April 14th, 2006

Labyrinth Beneath The Knossos Palace






"Ask the doorman? Ask him what? Where to eat?"
I said, yes, and why not, because he probably knows the neighborhood very well. No, she insisted, that won’t work.



The Black Princess of Côte d'Ivoire


Sharon described herself. “I’ve got high cheekbones. Long curly hair. Let’s see, how does one really create a picture in words? Well, OK, I weigh 110 lbs. And I have a beautiful face. And a neck. Breasts. 34 C.”
"Does that mean medium?"
"It means prominent. They are there. I also have a waist. Buttocks. All the equipment, fully functional.”

She paused.

“Oh, and I am Black. From Cote d'Ivoire.”
“Excellent. Very dark black?”
"No. Lighter than chocolate."
"Brown sugar?"
“Mmmmmmm.”
"Do you know that Mick Jagger song?"
“No. But I have a question, John.”
“Okay.”
“Do you like oral sex?” She said the words in a low, breathy voice.
“Yes,” I replied. “Both giving and receiving.”
“Oh, that’s very good!”

Marrakesh, a most exotic Moroccan restaurant off South Street in Philadelphia. The waiters wore baggy white linen pants, scarlet vests and fezes. We sat on cushions at a low table with an intricately designed circular brass top, and we ate course after course, beginning with bread and carrots and some sort of cold salad-like hash, and going on to various meats including chicken and veal, and a concoction of raisins and chunks of fruit-like stuff, and then bananas, apples, oranges various kinds of nuts, and several glasses of mint tea, which the waiter poured in an amazingly long stream from the brass pot he held aloft.

Sharon and I snuggled close. Her warmth and the scent of her perfume excited me, and every now and again I kissed her lips. Initially she was hesitant but then it didn’t take long for her to not-so-subtly signal to me she liked very much what I was doing, and we kissed some more and held hands.


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