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Photo by Paweł Wojciechowski on Unsplash

I was waiting for the check in a French bistro in St Maarten. When I looked up the waiter had pulled up a chair from a neighboring table and sat down next to me. I smiled slightly when he leaned over to hand me the tab and stayed there — shoulder to shoulder. He was a very good looking man with a full head of salt and pepper hair. He wore a pendant of some flavor on a piece of leather around his neck. He was tan. His English carried a heavy French accent.

And he smelled good. Very, very good.

I felt compelled to tell him so.

He returned the compliment and asked after my husband. Apparently — boldness in middle aged women is not nearly as frightening to middle aged French men as it is to their American contemporaries.

I explained — I have no husband. And in complete disbelief— he asked me what was wrong with me — that I had no husband?!? He seemed perplexed and offended on my behalf. Which made me smile slightly more. I was growing fonder and fonder of this handsome, bold, brutally honest, outrageously flirtatious man.

I told him — I only played with men these days and let them go — I had no desire to keep any of them any more.

He nodded and smiled an appreciative smile. I introduced myself and discovered his name was Pasquale. As I stood to leave — he rewarded me with a warm hug. A full body embrace that left his scent on my clothes for the rest of the day.

And just like that — St Maarten became etched in my memory as more than just a beautiful beach in a tropical paradise.

It became THE place where a handsome man who smelled as good as he looked did not flinch at boldness or honesty. THE place where I met someone who openly admired purple hair and flirted without shame. THE place where a short exchange gave such pleasure. A truly distinctive souvenir from an extraordinary moment.

An unexpected gift from The Universe to remind me that sensuality does not belong just to the young.

Namaste.

Self discovery in progress, stay tuned

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