Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Guess Who - Part 1 - (sequel to A Night with the most wanted man)

“Guess who!”

A joyful and vibrant whisper trying to hide its natural voluptuousness ran in my ear like water dripping off an icicle in the spring meltdown. I didn’t want to guess who. I was almost afraid of the answer. And yet, the clues couldn’t have been clearer to my senses to interpret the right answer for this pop-quiz.
 “It can’t be who I think it is.”

He pressed his body against mine, squeezed his hands on my eyes and I felt his lips brushing the edge of my ear.

“What if it is?”

“Then, let me savour the uncertainty a little longer.”

Ridiculously long and sensual fingers pressed my eyes shot, capturing me into the most blissful ignorance, deeply sensual voice flowing in my ear – I could almost see the treacherous smile snaking itself on the corner of his lips – the warmth of his breath tickling my cheek and neck, the way his upper body instantly pressed against mine, and it seemed that the chair on which I was sitting offered almost no barrier against his ardour. I imagined myself, had I been standing, and an overwhelming sensation of glorious carnal delight took me over. 

In the concrete of the reality, I contented myself of flushing red. I imagined a nice vibrant shade of it, like the silky tone of the rouge worn by the actress in the latest Revlon add, glowing with even more intensity under the spotlights. 

“Good morning Tom.”

He chuckled, released me, and smacked a wet kiss on my cheek, like a little boy would, but I found myself still being unable to open my eyes, not just yet.  I wanted to taste the darkness in which he had plunged me, so as to better delight myself of the light he would blind me with as soon as he would be seated in front of me, at the small table of the even smaller café in which he found me.
I swallowed and opened my eyes. I prayed I would have the strength to look him in the eyes without either getting a huge insanely absurd comment gush out of my mouth, or, faint on the floor, or drop my tea on my laptop, or do anything embarrassing of the sort. My heart was already pounding so hard I thought I wouldn’t be able to hear him.
The soft morning light that seemed to have such horrendous difficulties entering the window of the small pub  ̶  because in fact, as much as I wanted to call this a café, it was really one of those antique and authentic English pubs  ̶  well, that shy morning light was now completely blinding me; it shone down upon him and gave him a sort of magic impossible to deny.  The fairness of his skin could’ve been compared to the purest snow and I just loved how his cheekbones seemed soft and sculpted to perfection. His new hairstyle, an intricate mix of gold and amber, highlighted by deep threads of shining rust reminded me of the soft ocean ripples bathed by the setting sun, and an powerful image of a BBC documentary imposed itself in my mind, and I couldn’t stop but smile; he was the sea I had chased after for so many years. His whole being was in fact like the ocean; a work of art to which regular words failed miserably at giving rightful justice.

He randomly took the menu under his hands and glanced over the choices. I stopped typing, put my shyness in the desktop’s trash bin and openly installed myself to admire his new looks. 

“Tom, can you stop being outrageously beautiful once in a while?”

He peeked over the card, raised his right eyebrow, his eyes seemed to gleam even more, smiled of his typical and undeniably honest “I’m sorry” and returned his attention to study the menu’s extravagant choices. Would he take an Earl Grey tea or a green one? “And would my good sir consider giving the breakfast special a curious attention, or content himself with scones and a fruit salad?” I imagined the waiter’s voice in my head, trying to contain himself, upon realizing who his “Good Sir” was on this fine morning. 

But the server liked to give his new arriving clients a moment to settle down and enjoy the seat and the sight before he would appear out of the dark corner behind the counter to enquire upon their desire. He wouldn’t come just yet. I had some time to delight myself, and myself alone, of his presence.

He was growing a goatee around his mouth a most charming stylized line on the chin sides. I presumed it was for either the current or some upcoming project. Matter of fact was the extremely attractive end result it gave him, icing him with a certain maturity which had drastically powerful effects on me. I was already aroused by his surprising visit, but his unspeakable beauty was like a fire heated sword straight through my heart. 

“You look stylish, with that.” I traced his beard around my lips.

He smiled and put the menu down. 

Cue for the server to come inquire about the Good Sir’s desires upon this most charming morning.

I guessed half right. Fruits and tea. I renewed mine. 

“I am playing William Shakespeare’s Henry the Fifth for a BBC production. You’d love the set! It’s a shame you have this other contract at the moment, it’s really all that you love! Knights, armors, mud, rain, battles.”

I smiled over my tea. I wouldn’t been able to keep a straight face, had I seen this man in armour, muddy and covered in fake blood, riding on a white horse, out of a mature version of a Disney fairy tale.
“How did you find me?” 

The question sprung out of me, almost as if his presence hurt me more than it delighted me. I regretted it before I could look up into his intensely blue eyes again. I felt terrible for having asked that and I’m sure my cheeks flushed into yet another exotically vivid shade of red.

Actors are not supposed to chase their fans, even less their fan-girls and even less the ones who have admittedly a serious fondness of them. I was grateful for that side distraction we had a few months before and I cherished the memories every minute of every day and night ever since, but I had grown into that idealistic dream where I was no more than a casual recreation on his busy agenda page filled with autograph schedules, countless interviews and whatever filled the rest of his perfectly stop-clock counted time, when he was not de facto on stage shooting.
He took a smart phone out of his trousers’ pocket and pressed a few keys.

“You changed your Facebook status about 47 minutes ago, using the location application. It wasn’t too hard after that.”

Triumphant smile. Triumphant bite into a kiwi quarter with a long and explicit chew on it. I nearly choked on my tea again. Like some months ago. Maybe I should quit tea all in all.
I tried to think. But as he was such a distracting enchantment! Any other man could have been sitting there, in the same clothes he was wearing, doing the same thing as he was doing, and yet, any other man wouldn’t have that incredibly unbearable intense power over me. 

“Why do you keep running away, though?” His question stroke me like a sniper’s bullet – hitting the bull’s eye of my heart.
“Because loving you is a burden far too glorious for my mortal soul.”

Because it is easier to love a memory, an abstract, a public figure shown in abundance on social platforms.
He smiled, chuckled and putting a hand on his cheek, sort of leaned into a more comfortable position, locking his eyes on me. And he looked at me, with an almost fierce and proud glow in his eyes. I wished he was a product of my imagination, but the laws of physics had a very annoying tendency in their ability to prove me wrong. The outside morning sun was using every trick in the book to put him into even more value. His deep blue sea jacket was like a piece of science fiction sent back in time in the background of the café who was definitely the remains of two centuries ago; a real authentic English pub which had its upstairs floor converted to bathrooms, but which really were rooms to be rented a mere two hundred years ago, a few pennies per bed, per night. The stone walls which were put together and held together with the means of “back then”, the old wooden beams solidly securing the upper floors above our heads, the random wall chandeliers, still used in the evenings, most of the furniture too, was old; only the bar was maybe less than century old new and of course the kitchen which was renewed upon the re-opening of the pub. 

Tom, on the other hand, was an artifact from the very distant future thrown back in time; so modern, so well cut, so vibrant in the old dusty ambiance of the place. He seemed altogether misfit and yet as if part of the landscape. 
I didn’t realize he had finished his fruit salad and my tea was getting cold but the fascination brought by the conclusion that his silences were as efficient as spoken words distracted me.  I couldn’t tell if he spoke of something else after that last sentence which was still wildly running over and over in my mind.

My eyes were still captivated by the softness of his neck and how the V cut of his – I presumed – white T-Shirt was just enough to enflame imaginations, and how odd it was for a man to inspire what I thought only women could inspire to men. 

“You care for stroll on the English country side? I have a horse at our disposition for the day.”

I nearly dropped my cup on the floor, as all of a sudden, my fingers holding it, seemed to have lost their ability to do such a simple task as to squeeze the handle hard and long enough to give me the required seconds to put it gently back in the saucer. 

“Why, of all the days of the year where you could have found me, have you picked that one day where I am wearing a skirt? And on top of it, to invite me for a horse ride!”

He rose his shoulders in that adorable “I don’t know” motion which melted me on the spot.
“I have a fear of heights. And horses are pretty high.”
“I’ll be sitting right behind you.”
So there was no way out of this, wasn’t there.
“It is highly enjoyable, I can assure you! You will love it!”
Oh that terribly convincing smile of his! 

He knew I was sold for when he assertively put his arm around my waist and guided me to his parked rental car and I was walking a little faster than he was.

Naturally, by habit, I walked toward the right hand side of the car, and only when I got to the door did I realize it was an English car, with the driver’s seat on this side.

“I wasn’t aware you got your driving license in these last three months.” He joked as he was putting away my laptop’s bag in the trunk of the car. 

I felt like a complete idiot. Voila. Something randomly stupid had to happen. Why couldn’t I be just normal in his presence for once?
He came from the opposite side, going around the car to meet me in the front. I wanted to look at him but all I could manage was to look at that insanely deep V cut; the delicate and yet masculine neck emerging from it resembled a white swan emerging from a sun bathed glistening splash of white foam. He was the sea, he was the merman, he was the tempest wrecking my ship in the storm of the feelings he was brewing above me.

This is the power over me / I'm rendered helpless / You've got me on my knees / You have the power over me / Nothing is certain / I wait for recovery” (1)

I snuck as best as I could between his impressive body and the car’s nose to slide with as much agility as I could manage to get to the door’s handle.

He crossed his arms on the car’s rooftop and smiled at me.

“You sure are more tensed than I am!” 

Tom 1 – Me 0. 

I burst into laughter. 

He opened his door and I tried to open mine. 

Even his driving was charming! So focused and cautious, the little habits kicked in like breathing; seatbelts: his, mine, the radio, pulling out of the parking area, getting on the road, slowly driving out of the village, accelerating on the … what was considered a high way I presumed between two villages, slowing down before the expected curves where he turned to get to his mysterious location. 

I remained in silence, not knowing how to even start a conversation, and when I nearly would have found a topic, I rather stood in that comfortable silence in which we were. I remembered that night on the roof under the stars; silence was the best thing we said to each other. Just being near him, in his arms, in his presence, was enough; words were unnecessary weights which ruined the lightness of the moment.

I smiled.

So… euhm… where is Asgard?” I asked, that night. And it all began there and then.

I wondered if things would have happened differently hadn’t I lost that SD card, or hadn’t I accepted his invitation, or hadn’t I asked that question or … 

The English country side gently past us by, unfolding into always the same bigger picture and yet constantly changing details; infinite green grass valleys sprinkled with a few cows or herds of drowsy sheeps here and there, some patches of wild flowers, mostly white daisies, a few short old wooden fences keeping limits, I thought, more for the visual entertainment rather than real utility purpose. 

“Tom…” I started and I lost my thought. 

The way the sun was playing in the remains of the morning dew on the grass was as if we were driving through a living emerald.

“Have you ever…”I continued, turning to face him. 

He answered my unfinished question, but not with spoken words.

His lips entered into the most delicious collision against mine and time stopped. We were 3 months ago on a rooftop under the stars; we were in a car on the English county side 3 months later  ̶  time had lost its powerful meaning. What had a meaningful significance was the way his beard tickled me, what had substantial importance was the trembling of my soul as his hand slid on the side of my chin to pull me closer as he took his first mouthful of the day. And I realized how much more I had missed him than what I was ready to admit it to myself and I smiled through his avidly ferocious kissing. His art of skilfully shutting me up remained as efficient and as delightfully entertaining – maybe even more so today with its unquestionable reality, versus the slowly fading memories and dreams that still haunted me, some nights, sharper than others. 

I vaguely heard the cliquey sound of the seatbelt’s release, both his and mine, at a small interval, and I was transported with unspeakable joy when he didn’t mind throwing himself over at me. His hand in the same exact spot as before; one finger on each side of my ear, the pinkie sliding down my  neck, the thumb rubbing my skin softly as his tongue was lost in a senselessly passionate waltz with mine. 

He pulled me closer. I dared touch his cheek and the contact of his skin under my hand was like a blind man seeing the light. I was floating in a heavenly bliss of delight and couldn’t care less how breathless I was becoming. 

“I missed you.” I managed to whisper to his V, pulling back for a moment.

“I have guessed that.” He replied, sprinkling his words with a storm of shallow kisses.

A shiver ran through my whole body as he got back to business as usual for the following most delicious five minutes of my last … let’s say a little over 90 days. 

His way of serving himself, while guilefully stopping my thinking process, was among those pesky and yet adorably annoying things he had an expertise at doing and which I missed so much! I felt as if I was a kid back in summer camp with my best friend, up to no good, playing tricks and pranks. I loved how strong and deep his desire had obviously grown since the last time, or was it mine? I couldn’t wait to finish one kiss to start the next one… or was it him? I had missed the taste of his tongue, the smoothness of his lips… the motion of his lascivious fury. 

Part 2 –

We passed through a last little village before the seemingly endless road imposed it’s sensual soft curve in front of us. 

“Are you taking me all the way up to Scotland?” I teased.

“Maybe.” He had a smug smile.
I tried to focus my attention on the road, but my heart was imitating a charging cavalry rushing down an appreciably inclined hill at full speed, and Tom was a man full of surprises. Just as I was trying to remember in which part of England we were by now, he simply took a turn left, as if he had done this path a thousand times, and soon enough, he pulled off on the side of a rather imposing stable’s red brick wall. 

An adorable old man, rather short and strong, came out, holding an imposing tall and strong chocolate brown horse by the bridle. 

“Heaven have mercy! You want me to … get on that thing’s back? Are you serious?”
I was more petrified with fear than jumping thrilled with excitement. 

He leaned over, smacked a quick kiss on my cheek and a dropped a reassuring whisper in my ear.  

“I’ll be right behind you!” 

And with that said every possible fear was simply and absolutely dissolved, evaporated into thin air, just as the very last remains of the early morning’s mist, killed by the powerful golden arrows the sun torpedoed in the heart of the weakening bunch of clouds.

The horse, a healthy stallion going by the oddly circumstantial name of Henry, looked me straight in the eye as I was facing him by the left side, trying to make a good first impression. Inside of me, I was trembling with apprehension, but on the outside, I tried my best to approach a steady reassuring hand to his nose, which I left hovering above his nostrils a good moment so he could sniff me and make my acquaintance, giving him the right to either accept me or refuse me. 

I nearly jumped when he pushed his nose into my palm and a little squeal of surprise escaped me. 

“Do all blokes impress you this dramatically?” Tom asked teasing, observing me, holding the bridle with an assured hand, the other one steadily caressing the horse’s neck. 

I couldn’t stop the laughter which burst out of my lips faster than a formula one car starting up and I grimaced back at him. 

“So… how do you expect me to … get on his back?” I asked, half consciously putting all my weight on my feet, hoping that roots would miraculously grow to keep attached to the ground.

Tom turned around the horse, walked slowly, taking all his time, ambushing me from behind, and I should have guessed it, firmly gripped my sides with both hands.

“You will slide your left foot into the stirrup and I will raise you with a little push; you will grip firmly the pommel, slide your right leg around the saddle, sit down, and relax. You will then free the stirrup so I can get up, I will slide my arm around you, take reins and give a little kick into Henry’s side. He will most likely make some noise and start walking.”
Sounded so easy!


So joyful and optimistic!

I was a little less beaming with enthusiasm than he was.

He guided me, once again, step by step. I remembered that night, the staircase, his hand on my eyes, his voice guiding me – step by step.

“Left foot in the stirrup.”

Up until there, I managed, even if my skirt slid back greatly on my leg, revealing my pale skin.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself.” I whispered, trying to focus on the pommel.

“Very much so, indeed.” He replied, more amused than serious.

He pushed me up, as he said he would, but for a split second, a random thought distracted me and the
theoretically easy maneuver became a charming fiasco as I fell straight back into his arms, making him
step back from the surprise and I couldn’t stop smiling as he squeezed me strong against him. 

“We should do horse riding more often. I love how passionately you fall into my arms." 

I giggled and he gently set me back into position for a second try. I felt like an animated doll in his hands and sighed with a smile, remembering how I had naturally trusted him the first time. The second time wasn’t quite the success I had hoped for, but, but a famous proverb was on my side and third time became the charm! To which I shouted out loud my satisfaction of being finally successful.
Obviously, for Tom, getting up and settled into position was as blissfully easy as quoting Shakespeare. And like he said, giving a gentle kick into Henry’s side, our adventure of the day really began. 

I closed my eyes to better appreciate the stallion’s confident steps as he lead us out of the farm’s premises into what had the secret flowery scent of frizzy and mostly titillating adventurous times ahead of us. Tom had quickly secured his arm around my waist, as he had promised, holding the bridle with assurance, guiding the imposing horse on a most charming dirt path that officially started a good mile in the farm’s backyard, snaking itself in the green forest, curving around clearings, going into darker agglomerations of tall darker shaded green giants.

It’s most interesting how when you have your eyes closed, everything becomes hyper sensitively acute around you. The sound of Henry’s steady pace, the tapping sound of his shoes against the dirt road, his horse smell clashing against Tom’s cologne made me smile. Sometimes, as the horse would make a comment or move his neck and I would tense up, but the man behind me pressed himself against me, and I was sent back into a most comforting cocoon of trust and dream like state. Random birds were randomly chirping in the random distance, the sun was playing the same kind of hide and seek game through the foliage, tickling my face when it pierced a bit stronger between scarce leaves, creating strong luminous fireworks behind my closed eyes. I could imagine a Disney like scenery where the sunrays pierced down to gently caress the shyly emerging wild flowers’ open petals like open arms, swooshing through leaves, creating a rich spectrum of all sorts of shades of greens, from the deepest thickest bottom of a pond green to the lightest almost see-through golden tone. And as I took in deep slow breaths, all the various scents of nature mixed in the most delicious perfume which changed, it seemed, at the pace of our noble steed. With closed eyes, every delicate scent that brushed me was a like playing fairy twinkling its tiny wings, brushing my cheeks, flying away, twirling and dancing in the late summer’s air.

I smiled at the shear thought of where I was, with who I was, and what I was doing. It seemed a dream, and yet, my senses were too sharply excited at every passing second to be able to deny the unquestionable reality of it all. I felt his arm move up and down at each breath I took, sometimes he would squeeze me against himself – I thought – for the simple and delicate pleasure of feeling me, or to remind me that this was neither an illusion nor a daydream. Sometimes, he would slow down the horse’s pace to bring my attention on a scenery’s specific detail, knowing I would appreciate the finer detail of the sunlight against the green leaves and how two leaves, seen from under, would be of two different shades, lit differently from above, and how at their united center a third shade would exist, gently moved by the late summer breeze. 

Other times, I would be lost in wonder, trying to imagine the scenery in my mind, trying to paint the odd and yet picture perfect reality; a tall and strong chocolate brown stallion walking at a casual pace on a small dirt trail in the midst of an English forest, with tall leafy trees on all sides, wild flowers sprouting randomly in the painted landscape, discreet birds, some butterflies perhaps, fluttering here and there. On the horse’s back, a man in his very early thirties, with beauty worth of a prince, wavy hair of an undefinable shade between a golden blond and deep tones of amber, eyes of a soft deep blue under the shades, which would illuminate into a sky blue when lit up by a random sun ray. He was wearing a deep blue sea jacket and black suede trousers, contrasting with the surrounding environment and even more so seeming miss-fitting the activity he was enjoying. Seated before him and held safely, and strongly against him, the young woman of a merely a few years younger, was equally a fashion misfit in this natural activity with her almost see-through white sleeved shirt covering a pale peach top completed with an equally soft peachy pink ruffled skirt, which in this odd position was pulled up, revealing her pale thighs. 

“Hold on tight, we will accelerate a little.” He warned me just as we arrived at a clearing’s edge, a little atop a hill, softly reaping me from my half dream.

My heart suddenly accelerated into an untamed race. I felt Tom’s leg giving that signal kick into Henry’s side and the horse hastened and unleashed his own tamed desire, letting his vigour be known and appreciated, bursting into a passionate speedy canter which soon became an honest galloping. I felt Tom’s grip around me tightened, and I couldn’t have been happier for it. I felt his body leaning over me, just slightly, his chest practically fusing with my back, his legs pressing against mine, the bridle shortly wrapped around his hand.

Henry seemed to enjoy the speed as much as Tom did, and I thought to myself that this sure beated any amusement park in terms of thrilling sensations and excitement! I wanted to close my eyes, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to do so, eager to appreciate how fast the landscape unravelled under my eyes, how the grass was practically reduced to blurred horizontal lines, how the wind was strong against my chest and in my hair – which I hoped would hold in place until the race finished. 

As my heart was palpitating with unreasonable strength, I realized the full blown arousing side effect of this whole thing. There was something absolutely raw and sensual, untamed and primitive in this improvised race and I wondered if Tom had planned it consciously or if it was the randomness of the moment’s inspiration.

I was still on that indescribable high when the stallion slowed down and I could make out Tom’s voice in my ear.

“Fun, wasn’t it?”
It was the horse who had furnished most of the effort and it was me who was panting, still under the power of what I felt, and still was trying to tame inside of me. I swallowed and tried to gather my thoughts.

“Sure beats amusement parks!”

The landscape in which we stopped seemed as if ripped out of a children’s illustrated fairy tale book; if the woods would have been a giant hand, we would have landed on the edge of the palm, I imagined we came from an unseen place from the thumb, and rode a trail up to the hill top which was constituted by the Thenar’s eminence so to speak; in front of us, an appreciable clearing divided in its center by a most charming little stream, on this side, gifted by the presence of a venerable willow tree gently brushing the clear water’s ripples by its sorrowful branches, on the other side, the forest continued, as if the index, middle and ring fingers were jointed in a graceful figure, leaving to sight a small breach before the line of the pinky would dive into another section of thick dark woods.
Tom jumped off the horse’s back with as much ease as he got up and securing both hands on my waist, helped me down. I slightly lost my balance and landed directly in his arms – yet again.

“I am seriously considering taking you out on horse rides more often. You have this charming habit which is becoming most addictive!”

I smiled and rolled my arms around his neck as I leaned forward to kiss him. My turn to. I was burning from the ride and I couldn’t possibly think of restraining my burning momentum. I wanted him so much, so badly, so intensely, so senselessly, so strongly, so eagerly, so ardently, so fiercely, so thirstily …

I pulled back. 

He smiled looking me in the eyes.

“That was agreeable, why did you stop?”

“I ran out of synonyms to describe how badly I want you.”

“Let me help out.”

His adjectives were as sharply intense as the fiery tickling sensation inside of me; vigorous, long, deep, detailed, demanding.

I could feel his chest raising and lowering against mine. If my hands were casually thrown around his shoulders, his arms were a bit more possessive around my waist and back, pulling me closer to him, squishing my chest against his, locking me into a most delightful cage of craving passion, of which I wouldn’t have wished to escape.

I had forgotten how much I loved and most essentially how I missed kissing him. There was just something sublimely natural about him. I couldn’t define it precisely, nor could I deny it. It was just one of those statements of life like when you love a fruit, or a dish or a color; you love it, end of story. I loved kissing him. And he didn’t quite do anything to inspire me the opposite train of thoughts.

“Do you still hate me?” He whispered in my ear after a very long moment and it seemed as if someone had wide opened the blinds of a dark chamber, unleashing the blinding and burning power of morning’s sunlight.

I blinked and rested my head on his shoulder as I burst into laughter. So, he did remember that.

“Yes. Very much so, yes.” I replied in an equally low whisper.

Tom was lying on his side, a hand on his cheek, his elbow in a thick and soft patch of fresh grass, twirling random blades with his free hand.  He had taken off his jacket and I refrained myself from giving him that cheesy pick up line “Did it hurt much when you fell from heaven?”, and yet, behind his composed smile, I could see that twinkle in his eyes as he was clearly enjoying every moment of my internal struggle to remain calm in his presence.

It was odd, and yet so natural, this silence composed of smiles, of glances and of random little grimaces as we both tried to start a conversation and yet not quite finding the proper words. Almost as oddly, I realized that in fact, words were not as much needed to express whatever we wanted to say to each other.

A good few ten or twenty meters behind him a rather thick pool of daisies caught my attention and by a random strike of inspiration – to Tom’s open surprise and unhidden deception – I sprang up and ran to collect a few.

“Isn’t it normally up to the gentleman to gather flowers for his lady?” He asked bemused when I came back with a huge stack in my hands.

I gave him a single one.
“Nope. Not in our modern era.”

He smiled and I sat down to craft him a crown.

He looked at me with curiosity, trying to guess where I was going, but soon his smile widened and a chuckle escaped him as he lay back on his back, playing with his daisy. 

By the time I was done, he had his fingers crossed behind his neck; eyes closed and seemed to enjoy a little nap. The scenery itself – had I had a camera on me – would have been worthy of a classic romantic painter’s vision on an outing. The man, lying on the tender green grass, enjoying the sun’s warmth, the random chirping of birds, the faint whispers of the wind the trees around the clearing; the girl sitting near him, silently working on her craft, making a crown one flower at a time, for the man who had wan her heart in the most charmingly unexpected possible way.

I grinned with malice. I could have just called out his name, to get his attention, or bend over and kiss him on the cheek, maybe on the lips to play Sleeping Beauty, but since he was so freely offering himself to me, why not raise the fun bar just a little higher?

Trying my best not to unravel my evil plan, I snuck up on his crouch before he would open his eyes. He got half up, resting his weight on his elbows and grinned at me.

“You lied. The daisy’s last petal confirmed it. You love me.”

“I guess daisies can’t lie, can’t they?”

He silently shook his head to a no. 

“So then, I have no other choice but to…” I started, and was as soon caught off guard as he suddenly raised himself to a more appropriate sitting position and locked his arms in my back.

“… But to crown you my king.” I finished.

The white of the daisy crown in the flamboyant rusty gold of his hair gave him an even more so unbearable beauty and I sighed, regretting the absence of my trusty camera to capture the perfect of the moment. Maybe it was my imagination playing tricks on me, making me believe he could read my mind, ore more realistically, he knew me all too well, for he quickly snuck out a mobile phone from his trousers’ pocket and offered it to me. 

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Photo Idea - Always With You No Matter Where

Models :  2 men

One 30-ish, blond, beardy, viking styled, tattoos and piercings, fierce looking (blue eyes)
One 21-ish, black hair, punk, tattoos and piercings, innocent look, a little lost puppy (grey or green eyes)

Location or Background : snow valley, clear night sky, no moon but the infinity of the sky and the snow

Light : a strong fire is in front of them, giving them a golden light (additional light spots on the sides if necessary)- the point is to get a soft to intense golden light against their naked skins and in their eyes

Props : a huge wolf skin to cover the guys up, on the back of the older one - fancy medieval styled belts, leather pants, Celtic themed belt buckets, more wolf skins, some fancy men rings, maybe pendants,

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Tarot Draw of July the 28th 2012

Celtic draw
Will I go to Matane this year to study photography?

Fallen card ; The Lovers (obviously!)

" Sometimes, while you or your client shuffles the cards before a Tarot reading, a card or two may ‘jump’ or fall out of the deck. While some may choose to simply pick up the card and continue shuffling without a second thought, others will see this as a direct message that requires your attention.

So what does a ‘jumping’ Tarot card actually mean and how do you interpret it in the context of the Tarot reading?

First, ask your client what they were thinking about at the exact moment the card fell from the pack. It is likely that there is a specific message in the ‘jumping’ Tarot card that is related to what the client was thinking about at the time. If your client wasn’t thinking about anything specific at the time, simply take note of the card and then return the card back to the pack as you continue to shuffle.

Once you have laid out the cards for the Tarot reading, look to see if the ‘jumping’ card reappears. If it does appear in the reading, this indicates that its message is of even greater importance, particularly within the context of the Tarot reading. If the card does not reappear, then it is likely the card is referring to another issue that your client has not asked about. In this case, the ‘jumping’ card is calling your client’s attention to the second issue and emphasising that it is as important as the original question.

Of course, if you drop half the Tarot deck as you shuffle, then it might just be a sign to pick them up and start shuffling again, more carefully this time!"

The Read - 

Card 1 - Present Situation. Reveals the influences at play and sets the scene for the rest of the reading. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This covers you", when drawing this card.
What I drew :
2 of coins inverted
What it means : 
Difficulty with handling problems, expect a discouraging message
What I think personally :  My depression, my life questioning, my inability to make the right decisions, the feeling of being perpetually lost in the fog

 Card 2 - Cause/Obstacles/Influences. The obstacles, challenges or forces that may be in your way. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This crosses you", when drawing this card. Traditionally this card would be laid horizontally across Card 1. However this isn't necessary and it makes card 1 and 2 harder to interpret.
What I drew :
IV the emperor
What it means:
Accomplishment, confidence, wealth, stability, leadership, father/brother/husband, achievement, a capable person
What I think personally : Obviously Tom incarnated. He is pretty much all these definitions at the moment.

Card 3 - The Goal or Best Outcome. This is what is being wishes for, it is the ideal goal. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This is above you", when drawing this card. 
What I drew :

0 the fool
What it means: 

New beginnings, new adventures, new opportunities, unlimited possibilities, pleasure, passion, thoughtlessness, rashness 
What I think personally : My inspiration, my writing of fictions, I am getting to be known and appreciated among the Hiddlestoners

Card 4 - Background or Distant Past. This is the foundation or background to the situation reveal in card 1. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This is the foundation of the subject", when drawing this card
What I drew :
VI the lovers 
What it means: Love, harmony, trust, honor, the beginning of a romance, optimism, a meaningful relationship/affair
What I think personally : Hard to ignore the feelings which are currently tormenting my heart. But they are mostly cerebral, in the definition that the chosen one is not even aware of my existence - or - I do not stick out of the crowd of his passionate followers, so it's a one way thing. (my personal specialty)

Card 5 - Recent Past or Events. Whatever recent events have effected this situation they should be waining. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This is behind you", when drawing this card. 
What I drew :
6 of swords
What it means: A journey, passage away from sorrow, harmony will prevail 
What I think personally : The journey of falling in love this intensely ? I don't know if it's a good thing yet though ...

Card 6 - Future InfluencesFuture events, people or influences that may alter the situation.  Some Tarot readers say out loud "This is before you", when drawing this card. 
What I drew :
Page of Coins inverted
What it means:  Wastefulness, luxury, rebellious, opposing ideas/opinions, bad news
What I think personally : I don't know what to say about this -

Card 7 - Possible Answer or This is You. This card can be a possible answer to the problem. It can also describe the person and how they relate to the situation. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This answers you", when drawing this card
 What I drew :
 7 coins
What it means:  Effort and hard work will cause growth, a pause during development, reevaluations
What I think personally : I wish! But it won't be with photography - my photos barely get noticed on deviant art... or my illustrations...

Card 8 - Your Resources (home, family, friends etc) or Your Strengths. This card can point to people who can be of help in this situation or to person strengths that should be made use of. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This strengthens you", when drawing this card
What I drew :
king of coins
What it means:  A chief of industry or a banker, a reliable person, a married man, solid, steadiness
What I think personally : please give him a loaded boxing glove so he can beat some living sense into me.

Card 9 - Your Inner Feelings, Hopes & Fears. This is the persons inner most feelings on the situation, it can bring out hopes, fears and other deep rooted or hidden emotions. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This describes you", when drawing this card
What I drew :
7 of swords inverted
What it means:  Excessive help is given, good advice, counsel, stolen items are returned
What I think personally :

Card 10 - The Final Outcome. The final outcome to the situation for the person. Some Tarot readers say out loud "This is the conclusion", when drawing this card.
What I drew :
ace of coins
What it means: Possible greed or misery, money may not be everything
What I think personally : So in the end, it's not worth it. I don't want money if I cannot have happiness and steadiness.



I don't want control.

I just want to forget that I love the man I currently love.

I want to run away and forget who I am.

I want to walk to forget a lot of things.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Small list of movies/roles in which I would love to see Tom


 While sticking close the original Shakespearean masterpiece, maybe adding a shade darker of torment and sorrow under the hand of director Chris Nolan, brilliantly interpreted by the refreshing new comer on the international movie scene, Mr. Tom Hiddleston, who will bring that ray of light the movie would profit in this new interpretation of an old classic.

Note of Reference : Hamblet by Kenneth Branagh  http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0116477/

Tristan - 

Romantically passionate, violently energetic, a battle for the heart of a woman the hero cannot have, having sworn an oath to his uncle, king of Brittany, Tristan struggles against his own burning passions for Queen Isolde, while being morally tied to his Uncle. Is it really the work of some herbs mixed in the vine they consumed on the boat, or is it the work of their own hidden tragic and yet so unspeakably powerful attraction to each other ? Tristan loves, is hurt, is exiled, is banished. He finds another woman whom he is not able to love and take, being always and for ever attached to his one true beloved Isolde. Tragic love, tragic life, tragic death.

Note of reference : http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/2264003790/ref=wms_ohs_product 

Duc de Nemours - 

From the french novel La Princesse de Clèves, the Young Duke of Nemours, originally promised to the Princess of England falls madly in love with the Princess of Clèves on her wedding day, without really knowing who she is, meeting her for the first time of his life. The feelings that bloom in his heart, mixed with the clear knowledge of the impossibility of their love story, the young Duke lives half in reality, half in a wonderful dream where he can hold his beloved lady in his arms. The Princess' Uncle, Chartrand,  getting mixed in a bad scandal, asks his good friend the Duke to temporarily take the blame, and this one now finds himself in a very dangerously complicated situation where he has to publicly distant himself from the scandalous love letter, while also making it clear to the Princess, that he is not the object of the adoration mentioned in the said letter.

Note of reference : http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0054208/

Chevalier Des Grieux 

Young, educated and literate, charming,  and sadly innocent to the charms and dangers of the world, the Chevalier des Grieux meets and instantly falls in love with a young woman on the day her older brother takes her to the Convent. It is love at first sight, in such a violently indescribable way, the Chevalier does not know how to cope with all the storming feelings and desires in his heart and mind, but knows for fact that he could not live without Manon. Follows a deeply passionate cohabitation mixed with questionable choices which will lead the young heroes to a tragic destiny.

Note of reference : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manon_Lescaut

Monday, July 23, 2012

About Why I did and Why It Worked Out

I actually asked myself the question. Why did I wrote that piece of fiction and further more, why did I publish it on the vast endlessness of the Internet.

Answer to first part of the question.

Because he is the first man in 20 years to inspire me so violently something of this type. And by violent, I refer here to the definition the word has in the French 17th century where it refers to a senseless feeling of irrepressible passion.

The first being Rudiger, I couldn't of possibly write such content with him, since I was 8 years old at the time and didn't knew nothing about adult love; yet I imagined myself sleeping in his coffin, cuddled up in his arms and I felt the safest place in the world. (Later on, this would be the ultimate test for any crush or love interest of mine : If i had the ability of sleeping, imagining myself snuggled up against them, and sleep well with interesting dreams, it was a clear way to see if I loved and trusted them. In the opposite conditions ; uneasiness and bad dreams, it was simply a clear answer that the relationship, had it been real, would have bound to fail. And among all real and fictional characters - not so many passed the test.)

At 8 years old, though, I did not write of my adventures with Rudiger. I simply passionately lived them in my mind; sleeping with him, having children with him, hunting humans together for blood, walking in cemeteries under the moonlight and watching the stars (which activity became a regular thing with Samaël, Sabik and most recently with Tom, which little detail triggered the whole story.)

I remember the violently passionate love I had for Rudiger - and how no other one managed to pierce my heart that bad in the later years, no matter the amount of crushes and love interests I had. Rudiger was a blade right through my heart - while the others were at best a punch in the chest.

The first man with whom I wrote a story though, was the almost as exquisite vampire Lestat. I do not recall what the story was about, but in the general lines, I remember being a detective working on a case of odd murders, blood trails and Lestat living in a mobile home in a deserted swamp area in New Orleans. Obviously, at 10 years old a passionate kiss from Lestat was the biggest thrill I could get! And that is often how the story ended, like in fairy tales, but with my theoretically speaking, sworn enemy.

Throughout High School, I repeated the same experience with potential crushes. I would imagine them in realistic scenarios and tested out the possibilities, getting the thrill of a first kiss, in my imagination and later on paper. Series I used to watch fueled my imagination and gave me great locations or creative situations.

With actors, I didn't bother writing down my stories, the ones I lived and savoured to the last drop in my imagination. I always imagined myself older to fit their age, and it never lasted too long, so I didn't felt the need to keep memories or traces of my affections for them. Besides, it never really went beyond the first kiss, so again, pointless to write that down.

In the middle to late years of Grade School, I started to write with my own created characters, but the most erotically passionate stories never made it on paper.

It was my way of masturbating, so of one, I felt bad and very uncomfortable putting it down on paper, and of two, it was my private life, so I didn't saw why I should leave concrete traces in the physical world.

It was around then that I brought Rudiger back to life, that is, in my imagination, so that I could live out my fantasies with him. Kissing, being touched, being bitten, my blood being drank by him in exchange of the most indescribably delightful pleasure of the senses - and it worked quite the charms! I cannot recall all the years where I would reach the summum of my pleasure - or to be quite literal - my orgasm, imagining in infinity details the sensation of a burning mouth against my neck, biting me, taking away blood and yet giving me pleasure. I didn't need to touch myself - I had reached a state where what happened in my head was more than efficient to make me wet my panties! (Still works today ;)  I just need to imagine different things that arouse me, but the pleasure can become at times painfully unbearable! (Like that one time when I was in Ireland, in a train coming home from the Northern area, back to Dublin, I imagined Sabik having fun with a teenager character of mine - Mathiel - and the pleasure became that badly unbearable that I had to run to the toilet. Maybe I should write this one down - for the sake of good times!

After High School, I don't remember much ... men or fictional characters impressing me to the point where I would use them in more elaborate sex fantasies.

I had a massive crush on Deacon Frost, for sure (from the movie Blade), but I couldn't imagine myself his partner. More like his equal! And never had anything remotely sensual with him. Then Valek came along, another vampire (from John Carpenter's Vampires) but he was too old and I couldn't see him in the role of a lover - more like a father figure. He became my adoptive dad, who had a son, a vampire son of course, who was my playmate, my brother and later my lover.

It was also in High School that I developed a few of my fetiches which replaced the vampires but were even more twisted. Beset and most used was obviously the brother figure. Most usually by alliance - our parents getting married - I end up with an older brother whom I fall in love, and he would be my mentor into the art of love. Again, here, the key element is that, a brother is a figure I would trust and feel completely safe with, no matter what would happen. I thought that a brother would be the best teacher in such matters. And for years this prototype worked its charms on me.

Later, I don't recall from what source exactly, came the android, the robot, and the clone. I would love a man, he would die, I would either clone him or build a really elaborate android with his remaining parts but with a new personality - a thorn and wounded and tormented man who would ask who and what he is in my life and in the whole sphere of existence itself.

I returned to the blood and flesh brother for some time after this exploration. I remember two different stories, one based on the Irish terrorist played by Brad Pitt in The Devil's Own, though my brother was thinner, sculpted yes, but nothing to do with Brad's physics, and with traces of rust in the hair.

And then came around Aramis - probably from a dream - one of the earliest versions of the Blond Man. For years he had the role of the older brother, by the same mother, but different father, who ended up being the head of the local mafia, while I became a police inspector. He became of course - one of my most cherished and ... efficient lovers. Even as as of late, perhaps last year or before, I saw this random bit of a movie about a young woman falling for the heir of the local mafia - who wanted to give the organization a clean basis - and I imagined myself back with Aramis and ... I had forgotten the power he had over me! I realize now that, unconsciously, I based Sabik - when I found his sculpt - on the persona of Aramis. Like I would transfer the remains of that one beloved man into his clone or cyborg copy. And as of very late, I transfered a part of Sabik's temper into the character of Tom Hiddleston in that piece of fiction which started this post.

But let us come back to Sabik a bit. He is special in the sense that, he was the first human representation of a character for whom I had both sentimental and physical attraction, and as it progressed, passionate sexual fantasies too. He was the first to whom I imagined a penis, the first to whom I could imagine without shame and feeling uncomfortable around an erection and having  real coital sex with. I won't even attempt to count the times I had done with him, in full blown detail, and the amount of pleasure he gave me. I could explore a variety of positions with him, define myself as a sexual partner, see what I liked, what I didn't, how I liked things to happen. From the beginning though, I created him perfect for my own personal tastes, following my experiences in real life. He would have a slightly smaller penis than average, comfortable above all, and a way of taking me without inspiring me an automatic rejection of his phallus. (Which my body did 99% of the time with all the guys I had real sex with; 99% because only once I didn't contract against - and I think I was totally distracted by kisses, thus why it worked so well).

Sabik also deserves credentials for having lasted the longer in my book of lovers. Even Rudiger and Samaël whom I love both since before Sabik didn't reach this ultimate combination of affectionate love and bodily passions - Sam maybe a few times, through his personification of Aramis or the dark mysterious potential representation of Rudiger, but Sabik really lasted the longest and was the most used or abused.

Anything was good to end up in bed with him. I cannot even begin to recall all the scenarios I had with him - but he never failed me. And even my last imaginary lover took his place, I still imagined myself sleeping sometimes with him, just because he was everything to me; the protector, the lover, the confident, the best friend, the sex friend, the one who could read me inside out.

And now, to the realization which came to me after I finished that piece of fiction.

First of all, not even Henri, who is based on various dreams of a Blond Man that I had since childhood, first a sidekick, then an older teen, and then various roles, not even Henri had a clearly defined male attributes. I just woke up one day, loving him for his deep blue eyes and the way he made me feel but throughout the first version of the story which lasted a good over half a year, I was still mad about Sabik! I had to completely remove him from the story, in order to be able to focus on Henri, and start writing it down as it is now known under the name of Morvan.

The first time I started to write down that story it was the day I went to see Daybreakers, which day followed my firing from the clinic, and the -- should i say heart breaking or heart wrecking -- leaving of the Post Man who had created terribly powerful storm of emotions in my heart - but whom sadly, didn't pass the test of the "If I imagine myself sleeping with you" (I actually had nightmares all the various occasions I tried him, not even counting the complete uneasiness I had at the perspective of!) So then, Henri helped me forget the Post Man. Nothing like a beardy blond from the sea to forget a rusty blond from the land! I think it was that day that I really started to see Henri as full blown independent romantically based persona to help me through that stage of my life.

And even if I had absolutely great moments with him, slept in his arms and had wonderful dreams, not even him had a clear description of his manly-hood. (Go figure, in my story, I manage to have 3 kids from him!)

And then, I had this huge ass depression which killed my motivation to write, to think, to imagine, to live, to feel, to exist. I had put his story in a folder, where I would from random time to time add a detail or two, like a working schedule, but not really advancing in the story. I had great moments in my head, but nothing I could write down and feel proud of, or reportedly satisfied with.

So I stopped writing.

The first time I saw Tom Hiddleston, I didn't even knew who or what he was. I was on deviant art, I went to the page of a girl who favorited a piece of mine and in her webcam spot of the page, was this ravishingly  beautiful young man with black hair, pale skin, wearing a black costume turning around and smiling. My first reaction was of course to thank her for the fave and ask - who that incredibly gorgeous man was in her webcam animated gif. She answered it was Tom Hiddleston as Loki in the movie The Avengers.

For some reason, I just moved on, if I can say so.

Previous to that, I had seen the printed posters of the precessing movie Thor, but I wasn't too hot about the actor whom I didn't know, first thing, and who on the posters was too built and muscular to be of my taste, even if he was answering the general criteria of the Blond and Blue Eyes. I remember I mostly wished to see Aquaman next! (who is one of my favorite comic book super heroes) With a slender actor - lol!

This was last year in the summer.

This year, somewhere in June, on a very depressed Saturday, not knowing what movie to watch, I browsed the options of last year and thought I would give Thor a chance.

I wasn't expecting much, in fact, I was expecting to be annoyed, disappointed and ready to rant my soul out. Sadly, all the opposite happened! The movie had great one-liners, which absolutely killed me! I hadn't laughed that hard and that much since Planet 51! (which is a 3D animated movie about an astronaut being taken for the alien invading an inhabited alien planet)

It's funny but I wasn't expecting Loki to even be in that movie. In my mind, Loki was in the Avengers! Which I didn't knew or cared to check was the sequel to Thor.

So then, I was watching that movie and - bleedin' hell the déja vues! - Since Tom has burst-ed his way in my life, they are accumulating like if it rained Smarties!  As I was writing, I was taken by surprise to see Loki in that movie. And obviously my heart didn't resist. At least not the mandatory one thousandth of a second it took to completely wan over! I think it was that scene where he comes from behind a column and sits down next to Thor. That scene alone - I was done for! Black hair, blue eyes, black costume, thin,beautiful, charming... my mind didn't process the facts yet. My heart was way to overly excited to let the brain function normally!

After the movie, I headed on to deviant art and started to join Loki based groups, fave Loki based artworks and without realizing, I was digging myself one of the deepest pits or tombs I had ever done digging for myself.

Within a short span of time, and Loki being constantly referred to as being the version played by the actor Tom Hiddleston, these two became so deeply intertwined that I started to love the actor.

Funny enough, just about when I realized my enchantment for the actor, one of my friends on Facebook posted this photo of Johny Depp (a childhood hero and actor) with a quote of his about sticking with the second person with whom you had fallen in love with, because if you would have loved the first sincerely and deeply, you wouldn't have had fallen for the second. And when I come to think about it : I fell for Loki from the first moment on that deviant art page, without knowing the actor, but when I discovered him, the character almost faded away to give full place to the actor. Which before, Never happened. I would love the character, and feel nothing for the actor. (Nothing of the sort that the character would have inspired me. I loved Guy Pearce's character in Ravenous, but I would have never imagined myself in kissing the actor himself!)

The more I fell into the internet rabbit hole of Tom related things, the bigger my fascination for him grew and grew and grew. I started to follow tumblr accounts, followed his twitter - which I realized a week or two later hen I consciously wanted to follow him that I already did !

And then, the story just popped in my head.

At first, it was starring Loki and myself. It was set in New Mexico, and was following the end of the movie Thor. Loki fell from the bridge, fell into our world and I would shelter him and become friends and eventually would we have this moment, of me in Asgard spelling out his name in the stars, sitting on the repaired bridge. The maximum of erotic situation in that story was just barely mentioned by his father Odin upon coming to bring him back and once in his chambers, after a night of drinking contest with Thor, me having a hangover, being nursed back to a regular state of being and asking to be left alone with my private physician. But, I never really fully imagined the scene.

And as a good chain of thoughts happen, the scene of me spelling out his name became the trigger for the story which I did in fact write down, featuring, this time, not the character, but the actor himself. And again, it was that one scene of us watching the stars that started it all off !

And as I tested out the story in my mind, I thought, why not give it a shot and see where this would lead us! Which I did. And published the part 1 of it, which contained nothing but the prologue. Which was welcomed with such positive - and unexpected feedback - I felt the need to finish it up and deliver something decent the fan girls could bite into and have a little bit of fun imagining in their own minds.

Of course the second part got even a bigger response than the first! and I was left with more questions than answers.

Why did it work out so well ? Mostly because it features the flavour of the month - Tom Hiddleston. But mostly because it's not the sort of fan fiction the fans expected to read. It is not vulgar, and cheap and oriented in a bashing styled of fiction - which so many float around deviant art as of late.

All this is fine and dandy, but I as the author, I am left with the most essential question : WHY or rather HOW could I have had the gut and the inspiration and the what ever that I needed to write this down and in this manner in which I did.

Tonight, ... it is 12:32 am July the 24th, so I would say, last night, on the 23rd when I went to bed, a storm cloud of ideas crashed on the shore of my conscious thoughts, giving me answers.

1 - Loki himself being portrayed as he is  reminded me of 2 men I loved the most. Rudiger - black hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and Samaël - a potential adult alternative to Rudiger, especially in that scene in Avengers where Loki is on a horse and has that famous moment of turning around. His costume unconsciously reminded me of a dream I had long long ago where I was in bed with a black haired man, with pale skin and blue eyes, wearing sensibly the same type of uniform, though much less heavy and a huge black horse who was also in our bed. The man smiled at me and defied me to find the suit's opening which I failed to find and I remember it puzzled me for years ! It was as if the costume was literally sewn on his body. That trademark and the huge black horse became a daytime representation of Sam and I would spend countless hours riding that horse, safely snuggled in his arms, in his thick long warm black cape, through this world I imagined for ourselves : White Darkness, where it's almost always night and winter. (But that will come in an upcoming fiction eventually)

2 - Tom Hiddleston himself : the blue eyes remind me of the above quoted men, plus Henri, my last one, based off countless dreams I had of him - among which a few extremely precised and details where I could see his face a few centimeters in front of mine (in a spy dream where I had my first and only detailed sex dream with sensation of him being inside of me); in that sequence I was facing him in a small lift going down from the room where we made love to a pastry shop. I had a good three to five minutes where I could practically detail every aspect of his face! Then I have that Venice dream where I escaped from a hotel room and a honey moon, plus the one where he was a clan's leader and we made love in the forest, the one where he asks me to come home with him, and in it's following dream where we are walking in the path of snow in the valley by the forest

3 - Tom's voice which reminded me unconsciously again of Andrew Edlritch's deep baryton voice, when he sings, even though Tom's is much more sexier and irresistible - no matter the subject he talks about.

4 - His general body lines which remind me of Sabik, and especially those photos of him with the dark curly hair and the deep marine blue shirt which is Sbaik's signature! In my mind, he has his hair like Tom's. In every sketch I have of Sabik, I drew him with his hair cut about the same length and slightly curly at the bottom. (The blue shirt just looks incredible well on him and brings his silver eyes - which i sometimes describe as blue as the shallow sea - and it's about the same cut and style as Tom is wearing in those photos

So there we have it. Tom is like an amalgam of 4 of the Most Loved Men in my life until now. No wonder I didn't resist his charms! (Not to mention, he is only 2 years older than me, so it helps breaking distances between him as an actor and me as a random fan) I won't bother do his Numerology, I'm afraid of what I might find! All of this is already too much!

Upon writing the story, I have to admit, I did imagine the possibility of if being real - in every aspect that I wrote and it troubled me how, he was the first real physical living human being who would inspire me such things, at that level of precision, while being perfectly alive and living in the same time and space as me.

To this day I am fascinated at the perspective that it felt so natural to imagine him doing something I would only reserve to Sabik! (Even if, Sabik is my my Muse when I write and he sure was when I wrote that story, I have flashes of memories where it was clearly Tom that I imagined performing the actions he is described to do.

The greater question of the "Why" could it happen, why did it happen, why did it felt so natural, why was I able to imagine it and further more the impossibility of me writing it down was the real thing puzzling me. Now, at least I know and I really have a sense of closure on this topic.

He - the actor - is simply the first real man with whom the test worked out. And it worked out more than I had originally theorized it could have worked!