Your erotic stories

Ahh, the days of drifting down to the square after lunch and sitting around ogling the local Turkish Cypriot men and letting them ogle me until I got that certain look from one I fancied and took him up to my Lawrence Durrell-rented villa and let him vigorously, joyously, and noisily fuck my brains out on a lounger under the sun on the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean.

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You see, it's like this, and that's all.

Dusk and twilight are cousins who touch fingers over evening.

The time between them is voluptuous and welcoming like a cradle, the hammock between two poles of illumination. We can do anything in that time, without analyzing the why of it- for the world feels like a warm pearl in our palm.

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He was laid to rest in the crowded little graveyard adjacent to the small Anglican church on the fringes of the Kyrenia Harbor in Cyprus. My mother had shown no interest in interring him in the States—or even in attending the burial ceremonial in Cyprus. But I thought that, in any event, this was a fitting place for him to be buried. This was where he belonged. He had taken his stand here and lived the last decade of his life here. I just wished I had been part of that last decade. Of course, that was as much my fault as it was his.

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