Before we go to bed, we talk for a few hours. While in Zagreb, we recline in two Barcelona chairs by Mies van de Rohe. They are set perpendicular to each other. She is to my right, and I to her left. A glass table with our drinks and several candles is between us. Now that it is very hot and humid, both of us are naked. As we talk, we caress each other’s bare feet. And I caress her with my eyes as she twists and turns freely in her ample chair. My beauty. Her hair pulled up, both her startling eyes and her long, hooked nose stand out. Her long neck takes my eyes to her shapely shoulders. And her plump breasts with their tiny nipples. Below a few folds on one of her sides, there is a firm belly and a lush bush of untouched pubic hair. Her long arms and legs crowned with beautiful hands and feet complete the picture. Each of her fingers and toes is a delight in its own right. “It is a joy to look at you,” I tell her every few days. “You are so kind to tell me,” she replies with a dainty smile and rearranges her limbs. I am a lucky fellow, indeed. As my beloved materializes in front of my eyes in the Bulldog Pub, where I am writing about our evening habits, I am mindful of a budding erection.