I am Maeve, glad to make your Acquaintance.

I will tell all that you wish to hear. I once met a boy, a wayward fellow, a writer of tales, strange and fanciful. I knew him only for a short while as he vanished one day when hill walking.  In the short time we knew each other we grew close, both being separate from what is considered normal. He was a dreamer, a lost soul wandering for the joy of the unknown and I was a thinker and a dreamer, a romantic inside but a terror outside. Twice a year I would be visited by my young love when he leaves me his writings. I find them by my feet at the turning of spring and on all hallows eve. Never has he touched me the way he did before he vanished and took his love away from me, I just find papers at my feet, spread across the bed. Those papers contain the most marvellous of tales and I enjoy reading every single one before I gather myself together, attend to my toilette and brush my teeth and hair,  gathering myself to face the day.

It is easy now and a joy to receive his writings but when my husband still lived it was a terrible worry, he was a jealous man and had beaten me for far less transgressions than accepting writings left upon our bed in the night.  Luckily I rose before him, went to the toilet and made coffee before waking him and I would find the curled sheets of paper upon the bed. My husband beat me for looking at other men and other men looking at me but never did he hit me for my lost loves writings as he never knew of them.

I would gather up those cream and brown pages, mismatched but in story order that lay upon the bed hiding them quickly beneath the bed with the other reams he had gifted me. I had no worries of my husband looking under the bed or moving things to clean the place as he never cleaned a thing from the day I met him. 

I was young when I met my husband to be, still impressionable, still reeling from my brief love affair with Rob. His name was Raymond but I thought of him as "Rob", as that was the name he used, his middle name was Robert and over the years it had been shortened to "Rob" I loved Rob with a passion I had never felt before In my young life. He loved me similarly and our union grew quickly and fiercely. I was young and knew little of the rhythms of my body and desire but he taught me well and I responded with a verve which I thought myself incapable of reaching. I knew desire and wonder such as I have never known before. But then he was gone, vanished, and I alone was left with the desires he had implanted in me, knowledge, language, fantasy, hope and desire but there was no one with me, no one to enjoy, no one to talk to or listen to, no one to take me, desire me, want me.


I feel sad now that I rushed into another relationship but I did and quickly after Rob vanished. I did not know that all men are different, some loving, some athletic, others controlling, I gained a perspective on all three with one man. I suspected that Rob was like most men, my Father was a good man, Rob was a good man, so men must be good.  I learned quickly how immature and foolish I was after the first beating which happened on our honeymoon. We had found a package deal for a cheap holiday to Benidorm, Spain. I lay in the sun, by the pool, near the hotel while he went to the bar.

I imagined myself the picture of ultimate desire. I was still young, slim, tall and now I would be tanned as well. What man would not desire me, a bronzed goddess. My husband perhaps? Showing myself off to all and sundry, flaunting my body for all to see when all I wished for was for him to desire me. I got a punch in the face for trying to please him.

It was no wonder that over the years I remembered the tender and thoughtful love that I had lost. When the stories stared to appear I was both discomfited and amazed, also, were I to admit it to myself, slightly excited. I hoped that he may come back but he never did. I have the latest sheaf of tales here with me now and I will ensure that they are published in one way or another as I have always done. I forget that my husband has now passed and so I can once again tell the truth. Once we, my young love and I were together, truly in love. Pulled together by lust, attraction and fellow feeling, we were once inseparable and had he not vanished I thought that we may spend our days together. I wished for that.  These days I spend most of my time alone and have little to do.

I get occasional visits from my children and grandchildren but most of the time I spend online trying to sell my lost loves books and tales and meet people. So if you wish to message me please do so and I will be happy to respond. Thank you.

Maeve.

Mail me at; raytwalker@googlemail.com



Raymond Walker