Aphrodite for a nite

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary,” was as much as she wanted to share upon the girls’ interrogation and summer post-mortem. She found herself sunk into the comfort of the dark corduroy armchair of her favourite cafe, dunking shortbread in a mug of jasmine tea opposite two wide-eyed girls who were overeager to know more, yet knew not to pry. She radiated a mysteriously obvious glow, her skin was still that lovely shade of sand, kissed from the sun of the south, and when the wind rushed through the café door as it rang open and shut, it whirled around her hair only to fan out a soft yet unmistakable air of the salty ocean. The girls soon pressed on to other, seemingly far more important matters: last Friday night’s atrocity of a double date. As they bored her by vicariously reliving each and every moment and giggling at inside jokes like little school girls, she soon lost interest and found her mind beginning to wander off…

The journey to Mykonos was short and sweet, and she arrived still looking just as fresh as the sea. They checked her in while she waited in the gleam of the tall French windows and got lost in the vastness of the deep blue water in the distance. Faint laughter and the clinking of cutlery wafted in from the next room as voyageurs delved into their dinners. Then, suddenly, a broad voice from behind tickled her bones, “Your drink, madam?” She turned around to answer, but instead found her eyes lingering for a second too long when she met his gaze. Towering over her, he immediately magnetised her fervour with his butch, warm body. “Whatever you’re making, Sir,” she mumbled shyly. He oozed confidence and lustiness as he floated back behind the bar and effortlessly whipped her up his signature drink, a Moscow Mule.

Each day endeavoured more attraction to the comely foreign being that was he, the hunky bartender. Pretending to be engrossed in her book, she nurtured the sly thought of him kissing her like the sun would the moon, all the while eyeing him across the pool through the lenses of her cat-eye sunnies. She hungered after his rugged hands on her shoulders and neck, massaging sun-cream into her ever so smooth skin. Thinking she never noticed, he would steal a glance at her every now and again and made sure her glass never emptied. By lunchtime, she was absolutely smashed.

Haunted by the hangover that greeted her when she awoke the next morning, she made her way to the dining hall to replenish her sources. The hunk came to take her order, and soon the table was laden with a typically Greek breakfast of yoghurt topped with fresh fruit and richest honey she had ever tasted. Gathering the extent of her hangover from the squinted eyes behind her sunnies, he took the liberty of attentively filling her mug with piping hot coffee, and at her consensual nod he crowned it with a long slosh of milk and a delicate dusting of cinnamon. She was so infatuated with his slick and sexy movements that even the way he filled her cup kept her thirstily on the edge of her seat; her mouth wide-open as she watched the creamy liquid trickle out the girthy spout of his jug and explode in her mug of steaming black coffee. Eager to let it spill onto her tongue, she swiftly brought the mug to her lips and looked him deep in the eyes as she took a long sip from it, letting out a lustful sigh after swallowing. She shivered with sensual delight when he winked at her and the corners of his plump lips twitched into a cheeky grin before disappearing back behind the bar.

At the sound of crashing crockery, she snapped back into reality. The girls were now blathering on about their pitiful lives, each more boring than the last: how many guys they were seeing, how much they’d accidentally spent on clothes, how fat they were, how annoying their bosses were, the usual conundrums of a single twenty-something year-old woman. If only they knew…