For the last five years my wife and myself live in a small house in a big city, in a quiet residential area south east of the city centre, near a big and famous park, which is usually full of tourists. I'm very very much in love, more than ever before. My beloved lives on our street only 100 yards from our house. Her name is Zahra. She came to Europe from the Middle East, with her parents and an older sister, as a young girl. She is 27 now and speaks much better English than I ever will.
I was born in the Balkans just before the start of the civil war. I identify myself as Bosnian. Even after all those years, saying this remains controversial. I'm not Croat, Serbian, or Bosniak Muslim, which are three constitutional nations. This nonsense in called Dayton agreement. I am the third child in a so called mixed marriage. Father comes from a Muslim family, while mother comes from Orthodox Christian background, which is further complicated by the fact that one of her grand grand fathers, whose name was MoΕ‘e, was a Sephardi Jew. In the era of socialist Yugoslavia mixed marriages were quite common, but now we live in a system, imposed on us by major international players, where every person "must" belong to one of the three constitutive nations. I simply refuse to take such a hellish decision between my mom or my dad. If I say I'm Bosnian, all people know that my father and my mother belongs to different religious denominations. My parents are a loving couple, both Democratic Socialists (BiH variant of corbinistas) and SejdiΔ-Finci-KomΕ‘iΔ supporters (google it), so my childhood was reasonably happy, despite the fact that many people insulted me either on a basis of my Muslim surname or on a basis of my Christian first name.
After finishing a classical gymnasium in our capital city, I went to study to a former industrial centre in the East, where I finished a master degree. I was never really attacked or even really mocked because of my mixed "blood", but outside of socialists circles my conversations with compatriots were almost always awkward as I was mostly put ih the role of "the other". When I find out that there exists a possibility of PhD in a West Europe, I submitted an application to The British Council. My application was successful and so I ended up here in a quiet street full of small family houses together with a "pure" English wife.
Being in a country, where people of numerous mixed descents are common, was for me liberating. Of course there were (I am talking before Brexit mind you) people who hated immigrants, but they were rare. In academic circles I found it very easy to speak with people from any part of political spectrum and any continent. After PhD I seized an opportunity of a postdoctoral position, after which I got a permanent position of a lecturer (lucky me, my predecessor retired) in a smaller college not far away from our house.
I met my wife in the first month of my doctoral studies in the university library. She was born into money, quite tall, blue eyes, blond with a long hair, with demeanor of a flower power Woodstock hippie. There is a song from my country, entitled
Bitanga i princeza
, about the love affair between a rascal and "daddy's princess". She was writing her PhD thesis in the field of computer science and had a fiancΓ© in metropolis down south. I invited her for a coffee, which lasted 4 hours. She was impressed by my Balkan stories and asked if we can meet next day for a lunch in a campus canteen.
During our first lunch she asked me if I can be discreet. Of course I can be discreet, I'm from a shithole country, so says the orange man who knows all things there. In rich countries people don't fuck enough and speak much too much about things they don't do, while in shithole countries we fuck a lot and don't speak about it. I'm the definition of the Black Hole of Information; a lot comes in and none gets out. She asked me if we could become a pair in such a way that none of her friends would know. Holly shit, thing really move fast in the former empire. I was immediately eager to try. I was impressed with her courage which was quite the opposite of our, Bosnian, perception of western women.
She also asked, if I had a lot of experience with women and I confessed that during my undergraduate studies I had one girlfriend and a score of one day sex "sessions" with women in their thirties who were bored with sex at home. She asked me how is our relation going to work, if we really start to see each other regularly, and I immediately got an idea. I proposed her to meet me next day at the bus station near the south entrance of the park at 9:00.
She was punctual; good upbringing, good form and all that civilized English things. We kissed in a friendly manner and I told her that we are in a hunt for a book which will be crucial for our relationship to last more than a day or two. There were several bookshops selling used books in the area, so we just walked hand in hand randomly around, past the famous noodle shop and we spotted one of them on the right hand side of the street. Upon entering, still hand in hand, I asked a young lady at the counter, where are the books about sex. Lady changed her color from pale white to blush. We barbarians talk about sex in the casual way, like when we talk about cooking recipes, but at the heart of former empire natives are more at ease when you talk about mass killing in Srebrenica, than missionary sex position. As a good professional she led us, still red in the face, to the correct shelf. I saw a perfect book at the first glance. I wanted
some
book about sexual position, even reprint of Kamasutra would be okay. To my delight there was a book among them I would call a
the
book for lasting relationship. It was entitled 365 sex positions, so even I could learn from it some new tricks, I hoped.
I browsed through the book in a matter of second, just to confirm that the book actually contained 365 large photos of a heterosexual couple intercourse. I handed my book immediately to my new girlfriend. She looked at them without blushing and moreover with a big smile. We went to a small coffee table, where she sat down and took ample time for watching the same couple in a rich variety (with poetic names such as pumping the oil for example) of poses.
- So what now?
- We will fuck like rabbits for one year at least, until we master the book.
- So, uhm, every day different position?
- No. Fucking long hours in the same position is no fun, trust me. Would you say that sex with your boyfriend is good?
(I couldn't resist to be slightly mean)
-
No.
(she couldn't answered immediately and even then her answer was almost inaudible)
- Okay. So, if you want, we can start tomorrow. My place is rather safe from unwanted intrusions. I have around 20 m2 in my apartment, small toilet, shower and kitchen for making tea or coffee or prepare some snacks. Even better, we can order Chinese food from a restaurant. Or actually dress up and go there.
- Seriously?
- Yes. If you want, we will fuck like rabbits until we master all there is to know.
- You like Leonard Cohen, it seems?
- Yup.
- Me too. We can make Danse me our official fucking song.
- Okay. I will play it on Youtube and then taste your peach. I am a Balkan King of velvet tippers. I promise you will reach at least one orgasm before Cohen finishes his song.
-
Big talk big boy.
(my height is 187 cm)
