Christopher

It's only now that I can start to talk about Christopher.

August 2016 is the date. Think back. Tinder. Strange that a sharp eye can detect style and class in the tiniest of details. Motocross dirt but elite gear. Every. Single. Shot. A different country.

Nonchalence seeping from the screen.

Our connection was instant, and powerful. Frustrated by travel and distance we chatted about music, moments and moonbeams. 'Listen to this' he said, sending a country tune talking of toes in the sand. My toes were in the sand.

Our meet was awkward, shorter than I expected, smaller. Separated with ties. But separated. Tick.

We spilled into a local 5 star like faded rock stars, fine wine jammed beneath my arm, we dined on dirty burgers. Later, he pulled off the grand feather duvet and we made love on the hearth of a tudor fireplace. The shock of the desire, he was like a wolf; I'd been eaten by a wolf.

Please let me see you again he said.