Eros was a Greek

"Chaos ensued, no doubt?" I asked.

"Pretty much. Absorbing that number was a challenge. Many of them were reasonably well-off and educated. There was an election in 1923 in which the Liberals won a landslide, mainly because the Royalists abstained, after they had staged a failed coup. King George II was 'asked to leave the country'."

"Cue the Second Hellenic Republic?"

"Quite right. You know more than you let on, don't you?"

"I was asked to contribute an English language section of a biography of Eleftherios Venizelos. But his influence had declined by 1930."

"It had, but he came out of retirement in 1935 to support a military coup which failed. It's arguable, too, that his version of a democratic state kept alive the ideals which made it possible to rid themselves of the dictatorship of 'the Colonels' in 1974 and establish some sort of functioning parliamentary democracy. I'm beginning to sound like a lecturer, so I think I'll stop."

"Probably because you are a lecturer -- and a very good one I can imagine."

We didn't stop there, but perhaps that's enough history for a story about an erotic odyssey. My fellow travellers will be getting restless. And there'll be more to come, because how can you travel in Greece without being teased and confronted with the past?

Anyway, on this occasion we rambled on happily: about governments and dictatorships, Kings and Presidents, Communists and Fascists. I became intrigued by the labyrinthine story of the Greek state, but also by this woman that I was beginning to value as more than a fuck-buddy.

We walked back to our flat with our arms around each other. I don't think that either of us was particularly sentimental, but it was natural to feel each other physically close: 'my space' had become 'our space'.

Inside the flat we poured a last drink and continued the conversation sitting on a sofa (there were several of them). "Did you think you were going to pick someone up on this holiday?" Sophie asked.

"Huh! Definitely not. I hadn't a clear idea of what I would do, but I knew from my one previous visit that this place held enough of interest to compensate for solitude. Anyway, solitude without the need to write for money at the moment, was quite tempting."

"And I've snatched it away from you?" she asked.

"You've noticed how desperately I've tried to resist?"

"I've noticed how you're quite unsure of where you are emotionally. Does guilt follow you around like an annoying stray dog?"

"A good description. That's why your stable mentality is so helpful. I definitely don't want to wallow."

We went to bed and cuddled -- I can't describe it any other way, and you'll know what I mean. It's an essential. Humans deprived of cuddling loosen their hold on humanity. When we woke in the daylight we did a more specific kind of cuddling, which involved the Major and Clio exchanging gifts of delight. Deep kissing seemed a natural outcome.

We managed to arrange an extension of our stay for two more nights, so we were able to spend time in the town in further exploration. The two great fortresses on the headland were certainly worthy of a visit, although the larger and better preserved, the Palamidhi, involves a pretty testing climb of over 400 feet.

We spent another day in two of the museums, the Archaeological and the Folk Art, and found fascinations in both. We came from slightly different angles to look at things and draw thoughts from each other, which made it rewarding.

On each evening we ate at the same restaurant, and afterwards walked to the sea front before retiring to make love in our comfortable apartment.

"The sex has become a bit less frantic," Sophie remarked "and I don't mind a bit. It's just lovely, and I hope you can sense how much I enjoy it. I'm sure there will be occasions in the future when we'll fancy doing something raunchy, and I'll look forward to it. But I wouldn't want to do anything to spoil what we have now."

"I'm grateful for having such a restorative time, and our physical closeness is so much a part of it. I feel happy with things as they are." I replied.

For our last day in Nafplio we travelled the 7km. to Argos, which some claim to be one of the oldest continuously occupied settlements in the world. Archaeologists believe that it has been inhabited for at least 7,000 years. Much of the town dates from the 19^th century, but there are Roman and Hellenistic remains, most spectacular of which is the Theatre, larger than Epidavros, and said to have held 20,000 spectators. The modern setting is underwhelming, but the 80+ tiered 'koilon' of the amphitheatre is mighty impressive.

The town has some pleasant squares with cafes and restaurants. We picked one from various guide sources and sat outside overlooking one of the areas. I was beginning to pick up some of the restaurant names and terms, so partly joined in the selection of a delicious lunch, but it was great to have Sophie's rather better grasp of the language. While we sat drinking coffee when we'd finished eating Sophie said she needed something at the pharmacy we'd passed on our way from the Ancient Theatre, so she went off while I finished my coffee.

We had another wander around Argos and came across what looked like a katastima enilikon (adult shop) called Kali Eneryia (Good Vibrations). Sophie stopped in front of it, squeezed my hand and said "I was hoping we might find one of these. I gather they are quite rare outside Athens."

"What naughtiness had you in mind?" I asked.

"I thought it might be fun to have butt plugs to play with, and the appropriate sort of lube.

"O.k., but you'll have to do the buying -- which I will contribute to of course."

"Chicken. I know you do blush quite easily, so I won't be cruel and insist you come in with me."

She disappeared into the shop, and I had to decide what I was going to do. To stand outside waiting for her was as embarrassing as going in. I plucked up courage and went in. I was amazed. It was a mini supermarket, with goods displayed which ranged from the terrifying to the farcical: and the purpose of some was unfathomable. I realised I'd got to 60 in a state of innocence less disturbed than most modern 18 year-olds.

"Hello darling, fancy seeing you here! Do come and look at this wonderful selection of objects made just for shoving up your backside." She took me by the hand and led me like a schoolboy to stand in front of about 3 sq. m. of display with approximately 50 different devices in all shapes, sizes and colours.

"Now, what do you fancy? I think I'll go for the simple and straightforward; no bumps or hooked ends, or banana bends; just a tasteful pink pointy plastic plunger or PPPP as they ought to be known."

"There's a pack of three of different sizes which looks useful. That would be primary, secondary and graduation I should think. Nothing like taking things a step at a time." I said, trying to have a significant input in this decision-making.

"Good thinking. Approved." So a packet of three miniature pink rocket launchers went in the basket.

We were now in danger of having hysterics, but I supposed that the assistant must be used to this slightly infantile response. We moved over to the lubes. The selection here was down to a modest twenty or so varieties.

"One oil-based and one water-based I think," said my local expert. I wasn't going to show any knowledge on this one, beyond saying "Preferably not banana or raspberry flavoured."

Two more objects went in the basket.

"Now, is there anything else you feel we need? Whips; canes; paddles; blindfolds; multi-speed, fully automatic, electric artificial vagina?"

"Please Miss Bondage, can we leave soon?"

"You go on and wait outside dear while Mummy pays for these toys. If you're good we may be able to play with them later."

Thankfully, there were no English speakers in the store. I shot out of the door and walked smartly down the road. After about 100 metres I turned and walked slowly back. Sophie appeared just as I arrived back at the shop, a huge grin on her face.

"I added one or two more tit-bits to our basket. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss."

We found the car and drove back, chatting about how sex shops had changed since their first appearance, and how visitors from another planet, or from 100 years ago on this planet, would find the whole thing too bizarre to work out.

"I have to confess" said Sophie, who was driving at the time, "that I love sex and find those places really energising."

"Have you worked out why you love sex?" I asked, genuinely interested.

"I have thought about it, and I think I fantasise about the best experiences, and tend to forget the average ones and the rubbish ones. The common thread with the fantasies is that the experience has to be entirely shared. Men are particularly good at shared experiences with sport and to some extent with work. They 'bond', and therefore the team becomes the vehicle of effort, enjoyment and satisfaction. But because sex for them is such a pro-active pursuit, they tend to become the 'doers', and don't become team players. The best sex comes when both parties lose their sense of acting out separate roles. This makes it difficult, therefore challenging, and fascinating."

"Does that mean that the best sex is always emotionally involving?" I asked.

"Yes, but emotions come in all sorts of forms. With a matching sense of fun it works. With a mutual desire to be dirty it works. But most of all it works best when there is a desire to give and get with equality," was the reply.

"And that is surprisingly rare. Statement." (Me)

"You'd worked all this out yourself for sure, hadn't you?"

"Probably. But I've never externalised it in such a memorable way, so thank you. Sometime I'd like to talk to you about your relationship with young Martin, because I think there are lessons to be learnt there that chime with what we've been talking about."

We were back at the car park, locked up and sauntered back to the flat. Time for a drink. We didn't need much to eat because we had eaten well at lunchtime. I grabbed my notebook, which I had been scribbling at intervals since I set off. Which is why I have the recall to tell you this story. I tried to put down the essence of our discussion that afternoon. Sophie sat reading one of the books she had brought with her -- this one called 'The Spartans'.

We had a quiet and companionable hour and consumed some of the latest bottle of the dry red Nemea wine bought from a local merchant.

"Are you going to show me what you bought, apart from what I saw?" I asked.

"No. You need a few pleasant surprises in your life."

"I'm going to take my clothes off" I said with uncharacteristic boldness.

The response was silent but meaningful, because within 30 seconds we were both naked. I still hadn't quite got used to the comparative youthfulness of her body. The last two years of her life had shrunken and aged my wife's body, and anyway Sophie was 15 years younger than Diana had been when she died.

I crossed to her and hugged and kissed her; I slid to my knees, moving my hands round to grasp her full, firm bottom; I kissed her navel and then ran my tongue down the axis, over the thin fur that made an announcement of the secret places, so that their secret was just a tease; my tongue was now foraging and finding the nub of the hooded clitoris, which my tongue now did a ring dance around to a waltz rhythm. After a couple of minutes my tongue moved down to lap the labia and spread itself out to anoint and to taste the soft tissue, licking it until the surface glistened.

"Will you move to the worktop and bend over it; let your breasts rest on the cool surface and wait while I prepare your little surprise." Sophie did as she was asked, while I found and opened the packet of butt plugs and took out the smallest, together with one of the lubes. I returned to where Sophie was now bent over the worktop, got on my knees and started working my finger, covered with lube, around the anal sphincter. I couldn't resist kissing the buttocks in turn, taking a mouthful, and gently sinking my teeth in far enough to be felt. I now pushed my finger into the rectum, and tenderly drew it in and out a few times. I took the butt plug and ensuring that there was plenty of lube round the target area, pushed it in for the first couple of inches.

"I'm looking at your tempting bottom and pushing our little toy right up inside you. The Major is responding by standing to attention. What I'd like to do is put the toy in a little further and keep it there while the Major finds his way into your gorgeous cunt and gives you as lovely a fucking as I can manage. Tell me how you feel about that."

"I'm totally and completely yours. You can do as you like to me."

I pushed the plug in a little further, and a little further, until it was right up to flange. Now I stood and manoeuvred my cock up into the waiting, oh-so-juicy, cunt. I wanted this to last, but the feeling was so sensational that I thought it might not be as long as I would like. My hands stroked and massaged her back and shoulders, then grasped the buttocks, dug nails in, scratched; all the while my cock was moving slowly and smoothly back and forth. I could feel the plug and I could feel the vaginal walls responding. I think we managed about 5 minutes of this before Sophie said to me in a calm voice: "Tom, Tom I am in heaven, but if you can I'd like you to give me a real pounding to the finish. Get your cock going, let it touch the very end of my cunt, faster... and faster... and faster." I was following instructions. My own buttocks were clenching, my pelvis was rocking, and I was driving my cock as far and as fast as I could. My stomach was hitting on her buttocks with a moist slapping sound. There was gasping, squealing, grunting and finally... deep sighs and silence.

A little while later I withdrew the Major and the butt plug and cleaned them and her with the tissues I had thoughtfully left handy. I took Sophie by the hand and led her to the bed. She was in some kind of trance, so I laid her down, lifted her legs onto the bed and pulled the duvet over her.

I took the butt plug to the bathroom and carefully washed and dried it and put it back with its bigger siblings. Then I washed my hands, picked up two heaps of clothes, roughly tidied them and took them into the bedroom. All this is probably of deep Freudian significance. Don't care. Reasonable tidiness is what I do. Then I climbed into bed beside her.

I whispered in her ear "I love your body."

She stirred. "I think I must have passed out temporarily."

"You did."

"Thank you for getting me here. Did you wipe my bum?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Experienced, I suppose?"

"Yes."

She rolled over to kiss me. "You are the sweetest man I've ever known."

"But women don't like sweet men. They like cave men with machismo; then they decide after a few years that this type doesn't make an ideal family man, and anyway the attraction of machismo is ephemeral, and dies like a fly that's done the procreative deed. Probably why mantis mums take the logical way out and eat the sire." I may have sounded a bit cynical.

"Don't be bitter; it's at our time of life that men like you come into their own. What I've grown to feel over this last week is certainly not ephemeral. And for your further information you have just taken me to a new level of sexual pleasure. No macho man could have done what you did for me." She rolled over and lay on me, smothering me with kisses.

*

The morning of the move meant a bit of packing and fetching the car to load up, but it took no time at all, despite the fact that we found it difficult to maintain distance, and kept stopping for a squeeze, a hug, a stroke, or almost any excuse for touching. Before we left we visited the supermarket and stocked up on food that we could cook fairly easily, as there was no shop anywhere near the cottage that we had rented for the week.

We had decided to go by the coast road to start with, which wasn't the shortest route, so I decided that we would set the satnav when we were on the first part of the route. Sophie drove and in truth we could have saved ourselves the bother of an alternative route, because the coastal drive was pleasant but no more, being essentially flat and intermittently built up on the land side.

Once we had passed Argos and headed south west it became more engaging, and the final climb to our destination at over 640 metres, including hairpins, was more interesting again. When we arrived I think we lost any reservation we may have had. This little village had charm, and we saw that our booking had not been misplaced. We got out and went in to view our new temporary home. The soft grey stone, inside and out, and the thick walls helped to create a cool atmosphere. The interior had been carefully planned and furnished, with fine furniture and interesting objects. There was a well-equipped shower room and a more than adequate kitchen area. In short it suited us perfectly.

I complimented Sophie: "Brilliantly found lover. We are about to have a really happy time I'm sure."

"Let's unload and take up occupation. I want to make a drink and sit outside in the shade and feel smug."

We'd brought with us some chicken, pork, and lamb pieces, which went straight in the fridge. Then there were courgettes, aubergines, tomatoes, local oranges, bread, and pittas, which went in a cool looking corner. I tucked the car away in a space beside the cottage, then we brought in bags and made coffee and found a shaded terrace to sit on and, as Sophie had suggested, feel a bit smug.

"The people who live up here must subsist on goats and olives. I can't believe there's much wealth, except the few, like the owners of this cottage, who have thought it worthwhile to invest." I was speculating, but the evidence seemed to back me up.

We had barely finished our coffee when we noticed from below a small female figure was walking towards us. When she got within hailing distance she called out "Kalispéra kai kalós ílthate." (Good afternoon and welcome). She continued in Greek which Sophie could translate. Sophie called back.

"She is saying that her name is Kassia, and she is a neighbour. She asked if we would like some milk and fresh fruit, and I said yes please. I think we should go down and see her."

We walked down the few steps to the road and greeted her properly, introducing ourselves and telling her we had come that day from Nafplio. She began chatting to Sophie, who was doing a great job responding with few pauses. Eventually Sophie said to me "I'm going down with her to collect the milk and fruit. Can you pass me down a bag?" I found one and passed it to her. "I think I might be some time!"

She was! In the meantime I had put together ingredients for our meal: chicken pieces marinating for souvlaki, pitta, and salad. Then I sat down to write -- random thoughts really, rather than an accurate diary. That's a good reason not to take the detail of this story too literally.

When Sophie finally returned, she was laden with goodies: a miniature churn of milk, some oranges, figs, pears and a pot of yoghurt.

That evening we ate well and downed most of a bottle of wine. "It does feel more like a holiday when you aren't still surrounded by things that form part of your day-to-day home life. But I guess one should beware of thinking this to be 'authentic Greece' any more than life on a Cumbrian hill farm is authentic England," I said, as we lounged on the terrace, glass in hand, and took in the stunning view and the fierce red of the setting sun away to our right.

"You're right, it does feel different enough to jolt you out of a tendency to accept that everything's the same except the climate and the language; and even the language difference is diminishing, as we found in Nafplio, where you don't really need to speak anything but English." She paused long enough for me to murmur agreement, then went on "Do you think that tourism has become a major problem in some parts of the world? There's just too much of it, and it is changing the character of the very things that people are told they should see."