My Month in Malta

I had seen her twice in three days. The first time was at the Sunday market the day after I had arrived in town. I was finally beginning to recover from jet lag and was getting out on the street to acclimate myself to the street culture of Mellieha, Malta. It was a small market, but quite crowded on a late Sunday morning.

I saw her shopping with another woman, older, probably her mother. I was struck by her beauty and her body. Is this a typical Maltese woman I thought to myself? She was wearing what might be considered Sunday clothes -- a nice dress and sensible flats. But her striking looks were undeniable and noteworthy, and her full breasts, even in church clothes, were impossible to ignore. I stared politely for a moment or two, smiled, and moved on.

The second time was two nights later at a local café. I was sitting under the awning on the piazza when she arrived with a small group of men and women -- her friends, it appeared. She was dressed in more youthful fare -- jeans and a tight top -- that displayed a little skin at her slender waist as well. Her hair was down and she was smiling and relaxed. I could not take my eyes off of her body. She had an amazing shape and her breasts were very much on display in more youthful attire. She disappeared into the interior of the café with her friends and I did not see her again that evening.

I had arrived in Malta for the month of June. It's an island about 120 miles south of Sicily in the Mediterranean -- east of Tunisia and north of Libya. I had taken the ferry from Sicily, not because I couldn't have flown, but because I wanted to experience the sea journey. I knew a bit about the island nation of Malta. It's location in the Med had meant it had been ruled by everyone from the Phoenicians to the Romans to the British. It had become independent in 1964 and its government was still trying to resurrect its architectural past. That's what had brought me here.

As an art historian specializing in the restoration of ancient mosaic reliefs I was often called upon to consult on historic restorative work. While I had spent time in Italy and elsewhere in Europe, this was my first trip to Malta. I was going to be assisting a company who was restoring mosaics in the well-known Parish Church in the center of Mellieha.

The best part of these paid gigs was that they always included a generous weekly stipend for expenses and, usually, very nice accommodations close to the site. My apartment in Mellieha was no exception: a modern, recently renovated apartment on the top floor of an historic building with all the amenities one could want along with an amazing view of the town and the Mediterranean coastline. My apartment was a rooftop penthouse on top of a three story building -- the unit taking up the back half of the building and the front section being an open roof terrace surrounded by a three foot high wrought iron railing. It was going to be a very comfortable place to spend a month -- and an even better place to entertain.

Mellieha itself is a smaller village of about 10,000 people situated on the northern end of the main island. It overlooks Malta's largest sandy beach called Mellieha Bay. It is situated on a hill surrounded by fertile valleys and the Mediterranean and has a lovely character and picturesque charm.

While I knew no one outside the small circle of people working on the church, I always enjoyed these forays to exotic destinations as a way to meet new people, especially local women. I had been divorced for ten years and, at 56, was quite confident in my ability to connect with women wherever I traveled. English is widely spoken in Malta, so this aided in my quest to make local connections.

It was the afternoon of my fourth day in Mellieha that I saw the young lady in question a third time. This time I leaned up and really took notice. This was no longer happenstance and, at least to me, it was a sign that an introduction of some sort was in order.

I had found my way to the beach at Golden Bay -- a beautiful horseshoe shaped bay with an exquisite beach and wonderful views. None of the views, however, compared to my new young friend as she wended her away alone between the towels to find an appropriate perch. I watched with great interest as she staked her claim -- not all that far from my towel -- and proceeded to settle in.

She was wearing a light white shift over her bathing suit and took her time setting up her towel and arranging her basket. Once all was in order, she reached below and lifted her beach covering up and over her head. I stifled a groan as I looked at her body, clad in a tiny black bikini. The miniscule bottom was kept in place by dangling ties on either hip. The top was bursting with the size of her considerable bosom. She had to be a full natural DD cup -- without a doubt.

She did all of this without any self-consciousness whatsoever. This was a woman who knew she had a magnificent body and was not afraid or embarrassed to show it off -- nor should she be. Her curves were extraordinary and her 5-6 frame showed not one ounce of fat. She appeared to be late twenties. Her brown hair was tied up loosely and her light brown skin looked silky smooth. She bent over several times as she got settled and her large breasts hung seductively and bobbled loosely in her small bikini top. I literally could not take my eyes off of her as she settled into her spot on the beach.

I pondered my options, but they all led to the same conclusion: I had to introduce myself. I'd always had a belief that when you see a stranger three times in a short period of time they are meant to be in your life in some way. Call it serendipity or superstition, but it was something that had always seemed like a truth to me.

Now, I'm not a shy man. I'm confident in my looks and my mind. I stand 6-2 and have a broad muscular frame. I'm not muscle-bound by any means, but my exercise regimen had kept me fit and active as I entered my late fifties. I still had a full head of gray hair, a short beard and a stature that gave me confidence with women, including women much younger than me.

I had also lost any trepidation about approaching younger women in new places. I figured the worst that could happen is they could turn me down. So be it -- I'd move on. But I'd been surprised that, when chosen carefully, I was more successful than I had ever dreamed when I was a young man and feared rejection more than the possibility of success. My divorce had been helpful in that way and after ten years alone I was hitting my stride with the younger ladies.

So it was with that attitude that I got up on my feet after she'd been sunning herself for a half an hour. I waited until she had sat up to check something on her phone and meandered over to her towel.

"Excuse me, young lady, but...well, I couldn't help notice you arrive alone earlier. I am an American and visiting Malta for a month. I had noticed you in the market on Sunday and at the Sea View a few days later. And then I saw you sit down a half hour ago and...I thought I'd wander over and introduce myself."

I hesitated to try and gauge her reaction. I couldn't make out her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I plowed on anyway. She could tell me to get lost. But maybe she wouldn't.

"My name is Philip," I said confidently as I held out my hand for her to shake. It was the moment of truth. I saw a slight smile turn her mouth up at the corners as she picked up her right hand and reached out to shake mine.

"Hi Philip. My name is Sammy."

"Short for Samantha?"

"It is." She pondered me for a moment. "So you saw me at the market?" She was assessing me carefully; intrigued, but her guard still up.

"I did. I...well, I am drawn to beauty, what can I say? Whether it's the landscape, the architecture, or the people. You looked gorgeous with your...mother, I assume?"

"Yes. We shop together on Sundays...after church."

"You were wearing a lovely dress...and sensible shoes."

I smiled and so did she.

"Well, yes. I was with my mama."

"It was my first impression of Maltese women. But I haven't seen anyone to compare with you since," I said, quite honestly. "And I've looked."

"Does this approach work with women in America?" she asked, with a wry smile.

"It totally does," I replied. "How is it working here?"

She smiled again before replying. "That remains to be seen. The jury is still out."

She paused and I said nothing, feeling like she was going to continue.

"And you saw me at the café?"

"I did. You looked so casual and happy -- and, of course, still beautiful."

"You're not stalking me, are you?" She said it in a teasing voice, not really believing it, but needing to put up a front that was fading fast. Her English was excellent and her unique accent intriguing.

"No, Sammy. I'm not. It's serendipity. And I never forget a face...or a body. In my country," I continued, "if you see a woman three times in a short period of time, you are meant to know her." I smiled to let her in on the joke, though there was some truth to it.

She shook her head with an admiring smile. "You really are something."

"It's true. How can it be that I come to the beach today -- innocently -- a stranger in town -- and you, once again, wander into my field of vision? I knew I needed to come over and introduce myself -- and, here I am."

Now, I'm no slouch physically, even at my age. I run, work out, lift weights, and my mid-fifties body is better than most. I groom myself carefully and as I knelt in the sand talking to Sammy, I felt her eyes wandering over me. I couldn't see her eyes behind her dark sunglasses, but I could feel her gaze checking me out.

"May I ask you a question, Sammy?"

"You may. I may choose to not answer it though...depending."

"Would you take off your sunglasses -- as will I -- so I can see your eyes and you mine?"

She did so and I did as well. I gazed into the deepest dark brown eyes I had seen in a very long time. Her hair was piled casually on her head in a chignon -- long strands escaping to cascade down her cheeks. She was god damn gloriously beautiful and I shook my head in amazement.

"Good God, Sammy. You're..."

I hesitated and she smiled expectantly. "I'm...what, exactly?"

"You're gorgeous, Sammy. But, I already knew that. Yet, now I'm up close and talking to you. I can confirm all my suspicions. I've been here five days and you're still the most beautiful woman I've seen here. Honestly...it's not even close."

She smiled wanly and put her glasses back on and turned her head to look off into the distance. I think I had said my piece and it was time to step away. I could tell I had landed successfully, but I didn't want to overdo a good thing.

"Sammy, I'm going to head off now. But...one more question before I go."

She turned back to me expectantly. Her silence was an acquiescence for me to ask my question. She waited.

"Would you meet me for a drink tomorrow? Late afternoon? A café of your choice? A drink only?"

She looked at me directly, then pulled her sunglasses off again. She reached into her bag and grabbed a card and a pen. She scribbled something on the card and handed it to me.

It was a business card with her name and title. She had scrawled the name of a café and a time. Square Bar at 5pm. I looked up from her card and smiled. I stood and felt her eyes follow my length up and down without hiding that fact.

"You're on," I replied.

"See you tomorrow...Philip."

As she donned her sunglasses once again I sauntered away. I said, "See you tomorrow" over my shoulder -- and I was gone.

I approached the Square Bar a few minutes before our meeting time. I snagged a table outside toward the corner and sat back and waited for Sammy to show. I smiled as I saw her approaching across the piazza. I'd seen her in Sunday shopping clothes, "out with friends" clothes and a bikini. But I almost didn't recognize the gorgeous creature crossing Parish Square as I spied her before she saw me.

She was wearing skin tight jeans and a short snug low-cut black tank that left her tummy partly exposed and her breasts practically bursting out of her top. I detected the black straps of a bra, but it was doing little to contain the bounce of her big soft breasts as she strode across the piazza. She was wearing strappy black heels that made her appear more statuesque than the other times I had seen her. Her hair and face had been carefully tended to. She had gotten dressed up for me -- and I smiled at the implications. But, Good God, what a body?

I stood and waved my hand as she walked onto the bar terrace. She smiled and wove her way between the tables to get to me. I saw a few heads turn, wondering who this gorgeous woman was and who was she meeting?

"Four times in five days? I am one lucky man, Sammy," I joked as I stood to greet her.

She smiled as we double kissed. I pulled out her chair and she sat down, her breasts heaving ever so slightly as she bounced a little to adjust her chair.

"I don't usually meet stalkers, but I thought I'd make an exception this time," she chided.

She settled in and I surveyed her beautiful face. My, she was a stunning woman.

"You only get more beautiful each time I see you," I suggested, in all truth.

"Thank you, Philip. Have you been here before?"

I had not and we ordered a couple of glasses of Nero d'Avola and settled in to talk.

"So what brings you to our fair island nation, Philip?"

I explained my situation at the Parish Church and she seemed quite interested in my work and why I was in Malta. I inquired about her situation and came to find out that she did on-line marketing and had a thriving solo business. Our conversation was far ranging from that point forward. Over two glasses of wine we got to know one another quite well and the comfort level grew. I sensed a connection and played it very cool as we sipped our wine and enjoyed the steep slanted sunlight as it set in the west.

"So, I find it hard to believe you don't have a boyfriend or significant other, Sammy. How can that be?"

She took a sip of her wine before responding. "I've had my share, Philip. I'm in my late twenties. But I don't tend to dwell in the past. I prefer the future...and the now."

"Well, said. I agree." I paused. "So, late twenties as in...?"

"28," she replied.

I smiled. "I'm exactly twice your age, Sammy. Another sign, I think. I'm 56. Scare you?"

She looked me straight in the eye. "Not in the least, Philip. I prefer older men."

We toasted again and drank our wine looking into each other's eyes over the rim of our glasses.

"And what about you, Philip? Did you leave a wife at home? A lover? A friend with benefits?"

I smiled. "None of the above, Sammy. All I care about at the moment is...I am here...and so are you."

She smiled and leaned her glass toward mine. We clinked, lifted our glasses to the sky, and drank. Sammy leaned in as she toasted and her right arm pressed her breast inward, sharpening the deep divide of her dark cleavage. I glanced, but retreated quickly. Her smile and the way she bit her lower lip let me knew she'd caught me. I didn't care. She dressed as she did to be noticed, and that is what I was doing.

The late afternoon eased into early evening and progressed at a lovely pace. We talked about travels, politics, music and eventually finished our second glasses of wine. I had suggested drinks, but hadn't planned on this turning into dinner. I realized that it could, but I felt that it might be better to call an early end to the night and make plans for another date. I didn't want to come on too strong. I'd played that card at the beach and didn't want to push it. As we sipped the last of our second glass, I made a suggestion.

"Sammy, I invited you for drinks only and think we should keep it at that tonight. But, may I make a suggestion?"

She smiled, a bit confused that I was passing up the opportunity to spend more time with her. She seemed totally into making a night of it.

"I plan on exploring the island on Saturday and I was going to hire a guide. But, I was wondering..."

She smiled broadly and nodded. "You need a guide? Well, I'd be interested, of course. But...I'm not sure you can afford me," she joked.

"I probably can't. But I'm going to hire you anyway, if you'd like to show me your country."

She extended her hand and we shook.

"You're on," she exclaimed.

I paid our bill and we headed back out onto the piazza to say goodnight.

"Well, I am so glad we did this, Sammy -- and I look forward to Saturday. Let's text and firm up plans tomorrow," I said, as I stood before her.

She smiled and held out her hand. She looked gorgeous in the early evening light. Tendrils of her hair fell casually around her gorgeous face. Her dark brown eyes gleamed with promise. The sumptuous shape of her body was unmistakable in her form-fitting clothes. I smiled at my good fortune and reached for her hand.

But instead of shaking it, I pulled her to me and gave her a very polite and gentle hug. I double kissed both cheeks and said my farewells. She smelled divine as I left my hand on the bare skin exposed between the bottom of her top and the low riding hem of her jeans.

"See you on Saturday, Sammy."

"You will, Philip. You most definitely will."

We turned simultaneously and began to walk in opposite directions. I hadn't left the piazza and I was already looking forward to my first weekend in Malta.

I rented a car for the weekend and picked up Sammy on Saturday morning. It was weird to be driving on the left again, but I'd done so in the UK and it came back to me quickly. We took the entire day to meander and explore. Malta is relatively small and we only toured the large island we were on -- a mere 17 miles across. The landscape is rolling hills and terraced fields with a lovely coastline of coves and beaches. We had lunch in the largest city of Valletta and wandered the narrow streets of the capital holding hands afterwards.

Sammy proved to be a knowledgeable guide, but also a wonderful companion. We laughed and joked the entire day. Over lunch I learned more about her family. She was an only child, but from a large extended family that lived all around the island. She'd traveled extensively after moving to Malta from the UK as a pre-teen. She was close to her family, yet had a large entourage of friends and business acquaintances. She was smart, cultured and funny -- and her inner beauty only grew on me more as we hung out together.

Our day ended with a lovely dinner back in Mellieha, after which I dropped her at her doorstep. Our kiss was more than I would have given most travel guides, but less than I truly wanted. She suggested I come in for a drink, but I declined. I knew where things were going, but wanted to get there on my own terms and on my own timeline. We parted ways that evening with plans to meet for lunch.

We shared drinks and a few meals and walks around Mellieha over the next few days. It was becoming clear that we were truly attracted to one another and that we were destined to go beyond holding hands and gentle good-bye kisses in public. As we parted ways that Wednesday evening I offered a suggestion for Friday night.

"I would love to make dinner for you Friday night, Sammy. I've told you about my apartment, but I'd love for you to see it. Plus I haven't cooked since I arrived. I'll cook up one of my Italian specialties and have some good wine on hand. We'll eat out on my roof patio -- it has a great view looking out over the town -- and I'll dazzle you with my culinary skills."

"Oh, I love to be dazzled," she grinned. "I can do that. Can I bring anything?"

"No -- nothing. Just your beautiful self."

We set a time and I gave her a kiss goodnight. I was hoping to go well beyond that if everything went according to plan on Friday. I headed back to my place with a smile on my face.