I was living in a log cabin I helped to build behind a friend's house. We were always hanging out together until he left for college. Since I had flunked out, I just basically hung out and played tennis.

That Thanksgiving vacation, my friend brought home a few of his friends. They were all from other countries and had nowhere to go over the break. I met a gent from Ireland and a guy from Scotland who spent their entire waking moments making fun of the other person. I heard jokes about Irishmen and Scotsmen that had me laughing years later. I also met a young woman from Greece.

Her name was Malamarie, and her last name was a jumble of vowels in odd places that I could not pronounce. She was the singular most beautiful woman I have ever met. She had dark copper-colored hair, stood five-foot nine inches tall, and had a figure that would easily have won her Playmate of the Year. Everything was perfectly proportional. She had a bronze-olive complexion. Her face was beautifully sculptured, as if the best artists of Humanity had assembled through time and created the perfect woman.

I was speechless when I was introduced. I stood in front of her with my mouth hanging open as I shook her delicate hand. I think I mumbled something about how amazingly beautiful she was. She was humble, and she blushed. She must get that reaction often. It took years to live that down, my friends were always reminding me about the time I stood there like a slack-jawed yokel whose brains were misplaced.

I admit I just stared at her for a while, and when I realized I was gawking, I just secretly stared. She was staying the night at my friend's house in his sister's bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Later in the evening she excused herself to take a shower and change. I had to go to the bathroom, but I waited (guys know that it's almost impossible to pee with a hard-on). We started joking around downstairs (to things like an Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hang on to a single blade of grass and not fly off the face of the earth), and later I went upstairs to use the bathroom.

When I came out, Malamarie's door was open. She had a towel wrapped around her hips, and she was topless. She was brushing her wavy, curly hair in front of a mirror. I immediately stopped and just stared at her. She had no tan lines whatsoever. To this day, I have never seen a more physically beautiful woman. She turned towards me and saw that I was just being a staring moron again. She smiled and continued to brush her hair. I stared at her perfect breasts, her small nipples, her stunning face. She talked to me as if it was completely normal to be brushing your hair topless in front of a complete stranger. She had a very sexy accent. She said she wanted to visit the Atlantic ocean, but it was too cold. If it was in my power, I would have brought it to her feet one thimbleful at a time. It is apparently commonplace for women to go topless on some of the European beaches. Her being topless was as normal as if I was walking around without a shirt.

When she left to return to college, she gave me a kiss. It was a warm, friendly one. She invited me to visit Greece, and she gave me her parent's address. I still have it somewhere, even though I've been married for 14 years now. I think of Malamarie every so often, and it gives me a smile that lasts the rest of the day. She must have been a goddess, and my memories still worship her.

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