, he appeared not to acknowledge anything.

Neither did I understand why the guide looked somewhat dishevelled and needed to lick his finger and clear his throat before continuing with the commentary.

Nick and I went out for the evening to the Sukhumdri area. We had a couple of drinks in the Street Bar and sat admiring all the tight skirts, sequined low-cut dresses and sexy high-heel shoes. And that was just the men. "Unbelievable" Nick murmured.

I nodded, and added "You mean how they develop breasts like that and look so stunning?"

"No" he replied. "Unbelievable what they charge for a glass of retsina in here."

I was fed up with being in a place where most of the men looked better than me, so I suggested we take a stroll. I hung on tightly to Nick, not wanting either of us to be waylaid by any of an alarming number of streetwalkers soliciting for business.

I wondered if the prevalent promiscuity of the place gave rise to a spiralling birthrate. We passed the narrow facade of a medical centre, where the sign outside caught my eye. "For advice on family planning, please use the rear entrance." I'll stick to the pill, I resolved.

It seems like only yesterday, but all this happened years ago - time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

I eventually did tie the knot, though my first husband was a rat. Love may be blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

He cheated on me and considered that bringing me home some gift would cancel things out and make everything ok again. One Friday evening he arrived home late with bunch of flowers, full of remorse and desirous of sex. I said "I suppose I have to spend all weekend with my legs in the air now?"

He replied "Why? Don't you have a vase?"

The divorce soon followed.

I am now happily married to a man who idolises me and perpetually surprises me with impromptu love making. I can be quietly reading a book, ironing a blouse or even washing the dishes, and he will creep up behind me and start playing, unhooking my bra, kissing the back of my neck, squeezing my bottom or some such delectable diversion.

His tireless constant attention is an absolute joy, though the interruptions cannn ofter be a l...sfle inconnnven,,i,ent.......yyyyak,,sa....