I was roused by the faintest tinkle of Rosanne’s bejeweled Hip scarf. Her glorious body, sun kissed from weeks in the Greek sun, stood above me. With her hands behind her head, she stretched and released a low moan. Without a word, she walks out of our canopy tent, taking the sweet smell of oil and basil with her.
Pushing the cloth door aside, allowing the brilliance of the afternoon sun to bathe over my nude body, reveling in the caress of the summer breeze, the Pagasetic greets me. Adelpha, Rosanna’s oldest friend, giggled madly when she saw me. This both embarrassed and delighted my Rosanna, though she only made the former apparent. She threw her apron at me, walked back to the table and forced Adelpha’s attention back on the task at hand.
I sat on the stone balcony, high above the blue gulf, and watched these two goddesses play house wife. Their billowing linen dresses gave the occasional peek of sumptuous curve, what a show. I offered to help and was directed to a small table filled with bottles of wine. I assumed they wanted me to open them, but I was tough never to assume, so I opened one and suckled directly from the nipple of Dionysus.
Antonio, Adelpha’s gorgeous husband, arrived sometime between half a bottle and the beginning of the next. He and I, as always, started our religious debate where we left off. He is a fervent believer in a catholic god, I am not. Though we love each other like brothers, half the time he dances on the verge of striking me. The wine and my constant use of the words ‘all bullshit’ really get under his skin.
This time was no different than any other, and when we screamed ourselves raw we drank more. Our lovely women joined us with beautiful dishes in hand. We ate, we debated, and we recounted stories of London’s late nights and Brazil’s bountiful meals. We spent the rest of the evening sitting by a fire like drunk little beasts.