Caution: adult material. Suggestive scenes and strong language. Not recommended for minors The author reserves all rights and any resemblance to characters, people or places real or imagined are purely coincidental and is not in any way meant to depict events past, present or future, real or imagined. If, on the other hand, you are willing to partake of potentially similar situations, settings or actions, please apply directly to the author as tranmittor of this email and disclaimer.

End of narration.

A boy and a girl are walking together; hand in hand.

They are dressed casually and strolling leisurely

along the pedestrian path that leads around the Stanley Park seawall .

It is a cool, moist day, and a hint of spray is in the air as they walk along

A typical wet winter afternoon in Vancouver.

He points out the sights and makes comments, witty and historical.

She smiles and laughs at each one, grasping his hand.

turn the corner and a beautiful expanse of the sea lies open before them.

There are a few ships in the harbour and a few joggers and cyclists in the distance.

They both survey the scene and he is about to say something

when she turns and reaches up, kisses him fully.

He is stunned for a moment.

She pulls his head to her lips and their eyes close.

It is black.

They can feel the soft ridges of the other person's lips on their own.

The changing intensity of soft, almost dismissive touches,

to the firm pressing of lips and the swirling of tongues in each other's mouth.

Their mouths stop moving as their concentration is focused on the slow, deliberate moving of the tongues - tips, the smooth undersides, the rough top.

She can feel something stirring within him.

Soft moans belie a spring being compressed.

Her hands feel the firm muscles of his shoulders and she can feel him beginning to tense.

He is aroused.

His hands drop from her waist, but not before he gives her hips a firm squeeze.

To remind her body of the firm grasp of lovemaking.

They travel down and feel the warm, smooth curve of the buttocks.

Feeling the line of her panties against her pants.

He hesitates, unsure, and moves his hands back to her waist.

She is disappointed.

Her body is pressed up against him.

Her soft breasts crushed against his chest.

Still the tongues continue their twirling dance, covered in the joined mouths.

Then suddenly the lips part.

He feels the moist reminder on his lips.

The taste of her lips is intoxicating.

Sweet. Soft. Seductive.

He opens his eyes and sees her smiling.

He has no thoughts now;

but to put an arm around her waist and pull her body to him.

He other hand cradles her head.

Lips moistened as they touch hers.

He is surprised.

Her tongue is aggressive. Insistent. Invading.

Pressing into his mouth and shoving his aside.

The aggressor is being violated.

Even as he hovers over her, it is her tongue which is forcing into his mouth

strong, muscular, potent.

He tries to regain control but her hands circle him in mirror of his own.

He can't move.

The tongues thrash around in a wet, probing battle.

He wasn;t ready for this.

He is aroused.

And presses firmly against her leg.

She can feel him, and her tongue relents.

They breathe with locked mouths;

feeling the blast of wam air on the side of their cheeks.

And they part again.

They are both dizzy.

He more than her.

The air is cold.

Their bodies are warm.

Their lips wet, warm and impatient.

She rests her head against his chest and can feel the drum-like beat of his heart

as it pounds the blood.

Her hands drop and clasp his, as he rests his chin on her head.

She can hear his quickened breath

and feel the pulsating, throb of his loins.

Almost shaking as the body prepares.

He fancies that she is moist.

Ready and willing.

His mind dances - from dizziness,

and from images of a long afternoon

of a moaning, groaning, sweaty, thrusting, gasping

fuck.

She squeezes his hand.

They are in public and miles away from home.

He is still dazed and miles away.

His narration of the views

end.

She is happy.

A peaceful afternoon to enjoy the views.

In quiet reflection.

Disconnected.

When she said the word, I thought that she was referring to how she felt in reference to her surrounding and where she was; in Korea, teaching. Now I realise that she was actually referring to us, our relationship, and how she was feeling more and more detached from me because I was feeling more and more, without her.

I am so intense and pour out too much love when the spark is only just there in the kindling - too much wind and too much wood upon the prye of our relationship, and the fire is going out. I'm sorry, Shan. I haven't learned to spoon the love out drop by drop yet.

You deserved better from me. And I deserved better from me.

Please forgive me.

Alas, I will have to learn to forgive myself first.

You said an interesting thing about love the other day. About, if I may paraphrase, unqualified and unconditional love. I am not perfect. I may be so bold as to say that I am deeply flawed on many levels (yes, I am usually fairly hard on myself, it's the English way), but when it comes to love, I can only offer it all up, if I am to receive everything that I can from a relationship. I don't want to look back and wonder if things might have been different if I had loved and gave of myself more. To say the opposite is true but unworthy and not how I want to remember people. I do not say that it does not have an effect on me, that I should pour out love each waking moment and be happy not to receive it in return? I am not perfect. And there will be times when I need attention and a little sign that my affections and appreciated, then I will return to be stoic and give even more of myself. I do not ask that you be there in your relationship with me, not yet and maybe never, I shall be content to hear one day that you are at least interested in moving in that direction.

I was reminded today, by reading my blog, that time stands still when you do something you love. Then time stands still when I am reading, or writing, or playing cricket on a Summer's day, or when I am with you. Hours may pass as I stare intently at your beautiful face. An age of the world may pass as I look at you through your clear and sparkling blue eyes. I am humbled by your tenderness and your simple kindness, and your lack of need of words to communicate your heart - when a simple nod will do.

I am very intense, and I am blissfully thankful that you are not. You can and have taught me to relax a bit more and not to take things so seriously.

It is true that we have not known each other very long. I have used the years of my life poorly in the view of some, but I have come to think that I am fairly good at discerning character. I am happy and proud to know you and to have you know me. There are no days that I awaken to that I do not look forward to hearing, or smelling, or tasting, or talking to, or touching you.

I think that I shall always be a little intense, and look to you holding my hand close to you. I am not afraid of saying that I deeply care for you and miss you in all the ways that you are. I am not afraid of saying that I am hungry for you. Whomever you should choose to be with and spend time with is tremendously fortunate, for you are good, and are about being good, thinking good and doing good. I see this and I encourage you in it.

Time stands still and my heart beats faster when I see you. It beats faster still when I feel you searching out my hand and want to hold it close to you. For you don't tell me how you feel with words, but with gestures. I can tell that it is a great thing for you to do so, and your emotions choke your throat with ice and words fail you. Your beauty lies in your heart's ability to bypass your throat and expresses itself in your hands and in your eyes.

I blame no-one else for my heart. It feels a great deal and sometimes leads me where angels fear to tread. I cannot offer you very much. I have neither money, nor a great deal of property, nor jewels, neither am I very handsome, nor remarkably fit, nor be anything but a pain. I can offer you all that is me - my mind, my body such as they are. I know you and others question why it is that I offer love so willingly, and that it must be very cheaply given if offered so soon. I can only say that it is because my mind, long spent in discovering people and their inner devices and drives, tells me of your worth and I should be a fool if I was not drawn upon it. You do make me want to be a better person, and for that alone I am grateful. I would be in speechless bliss if I were ever told that the intent was to spend the rest of life getting to know me. I've known me for about 33 years and I am barely getting to know me. I am still looking for someone who will learn and grow with me, and marvel about the world that God has created, and the lives filled upon it to amuse, entertain, and challenge us.

It is a strange feeling. As Harry once said, "For when you have found someone that you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible". I don't pretend to be a mind reader, a would be a fool if I declared that you were the one and only, if there is such a thing; but I would be willing to say that I want to spend a lot more time with you, having fun, learning and exploring, and to experience all the happy, sad, boring and exciting days and nights with you, even if it means to the end of our days.

It is usually at this point that most women get scared and decide that they've got too close and run away.

You've been a brave little Shannie so far. I ask that you hold my hand and walk beside me and be my friend, not judging me, but accepting who and what I am, and maybe with a little bit of love and understanding, come to know who I am and whether I am worth having as a friend.

I love you so much.

And I miss you that much more.

No need to say too much. I know you are far away, and busy with your life and your work. I like talking, and writing ,and expressing myself. It is a part of who I am, and my wont to saying things that should be said while I can say them, and not regret. And there is a little part of me that wants you to like what I write - but I've already done that. I like what I write.

Be well and safe, and happy.

You are away.

My light and morning star.
My gasping breath in pleasure and happiness.
My tender warm heart of love.
My ever quiet calming smile

You.

With curled dark brown locks
With small ever searching hands
With smooth skin on hand and cheek
With freckled moist white skin

You.

hands search the seat beside me
skin suffers your absence
nostrils scan the air for a whiff
my soul searches
my eyes see the emptiness of a lonely home
but my mind sees

You.

Happiness begins with a smile
and glows around you
It travels through your head
and down your eyes into your soul
where it lights a fire in your heart
and burns like a hot coal fire on a wintry day

It passes from your fingertips
to reach those you touch and embrace
And settles on their body like the warm rays of the sun
and from there it tingles upon the skin
and passes through the skin to the heart

and ignites your soul
and raises your hair
and stretches your skin
and you radiate a glow
as a smile breaks out upon your face
and a tear of happiness glistens from your eye

For Shan in Korea