lush and blush
the domestic minx
32 Comments
the crisp confluence of whitewashed walls against deep blue sky,
the deeply evocative pulse of the caldera,
the earthy exuberance of mule rides up the cliff face,
the lurking magic of Oia and the whispering of werewolves and vampires
in those cobbled streets when the sun had gone down.
Santorini will forever hold a magical place in my heart.
Not simply because of it's beauty and mystery
enjoyed in the enigmatic company of my adventurous and decadent friend A
and the lively, invigorating exuberance of my offbeat son Dan,
but because much of the time I was deliciously soused.
Yes, dear reader, I admit that a good deal of my time in Santorini was enjoyed within a waft of decadent inebriation, my gentle demeanour laughably pissed and floating on a rummy cushion of lush.
It was too hard not to ...
Before I attempt to blame my small and vulnerable frame for the inevitable tipsiness, or indeed my very bon vivant and sensualist nature, I really must point out to you,
dear friends, that those blissful days spent in the Cyclades were rather long...
And I found it all a little discombobulating, and disorientating.
Which, of course, is my excuse for What Happened...
With days of such epic and inexhaustible delirium, it was not unusual for afternoon drinks to stretch beyond 9pm, with dinner til midnight and dancing til 5am the next morning. There never ceased to be an opportunity for a Mythos beer or an after dinner Ouzo or a Stolleys, darling.
The days never ended, blending seamlessly into the night which was the bright light of day before one knew it. Yet still, despite my inate exhaustion, I would find myself awake at 9 am in the morning, ready for more, sharp and ship shape, pert and poised, excitable and eager to egg on my presumably irritated compatriates.
Frisking them from their beds, I would hasten them into their holsters and off on our adventures we would go.
Traditionally it might begin at Perivolos beach, gratuitously groovy and bursting with beautiful people, where our sunbeds would find us visited by muscled and masculine waiters delivering a steady stream of intoxication and innuendo.
Suitably warmed up, we would then negotiate the icy waters of the Aegean, a little rolling and sloughing in the pebbly sands enjoyed with delightfully unabashed ogling of other delicious people sunning their smooth and supine bodies around us.
It wasn't long before there was an ambling to the beach bar for a little sustenance, a little more Mythos and an amplitude of chilled out vibes.
As our afternoons became more traditional it was inevitable that we became as locals; chatty, conversant and familiar.
The bar staff knew us by name. There was gratuitous nodding, winking, even a little discount by way of acquaintance. And I fear it may have gone to our heads.
"Hey guys! You must come to The Nightclub in Fira tonight." they enthused.
Oh. The Nightclub.
Well. That was it then. We were in. We were Cool.
We had become part of The In Crowd.
And oh, how swiftly we moved out of our comfort zone.
I'll admit it had been a dodgy comfort zone, really, but one that had allowed A and I to hop onto a bar and dance to a roomful of discerning punters with relative ease.
It had allowed us to meld and merge with a barful of international revellers, blissfully engaged in the simple joy of traveling, our good senses imbued with piss and wind and the simple joy of a good beat.
Alas, there could be nothing as simple about The Nightclub.
By it's very nature it would be complex and chameleonic, and abominably wanky,
for it would announce Our Arrival and imminent pressing to the fickle bosom
of The In Crowd.
Yes, we had been invited to the hottest scene in Fira and not, it seems, by accident.
Our inestimable international coolness had been recognized.
No doubt we would even be excused the cover charge and allowed entry for free..
Naturally, it took an eternity to get ready.
Hours passed as we slipped in and out of clothes, chose our jewellery, teased and manipulated our hair, applied our makeup, our fingers frenetically smearing bronzer to exposed flesh and whipping ourselves into a frenzy of utter and undeniable Goddess glory.
Legs bronzed and heeled, I poured myself into a pair of low slung camouflage short shorts (2003, people) and the whimsical whisp of white fabric that passed as a top.
I admired myself in the mirror. Oh, I was beautiful.
I could be one of Them. Delectable Euro Trash. I pouted my lips and poured myself a drink. A Stolleys, darling.
And another. And another.
For it was still a little early and no one would be there until 1am, surely.
By 2am, after standing in the line for 30 minutes, our heels wobbling in the cobblestone streets and our hair dropping noticably in the night air, we were finally in, 20 Euros lighter, our wrists stamped and bodies ready to revel.
The music throbbed, a heartbeat pulsing as we edged our way inside, the dancefloor beckoning, alive with an undulation of human bodies and rhythmic lights.
It was electric and I was charged, my body moving in sync with the beat, my heels gliding effortlessly against the tiled floor, my heels gliding, sliding with the ease of an iceskater on a vast and slippery, pulsating rink.
Oh, it was a little disturbing really..
Perhaps it was the vodka, but the floor was so slippery, so tiled, so up and down, with steps and lights and people merging and converging and dancing into me and pulling at my little white wisp and my tiny short shorts, so curiously and conversely conspicious now in the jungle of bodies around me.
"Let's head for the bar" called out A, her arm pointing onwards, her voice a mime amongst the psychedelia of lights, camera, action of the slippery catwalk we pranced and pouted.
I use the word catwalk deliberately, dear readers, for I feel at this point that it was what I strode, onward and with all the plume I could muster. For beyond us at the bar, was a stand, a thicket of Beautiful People the likes of which I believe I will never see again.
Like an inteloper on Fashion TV, I strode towards them with all the finesse one can muster under the influence of three rapid Stolleys and a day of Mythos.
I like to think it was the smile, the flash of pearls I shot in their direction, that undid me, for the haughty smirk and nose flaring types at the bar seemed quite undone by something so inappropriate, although it is doubtless that the slippery floor and the light bouncing off the unexpected descent of steps, combined with three stiff drinks in quick succession resulted in what happened next.
Seconds from the sanctuary of the bar and as I flashed my most luminescent smile, I felt the ground give way. Where my foot alighted, proud and pretentious, was nothing but thin air.
Oh Ohhh...
My other foot, still in motion, followed its clumsy friend in a descent that found me clutching, reaching, grabbing at anything to stop myself falling to the hard tiles at the bottom of the steps.
Oh dear.
My words can only attempt to convince you of the utter horror of what happened next, dear reader, as I found my hands clutching vainly at salvation.
It is difficult for me to convey the scourge I visited both upon myself and my victim as I lunged forward and grabbed at the very thing, the singular thing within my grasp...
She was young and very beautiful, French I believe, and a little shy. She was no doubt enjoying a night out with friends, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen as the small and nubile, short wearing, smile flashing minx approached the bar from the top of the stairs.
I hope that she can tell the tale now without crying, without blushing, with laughter in her voice and forgiveness in her heart.
For as I fell, I grabbed her crotch, dear reader, her vulva.
It was in the wrong place at the wrong time and it was all I had to stop my fall.
My fall from grace...
Oh and it hurt.
Both of us.
But as I wished the ground to open up and swallow me, I remembered where I was.
It was the bar. Thank God. And I was on borrowed time.
Flashing my most irridescent of smiles I offered my mortified victim, indeed myself,
a little long island tea and sympathy.
"Let's cut to the chase. I'm Claire.
Can I buy you a drink, or are we ready for a cigarette?"
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Reader Comments (32)
Minx, you have me chortling and nearly spewing coffee through my nose this Saturday morning! The young French gal was lucky, I say, to have been the "victim" of your clutches!
What a story, my dear! Your days in Santorini do sound wonderful, though, perfect for your fabulous Minxy self!
xoxoxo
Rapunzel
What a welcome giggle on a sunday morning. Minx, from your stories, you always seem to 'cut to the chase'. It has to be unconcious. I'm still cringing....it must have hurt....(her) LOL
Oh yes, dear Rapunzel, how hilarious it is in retrospect!!
At the time it was utterly and abysmally horrible, on so many levels...
The entire place was so shiny and so slippery, like many of it's patrons unfortunately...I was simply not up to it and the social mortification reverberated like a shockwave the island over. I'm grateful it didn't cause another cataclysmic earthquake. although a little opening of the earth's crust may have enabled me to slip out of sight unnoticed...
xox
Dearest Thinista,
Sometimes I prefer to cut to the chase, other times the cut is thrust upon me...
Like my unwitting hand was thrust upon that poor girl's womanhood, no doubt scarred now and emotionally disturbed after such a, dare I say, snatch and grab.
Cringe, yes....
xox
and just think.. someday soon when the likness of your minxy self is splashed across television and movie screens all over the world... the little french girl will be able to say....."je l'ai connue quand"... and i hope to god that says i knew her when!!!!
Snatch and grab....oh, very droll Minx :)
Oh Good Lord, Paisley...
Let's hope she is the only one who will be popping up with an "I knew her when..." story...
Sacre Bleu!...the closets will be bursting with skeletons, my minxy image soiled with slanderous outbursts and salacious gossip - sounds deliciously filthy, doesn't it!!!!
xox
It was irresistible...I couldn't help it...!!!
;)
This is priceless!
There's nothing like being in the right place at the right time. i should have been that girl, damn it.
What a wonderful memory to have :) and to share with us. Ah to be young and enjoy such adventures. Some people make memories, and they feed the soul as life becomes constrained with marriage, children, work and age.
What a great story. I will be grinning like a community care case for the rest of the day.
How perfectly rendered dear Minx.. from the soft introduction to the exciting opening to the climax. It was like watching a movie. Although I do feel for you...
A wonderful tale, worthy of being recounted to guests over dinner.
Provided, of course, they do not all choke on their food with laughter.
My fall might not have been so hard, dear Eddie, had there been something more substantial to hang onto as I began my descent...
We shall never know...
xox
Sometimes it's these memories, sweet and sour, that help us through the very constraints of which you speak, darling Jafabrit...
The memory of Dan 2003 certainly pulled me through the horror of Dan circa 2005...
And laughter really is the best medicine, especially when we plunge from a flat spot into a ravine,
or a slippery step into someone's unsuspecting private parts...
xox
Oh Norman, darling,
I almost became a community care case after this fiasco...!!!
xox
Yes Random, darling,
a movie, or perhaps a Greek tragedy in three parts...
I still cringe at the horror...!!
xox
I have, dear Likely, recounted this tale many times, and find it instrumental in reducing alcohol consumption in my guests by up to 50%
It is a cautionary tale at the very least...!
xox
Oh Claire!
That is the most fabulous story, and I hope you tell it often to anyone who'll listen. It's not everyone who's had the chance to feel up a pretty young french girl in a bar in Santorini in mid air. Your agilility and confidence is breathtaking.
Hats off ;)
Ouch, Minx! Ouch! How extremely indelicate!
You naughty thing!
I saw your photos of Santorini on flickr - breathtakingly beautiful. You have inspired to me go there one day, and in my case that means - I will go!
xxx