From Norway with love

[aaardvarky]

Knarvik is a village in Norway 29 kilometers north of Bergen. I have never been there so know nothing of it, only that one of its residents is a man called Lars Olsen.
And I don’t really know him. My wife knows him.

I had always realised when I thought back. It never was an issue. We were young; it was the 1970s, just part of normal life, not defining, simply present, understood and accepted. They were friends in Oslo before we met, and they had stayed in contact. He would arrange to meet when visiting on business. His trips were regular, but not frequent. I would be working, so distanced from events. Afternoons gradually drew into evenings without protest or discussion. I didn’t feel insecure or indignant; it just seemed casual and unthreatening. Unattached and respectful, he was never unkind or intrusive, and maybe that was why his visits became a normal part of life.

Weeks earlier when she suggested inviting him to dinner, I confess I had been strangely fascinated, any ambivalence evaporating as we spoke about it. I valued her strength, independence and freedom. Maybe that was why she chose to raise it. Or was it her concern that the topic had been hitherto unspoken? Perhaps it was a simple step to rationalise something we already accepted as ‘our normal’. It was couched as a ‘would you mind if’, rather than permission-seeking, presented as a done-deal rather than an issue for discussion; and without a thought I simply agreed. Looking back now, it seems strange that I did not ask the obvious questions that you are now thinking. They never occurred to me, and making an issue was not my style. But one thing was certain - deep down we both understood that it was not simply an invitation to dinner.

Arriving home, I stumbled over an overnight bag where it had been dropped in the hall. It was after nine and dinner was over. As if I had arrived late to a party, a plate stood to one side, together with a glass of wine with a coaster placed on top. “How was your day”, she called, to which I muttered something unmemorable in a lighthearted and slightly embarrassed way. “Get your supper whilst I help Oly with his bags”, she added.

That there was only one bag did not strike me as strange at the time, for it was more of a code to say ‘we will leave you to eat’. And so it was. I pulled out a chair and sat at the table, removing the cling film from the plate to gaze at pale chicken in cream and dill sauce, and lifted the coaster to sip the wine.

Having placed three plates in the dishwasher I finished the remainder of the bottle. It was only then that I took time to consider the situation. Its strangeness dawned, and my lack of foresight made me feel ridiculous. The questions that I should have asked flooded silently into my mind.“What, how, when, what if…” Spending a lifetime of being ‘in control’ had somehow not equipped me for this moment. I stared at an empty glass wondering what I should do, and at that moment her call jarred me from my thoughts, “are you coming up to bed?” It sounded just like any other night. But I realised this night was to be very different.

From the bottom stair to the top landing seemed to take forever. The door to the bedroom was open, and as I walked the long landing I could see a scene ahead, like a Scandinavian film playing on a screen. I felt attached but simultaneously detached; present and absent, disembodied - seemingly unseen, unnoticed, unaccounted. I hesitated at the door and she looked up, rising on one elbow to pull back a corner of the duvet in invitation. I returned from the bathroom to slip in, unusually, at her side of the bed, my heart fluttering and my breath catching in my chest.

Almost immediately I felt her hand slide over my thigh and move to hold me - a moment suddenly distilled into a droplet. I felt the familiar slimness of her fingers and the firm reassuring edge of her wedding ring. It was a normalising caress that slowed my heartbeat. Time lost meaning, I waited breathlessly, neither anticipating nor thinking. Shortly, she turned towards me. I remained in the stillness of the moment until I sensed a gentle forward pressure. In an instant my breathing stopped and my heartbeat quickened. She withdrew her hand, brushing across her torso in a slow, but calculated movement over her thigh, and finally behind her. Until then her body had been pressed against me - a breast, a nipple, the curve of her thigh, her knees against the back of my legs, her toes against my heels. Contact was lost as she arched away, but within seconds her hand returned to me bringing a further shock - the wetness of her fingers as they crossed my back, silky to the touch, then encircling me knowingly - in a tentacle of time. She pushed against me, as if levering and seating for pleasure, the warmth of her skin against my back and her hot breath on my neck. Then I felt the pulse. I had not remotely imagined how this might be or feel. I had left the question unimagined, perhaps as I did not want to address it or define it. It was slow, deep and connected. I felt her hip and inner thighs move against me, almost brushing; not frantic nor robust, but of subtle exclusive tenderness. Mine was to be a presence that floated, connected in one sense, and irrelevant in another. Yet I realised its eroticism. A slow, deep movement progressed without pace or urgency - a familiar connection, naively shocking and surprising. I bit my lip. Their movement quickened with purpose, her breathing became more shallow and irregular. Her body seemed to gather, as would an equestrian preparing to trot. I felt a visceral forward thrust when she gripped, her muscles tensing. She exhaled with a sound which I strove to memorise. I listened intently to her quickening breath. She sighed, then I heard a gasp. Her hand moved to grip me firmly as if to intensify the thrusts. Like a tropical flower in time lapse, she unfurled and opened in ecstasy - prolonged, carnal and shameless in its intensity. Seconds passed, then the dam burst, shuddering and flooding in waves. With vicarious intensity, I too released, and her hand squeezed knowingly, sensitively and pityingly.

For an eternity we lay without movement or words. She turned towards him unselfconsciously and their lips met in a deep rewarding kiss, a breath shared and achievement acknowledged. Where we touched I felt the flood of wetness of
their shared passion. It had happened and was now a part of our history, our present and seemingly our future.

Their kiss suffused into a deep, silent sleep, that I followed fretfully. Waking momentarily whenever they turned, it was in the early hours that I returned to full consciousness. She must have moved so deftly as not to wake me. She was already above him. From her silhouette she was looking down, her face showing her both longing and determination. Seated, she moved her hips in a slow circular motion. His hands rose to her breasts. This was a private and exclusive moment, intended not to be shared with me. It had tenderness and deep connection, totally silent, performed covertly. Within moments she froze. For an instant I thought she had noticed my gaze. But this moment did not relate to me. It was the first grip of her climax, one which she grasped so as to perpetuate. Ripples of pleasure followed with waves of sharp inhalation to mirror repeating spasms, culminating in a smile of joy and achievement.

She slid to lie across his body, her feet towards my legs, her connection with me seemed an unintentional touch. I heard her nails on his chest, her lips returning to his, pausing for air, then descending to a deeper place, absorbing and being absorbed. In that moment I felt I was intruding on something intrinsically private and exclusive. Then I felt the reassuring rub of her toes informing me that she had seen my open eyes, that I had permission to watch, and her hand returned to explore me in a movement that was casual, without the tenderness that they had shared, but with reassurance and solace.

It was much later, as light clipped the curtains, that I awoke to feel a more determined presence. He was reaching across her. Instinctively she parted her legs. He took his weight on both arms as he pressed above her, her hand moving between them. This time his energy was visceral, as was his determination, and her participation was active and unashamed. Their connection came quickly and sharply. His pressure shook the bed which moved on the polished floor. It was unconcealed and unselfconscious - a moment of mutual desire, unexpected, positive and possessive. This was clearly their exclusive moment, not to be shared. I was just a voyeur, present but irrelevant. I found that I was fascinated by a consummation of desires - theirs and mine. It was a defining moment that could not be undone. It informed me as much about myself as it did about their relationship and shared intimacy. I found myself relating in a deeply erotic way; her pleasure strangely transmitted to me; her goal of climax defining my presence in that moment. A part of me said that it should have been me. The remainder of me embraced their ecstasy as if it were my own. I experienced a new feeling, a powerful unresentful emotion that lodged within my being. Whilst I was not part of it, I realised then that it had become part of me.

Their climax when it came was sudden, instant and simultaneous. Their bodies were to meld and unite. I felt dazed, intoxicated and unable to breathe. Secretly, I wished it to last for an eternity, as if it were my own. They came to rest only when their connection was total and complete. It presented a level of pleasure that could not be defined by words. As their breathing slowed, they held each other close in recognition. Only now did I realise the significance of this night. I had been carried unwittingly on an erotic journey of singular passion that was precidented and valued. I understood why I was present - not for my, or their vicarious excitement, but to witness its value. I was given no role, but confirmed in an existing one that had always been, that of support and life companion. It took nothing away, but added a new definition and dimension to my purpose.

Later, when he rose to leave and her fingers slipped from his, she returned to our bed and looked deeply into my eyes, speaking without words. Her gaze answered all my unasked questions about them, and about us. It called on me to define the last six hours of our lives. It spoke to my understanding of my feelings and emotions, my acceptance, my sense of self, not so as to undermine, but simply to call into question my previous preconceptions.

She smiled and we connected - now a meeting of tenderness and understanding in which no challenges were raised, recriminations voiced or insecurities admitted. It was a time for acceptance, and for celebration. A new dawn, as they say, and a new definition of the future.

[Roketman77]

Very nice story

[bubbajack]

This is very beautiful. I love the idea that it expresses - that married people can and do love others who are outside the explicit marital bond and that, in some cases at least, that love can express itself sexually and be enjoyed as contrast, but not as incompatibility, with deep marital love.

If that were more widely accepted or understood, there might well be more sexual harmony in the world, less sexual conflict and bitterness than what commonly results when commonly- or universally-felt desires achieve expression.

It could also mean that there would be no need for an OHW Forum!

[OOAA]

Lovely story!!!

[antidote2909]

Beautifully written. Wish you would write more. Maybe make this into a longer story. You have real talent.

[aaardvarky]

Thank you all - Bubbajack, Rocketman, OOAA and Antidote2909 for your kind comments. Despite the anonymity of the site I found it quite challenging to post here! Your responses were most encouraging. Antidote2909, I will write more - perhaps to share some of our correspondence whilst my wife was with Lars in Norway, as that is particularly steamy! It adds the visceral dimension of her feelings in a more articulate way than I could ever manage. And Bubbajack, you capture the point perfectly -my preoccupation and fascination focusses on the aspect of ‘feelings’, ‘responses’ and ‘connections’, than just the acts themselves, however hot!

[Chrislydi]

I share the sentiments expressed by the other respondents, a remarkably well written and beautiful account of a special time in your Iives. There is almost a dreamlike quality, it's about feelings, touch and understanding rather than words, but the effect all the more powerful for it.

[OOAA]

Thank you all - Bubbajack, Rocketman, OOAA and Antidote2909 for your kind comments. Despite the anonymity of the site I found it quite challenging to post here! Your responses were most encouraging. Antidote2909, I will write more - perhaps to share some of our correspondence whilst my wife was with Lars in Norway, as that is particularly steamy! It adds the visceral dimension of her feelings in a more articulate way than I could ever manage. And Bubbajack, you capture the point perfectly -my preoccupation and fascination focusses on the aspect of ‘feelings’, ‘responses’ and ‘connections’, than just the acts themselves, however hot!

You wrote a hot and very well written story aaardvarky!!! I would love to read more from your experience, in detail the talking between the couple, as you said, the feelings, responses and connections, and thoughts, expectations, wishes, desires (even hidden desires), and the hot comparisons husband versus lover in wife words...

Please, go on soon

[aaardvarky]

My little band of readers will recall how my wife came to invite her friend Lars to dine with us, and the life-altering events that occurred in the course of his visit. Some respondents asked for more, especially Bubbajack, Rocketman, OOAA, Antidote 2909 and Chrislydi who each identified the aspect of emotional connection of the event; and I suppose there is no reason why I should not oblige.

Chrislydi, you are perceptive to comment on the dreamlike quality of the evening. Strangely, afterwards it was almost as if the visit had been a dream. Following a rushed breakfast, work called us both away, and the night’s events remained undiscussed. Travelling to court I tried to re-run the scene in my mind, only to find that it had already assumed a sepia quality, probably as I had been so unprepared. Throughout the day however, I experienced vivid flashbacks to those moments when my breath had been stilled and my heart had thumped in my chest. And this got me to think how and what our conversation would be like that evening on our return.

‘Hello, darling, how have you got on today?’, was N’s greeting as I arrived home. The scent of fresh Lilies filled the hallway and normalising clatter came from the kitchen. Approaching from behind I wrapped my arms around her waist and lowered my lips to her neck. She responded in a moment of stillness, leaning back into me, her forearms clasping mine.

‘Wow, Mrs Beautiful, you seem to have been busy?’, was my best reply, at which she turned towards me saying, ‘Well I didn’t give you much attention last night, so I thought we should remedy it tonight’. And with her reply my earlier anxiety dissipated in a smile.

Supper was light and frivolous, the table set with two champagne flutes. When I sought to speak of our previous night, N hushed me saying, ‘Come to bed; make love to me and we can talk about it then’. And so it was.

I shall not trouble you, dear readers, with the detail, save to say that it was both tender and passionate, incandescent with erotic memory and the knowledge that we faced a new reality. ‘How did you feel about it?, ‘What did you feel?’, ‘How do you feel about it now?’, ‘Was it what you expected?’

I had to admit to N that I had not anticipated the evening, perhaps deep down denying it as a future shared reality. ‘Really, darling’, she replied, ‘you seriously didn’t think about it when I asked if Oly could stay? Why on earth not?’...what a waste’, she teased, ‘you might have been prepared!’

When I broached the question of her feelings and pleasure, N simply sighed and drew me closer into her, ‘Oly is just Oly - he needs me, and he makes me feel special. In so many ways he is really just an extension of you. When he and I make love, I know I have the attention of two lovers. Two men that compliment each other rather than compete’. And with that, N tensed in the pleasure of imminent climax, knowing that I would share that wave with her as we embraced our erotic memories.

In the next episode, I shall tell you of N’s return trip to Norway - of preparation and the sizzling real-time emails exchanged as she departed.

[cpeater]

‘feelings’, ‘responses’ and ‘connections’

Goodness. I am ALL ABOUT that. I appreciate you sharing your story. I remember once when I was in college I stopped by the room of a friend who was in bed with his girlfriend, who was also a friend. They were spooning, him behind her. She called me over and, surprisingly, asked me to kiss her. Though we weren't that kind of friends, I obliged. It was an intimate, hungry, wet kiss. I felt her rhythmic movement and I knew that my friend was in her from behind. I wanted to explore her body, and his, with my hands and went to lift the blanket to grope but she broke the kiss and smiled at me, saying, "Thank you. We will see you later." I don't recall that we ever talked about it afterward.

[OOAA]

mmmm looking forward the next episode... hopefully full of details

[Rex-Lex]

A beautifully written first chapter with an almost ethereal quality. So looking forward to the return trip.

[weluvtoodoit]

This is maybe one of the best written accounts on here. I have written multiple stories for my wife and she repeatedly will tell me she prefers a story with feelings and connections, rather than just raw sex. I do try to make it appealing for her to read, but your style of writing brings it to a higher level. She will appreciate reading your story. Thank you for sharing this journey with us.

[aaardvarky]

Weluvtoodoit, this episode is for your wife, as a gift to her from both you and me!

In the last episode I told you of our re-connection following Lars Olsen’s visit. I know that some of my readers craved the detail, and maybe in time it can be shared. But my focus inevitably rests not on this, but on their connection and the cascade of new, exciting and erotically confusing feelings that arose in me from the experience.

I understood their friendship involved the sharing of that I loved most - her love. So its underlying intention was a challenge - not sharing her physically, but to share her emotionally, an area of supreme danger into which I had walked. Deep down I realised that she needed the flood of spiritual union to be complete, and this does not come simply from physical love.

I realised too that I had neglected to speak meaningfully about us. The complex feelings within me arose from an overwhelming devotion and commitment. I had not reassured her; this was my error. By omission, I had failed to make clear that which was clear to me - my understanding of her being loved equally by two men, and to love them equally. In many senses she loved us in an identical way. She expected our commitment - and the most open and honest love from both of us. She would give herself totally to each because that is how she is made and must be. She would not venture where she did not feel a total and inclusive bond, admiration, union, symmetry, and space to be herself as a woman in love, and a woman loved. In that sense, Lars and I were identical and must remain so. Any deviation would disturb a wall of the triangle. So paradoxically, I was also dependent on the security that Lars affords. I too needed to preserve and protect his devotion to her, to nurture the chemistry and spirituality that she demands from the men in her life. Whilst she is with him, just as when with me, she has both ‘one’ man in her life - the man with whom she shares the moment - and two men - the two separate faces of the pyramid that stand in equal support of her and of each other. Nothing less could suffice, determining the roles which we accept and fulfill feeling both the pressure from, and the support of each other.

After our meeting I had no doubt that Lars would tempt her with sex, pleasure and desire, as well as with profound love. That is perhaps what we both needed from him, and how he meets our needs. At the same time, the exclusion that I had experienced whilst we were together, and now desired, was not the removal of a wall, but simply the challenge of her focus on the other face of the structure, as if her hands stretched out in front and behind her to explore another surface on which her eyes may settle and from which she could feel the fresh, new energy she craved.

In the next episode Lars invites N to visit Oslo and a deal is agreed.

[aaardvarky]

In the last episode I wrote of my feelings and reactions to our night together with Lars Olsen. Yes, my thoughts were complex. But to understand the place at which I had arrived after his visit - and from which we were soon to depart - needed explanation. I thank those readers who have remained with the story.

At her suggestion we resolved to write down our feelings and to share them in private messages to each other.

Dear N,
Of course I understand your intention in accepting Lars’ invitation - for yourself and for us both. You too knew of mine for you, for this was our synergy. In one sense hedonistic, pleasure seeking and highly charged: for you - in the moments of pleasure that will present with Lars; and for me - in anticipation, denial, awaiting and reflection. Yet in another sense it represents a unity through Lars, for whilst excluded from the moment, I am to share your exquisite moments through your decision to write to me about it. You were proposing to take me with you virtually so as to permit my partial presence, meaning your visit to Oslo is not one that will divide us in separation, but conjoin us though Lars. Not a venture of deceit, but one of trust, defining the triangle.

You said that integral to the success of your visit is reassurance of my devotion and commitment to you, the bed-rock on which our freedom to expand in this way is to be built. Without that foundation, you told me that your meeting with Lars could lack the meaning we seek. You mentioned that your excitement at the prospect of reconnecting with Lars is enhanced by your certainty of my desire for you. Be reassured of this so as to feel free, alive, responsive and open to all possibilities.

We also spoke of denial - how I would cope with exclusion from presence and participation. I told you that this was a mutual gift, not secretly taken in moments of vulnerability but to breathe life into erotic possibilities. Denial is integral to reinforce our bond. We need to go to and return from denial for a truly erotic journey.

So with total understanding I support your decision to arm yourself for pleasure, through which you will lead us to the very edge, and beyond the edge, away from my gaze, deep into hidden, deep-seated, exciting aspiration; a leap from the bridge, where we trust our safety net of love.

With love, L

Dear L
What fun to resume the art of corresponding with each other, despite a time-lapse to the trip, and that we write by email rather than script! It reminds me of our dating whilst I was working in Olso. Do you recall our steamy letters?

Your message captures my feelings perfectly. How, after such time, are we so intuitive? I am excited about writing to you from my trip, perhaps to drip-share details in an exquisite, tantalising way, and of course to read your responses and imagine your reactions. Perhaps we might even retain a virtual connection through which you may feel moments as they happen?

I love the fact that you are content to release me for this adventure, allowing me to feel the air beneath my wings and the freedom to express my feelings and unspoken desires. Our decision is enhanced by your collaboration, by your generosity, and in particular by your erotic participation. Your involvement cleverly elevates my anticipation, and you are correct - your self denial acts as a most potent aphrodisiac!

Whilst writing I have been thinking about the dress. You know, the one you bought for our special occasion together? The one I wore when we made love that night, the dress that holds such visceral erotic memories for us both? How would you feel if I asked to take it with me, to wear one evening with Lars? Do you mind me mentioning it? The very thought excites me, as it is invested with such possessive, sexual and ecstatic charges. Each time I wear it I discover another level of enhanced pleasure. Think about it and let me know your thoughts in your next email.

With love, N xx

[Chrislydi]

This is simply outstanding, it's a shame to spoil it with such a banal post. That mixture of the newly erotic and exciting within the new 'triangular' dynamic, and the interdependency of the three lovers is beautifully described and set out. I know sometimes a lack of replies can signify not much interest, but this doesn't need replies, it's brilliant.

[Whosbeensleeping]

Excellent telling of your story! I appreciate being able to tag along!

I read somewhere about a culture of casual multiple partners among Norwegian youth. Maybe this is kind of a product of that?

[aaardvarky]

Whosbeensleeping: thank you for following the story and for your comment. Lars is rather enigmatic, and he is a probably a product of that culture, as you observe. Chrislydi, your comment is, as ever, massively encouraging - and a huge spur to continue writing. Thank you. To other readers, whose names I do not know, my heartfelt thanks for visiting and following the thread. I recognise that the story is somewhat cerebral, lacking for the moment the earthy detail that you might relish and prefer. But it is a product of how my brain is wired - with thoughts, feelings, shared fantasies, danger, denial and fulfilment, being part-present and part-absent; and the senses that these inure. This is what drives the narrative, yet, as with every sensual story, there may be a graphic denouement waiting to escape!

I understand that some readers were intrigued about N's question to me about 'the dress'. I propose to address this in my next post so that you can understand how a simple item of clothing came to be invested with such visceral sexual charge.

[aaardvarky]

Previously, I shared with you our email exchange written prior to N’s departure for Norway. Readers following my posts will recall her reply in which she raised the question of ‘the Dior dress’. To some this might appear inconsequential detail, so perhaps I should simply share the moment when it became invested with such potent erotic implication.

It was indeed a dress that women covet - and most men would yearn to remove. Had it a voice, it would have demanded attention from its hanger. With subtlety and allure the dress drew both the eye and the imagination. It was sublime, tight fitting across the torso with perfect decollage, full in the skirt, and moved on N with a rustle of crisp Persian silk-shot taffeta.

Home after its first outing, N requested a last dance on the terrace before returning the dress to its hanger. Pedro Laurenz’ tango ‘Todo’ drifted to where, in close embrace, we danced. As Alberto Podesta reached the last bars of his song, N led me to our bedroom. Pressing me against the bed, she knelt across my torso, spreading the skirts of the dress down towards my knees and forward across my chest. I felt the stiffness of the taffeta against my skin, a moment suspended in time, and then her soft, damp presence as she lowered. Within seconds we both realised we were about to climax. It was sudden, as though we had borrowed the lead up and now we were right at the edge with virtually no warning. N felt an intense gripping in two spasms. At the same time I released with a throbbing energy, not once, but repeatedly as though there were no areas I would leave unfertilised.

And now you may understand how the dress came to be invested with the sexual energy and tension which it came to own, an embodiment of passion - and an implication of what its wearing would deliver for the future.

The simple question is what should be my response to N’s question? Perhaps, you my readers, may help with the answer?

[Chrislydi]

The simple question is what should be my response to N’s question? Perhaps, you my readers, may help with the answer?

It's almost a rhetorical question so obvious is the answer. You could surprise us all by saying it was no of course, but then I suspect that might not be entirely truthful. This is so beautifully written it's like looking at your sepia tinted memory archive as it plays out once again for us all to watch. It's not so much an old photograph but an impressionist masterpiece.

[aaardvarky]

The answer could be:
* no, not at all
* no, not this time, perhaps later
* I would prefer if you didn't
* you shouldn't ask this of me
* its your dress, you have the right to decide
* you must do what you think best
* I really don't mind
* I simply don't care
* I will respect your choice
* I want you to take the initiative and make the decision
* Its fine by me, it could be fun
* I would love you to take the dress. Knowing that you are to wear it with him will add a huge dimension of erotic fascination with a sense of dynamic denial to your trip.

Well, Chrislydi, I suspect I know your choice, and it was as you anticipated! Incidentally, a huge thank you to you for your ongoing comments - they are greatly appreciated. Writing on the Library forum sometimes feels like singing in an empty hall! At least you are still here to make my contribution worth while!!

[aaardvarky]

My dear reader(s), you have clearly understood the implications of N’s question and Chrislydi has sagely guided me to my response.

Dear N,
I love the way that you have understood and embraced my need and desire for denial, whilst reassuring me of your continued commitment to us. Agreeing to you taking the dress with you to Oslo has the feeling of walking a tightrope across a dangerous ravine!…the quintessential act of self-denial, leading to exquisite exclusion. It informs me of your confident sexual power and freedom. Of course you should take it, so I may anticipate the occasion when you choose to wear it, knowing that you will tell me later of its effect and consequence. Who knows, perhaps, through its energy, it may connect the three of us in the moment of its wearing?

Dear L,
It seems that we understand each other perfectly, and with so much synergy! Deep down I knew you would agree to me packing the dress, but it has been fun making my request and sensing your reaction to it. And you are perceptive to comment on how it allows me the sense of sexual power over you which I too shall enjoy. Knowing that you would be powerless to resist, asking the question has added frisson to the excitement I feel about wearing it with him.

I am fascinated by your comment regarding us retaining a virtual connection whilst I am with Oly next week in Norway. Did you feel this way when he came to stay overnight? Would it be important for you to keep connection with me during the trip - something meaningful, over and above my messages to you? Do you really think that we may stay connected through the energy of the dress?

Should that to happen it would add for me a really exciting dimension to the moment! It would be as if you were in a sense, present - simply observing us and powerless to intervene. I shall definitely take the dress!

With love, N

[Chrislydi]

Old fashioned written communication between lovers has a hidden power for me, it stands out more as a permanent promise or testimony, something that can't be forgotten in a moment, but written evidence of feelings and emotions crystallised and kept from a special moment in time.

[aaardvarky]

Chrislydi, you are so right about communication: the crumpled note, the yellow-with-age letter discovered in the attic, a perfumed envelope in a box. Part of their magic is their texture and scent, like that of old books rather than a Kindle. I doubt that when we rediscover 'a past email' we will sense the same thrill as when we chance on a letter. And of course letters can survive long after the password has been forgotten! There is also something about correspondence, whether handwritten or digital, that allows us to articulate what we might never say face to face. And it provides a space for uninterrupted dialogue, affording the opportunity to explore and finish a thought before the conversation moves away onto another topic.

[Chrislydi]

Even your love letters are works of literature, and evidence of such a talent is always worth preserving.