The Verse’s Maisie Gervais showcases her piece of creative writing called ‘Aphrodite for a Nite’.
«Oh, nothing out of the ordinary…» was as much as she wanted to share upon the girls’ interrogation and summer post-mortem. She found herself sunk into the comfort of the dark corduroy armchair, dunking her shortbread in the scorching mug of jasmine tea opposite two wide-eyed girls who were overeager to know more, yet knew not to pry. She radiated a mysteriously obvious glow. Her skin was still that lovely shade of sand, kissed from the sun of the south, and when the wind rushed through the café door as it rang open and shut, it whirled around her hair only to fan out a soft yet unmistakable air of the salty ocean. They soon pressed on to other, far more important matters: Donald Trump’s new nose job. As they heatedly discussed each and every angle of it, she found her mind beginning to wander off…
The journey to Mykonos was short and sweet, so she arrived still looking just as refreshed as the sea. They checked her in while she waited in the gleam of the tall French windows and got lost in the vastness of the deep blue water. Faint laughter and the clinking of cutlery wafted in from the next room as voyageurs delved into their dinners. Then, suddenly, a broad voice from behind tickled her bones: «Your drink, Madame? ». She turned around to answer but found her eyes linger a second too long over his gaze. Towering over her, he immediately magnetised her fervour with his butch, warm body. She cleared her throat. «Whatever you’re making, Sir». He oozed confidence and lustiness as he floated back behind the bar and effortlessly whipped her up his signature drink, a Moscow Mule.
Each day endeavoured more attraction to the comely foreign being that was he, the hunky bartender. Pretending to be engrossed in her book, she nurtured the sly thought of him kissing her like the sun would the moon, all the while eyeing him across the pool through the lenses of her cat-eye sunnies. She hungered after his rugged hands on her shoulders and neck, massaging sun-cream into her ever so smooth skin. Thinking she never noticed, he’d steal a glance at her every now and again and made sure her glass never emptied. By lunch-time, she was absolutely smashed.
Haunted by the hangover that greeted her when she awoke the next morning, she made her way to the dining hall to replenish her sources. The hunk came to take her order, and soon the table was laden with a massive typically Greek breakfast of yoghurt and honey. Gathering extent of her hangover from her squinted eyes he took the liberty of attentively filling her mug with piping hot coffee, and at her consensual nod, he crowned it with a slosh of milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
She was seemingly infatuated with his gracefully sexy movements and watched the creamy liquid trickle out and explode in her mug. Eager to let the coffee spill onto her tongue, she brought it quickly to her lips and looked him deep in the eyes as she took a long sip from it, a sense of relief overcoming her as soon as it entered her mouth.
At the sound of crashing cutlery, she snapped back into reality. The girls now blathered on about their pitiful lives, each more boring than the last: how many guys they were seeing, how much they’d spent on clothes, how fat they were, the usual conundrums of a 26-year-old single woman. If only they knew…
Featured Image was created by Max Bandelow