I had seen her twice in three days. The first time was at the Sunday market the day after I had arrived in town. I was finally beginning to recover from jet lag and was getting out on the street to acclimate myself to the street culture of Mellieha, Malta. It was a small market, but quite crowded on a late Sunday morning.
I saw her shopping with another woman, older, probably her mother. I was struck by her beauty and her body. Is this a typical Maltese woman I thought to myself? She was wearing what might be considered Sunday clothes -- a nice dress and sensible flats. But her striking looks were undeniable and noteworthy, and her full breasts, even in church clothes, were impossible to ignore. I stared politely for a moment or two, smiled, and moved on.
The second time was two nights later at a local café. I was sitting under the awning on the piazza when she arrived with a small group of men and women -- her friends, it appeared. She was dressed in more youthful fare -- jeans and a tight top -- that displayed a little skin at her slender waist as well. Her hair was down and she was smiling and relaxed. I could not take my eyes off of her body. She had an amazing shape and her breasts were very much on display in more youthful attire. She disappeared into the interior of the café with her friends and I did not see her again that evening.
I had arrived in Malta for the month of June. It's an island about 120 miles south of Sicily in the Mediterranean -- east of Tunisia and north of Libya. I had taken the ferry from Sicily, not because I couldn't have flown, but because I wanted to experience the sea journey. I knew a bit about the island nation of Malta. It's location in the Med had meant it had been ruled by everyone from the Phoenicians to the Romans to the British. It had become independent in 1964 and its government was still trying to resurrect its architectural past. That's what had brought me here.
As an art historian specializing in the restoration of ancient mosaic reliefs I was often called upon to consult on historic restorative work. While I had spent time in Italy and elsewhere in Europe, this was my first trip to Malta. I was going to be assisting a company who was restoring mosaics in the well-known Parish Church in the center of Mellieha.
The best part of these paid gigs was that they always included a generous weekly stipend for expenses and, usually, very nice accommodations close to the site. My apartment in Mellieha was no exception: a modern, recently renovated apartment on the top floor of an historic building with all the amenities one could want along with an amazing view of the town and the Mediterranean coastline. My apartment was a rooftop penthouse on top of a three story building -- the unit taking up the back half of the building and the front section being an open roof terrace surrounded by a three foot high wrought iron railing. It was going to be a very comfortable place to spend a month -- and an even better place to entertain.
Mellieha itself is a smaller village of about 10,000 people situated on the northern end of the main island. It overlooks Malta's largest sandy beach called Mellieha Bay. It is situated on a hill surrounded by fertile valleys and the Mediterranean and has a lovely character and picturesque charm.
While I knew no one outside the small circle of people working on the church, I always enjoyed these forays to exotic destinations as a way to meet new people, especially local women. I had been divorced for ten years and, at 56, was quite confident in my ability to connect with women wherever I traveled. English is widely spoken in Malta, so this aided in my quest to make local connections.
It was the afternoon of my fourth day in Mellieha that I saw the young lady in question a third time. This time I leaned up and really took notice. This was no longer happenstance and, at least to me, it was a sign that an introduction of some sort was in order.
I had found my way to the beach at Golden Bay -- a beautiful horseshoe shaped bay with an exquisite beach and wonderful views. None of the views, however, compared to my new young friend as she wended her away alone between the towels to find an appropriate perch. I watched with great interest as she staked her claim -- not all that far from my towel -- and proceeded to settle in.
She was wearing a light white shift over her bathing suit and took her time setting up her towel and arranging her basket. Once all was in order, she reached below and lifted her beach covering up and over her head. I stifled a groan as I looked at her body, clad in a tiny black bikini. The miniscule bottom was kept in place by dangling ties on either hip. The top was bursting with the size of her considerable bosom. She had to be a full natural DD cup -- without a doubt.
She did all of this without any self-consciousness whatsoever. This was a woman who knew she had a magnificent body and was not afraid or embarrassed to show it off -- nor should she be. Her curves were extraordinary and her 5-6 frame showed not one ounce of fat. She appeared to be late twenties. Her brown hair was tied up loosely and her light brown skin looked silky smooth. She bent over several times as she got settled and her large breasts hung seductively and bobbled loosely in her small bikini top. I literally could not take my eyes off of her as she settled into her spot on the beach.
I pondered my options, but they all led to the same conclusion: I had to introduce myself. I'd always had a belief that when you see a stranger three times in a short period of time they are meant to be in your life in some way. Call it serendipity or superstition, but it was something that had always seemed like a truth to me.
Now, I'm not a shy man. I'm confident in my looks and my mind. I stand 6-2 and have a broad muscular frame. I'm not muscle-bound by any means, but my exercise regimen had kept me fit and active as I entered my late fifties. I still had a full head of gray hair, a short beard and a stature that gave me confidence with women, including women much younger than me.
I had also lost any trepidation about approaching younger women in new places. I figured the worst that could happen is they could turn me down. So be it -- I'd move on. But I'd been surprised that, when chosen carefully, I was more successful than I had ever dreamed when I was a young man and feared rejection more than the possibility of success. My divorce had been helpful in that way and after ten years alone I was hitting my stride with the younger ladies.
So it was with that attitude that I got up on my feet after she'd been sunning herself for a half an hour. I waited until she had sat up to check something on her phone and meandered over to her towel.
"Excuse me, young lady, but...well, I couldn't help notice you arrive alone earlier. I am an American and visiting Malta for a month. I had noticed you in the market on Sunday and at the Sea View a few days later. And then I saw you sit down a half hour ago and...I thought I'd wander over and introduce myself."
I hesitated to try and gauge her reaction. I couldn't make out her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I plowed on anyway. She could tell me to get lost. But maybe she wouldn't.
"My name is Philip," I said confidently as I held out my hand for her to shake. It was the moment of truth. I saw a slight smile turn her mouth up at the corners as she picked up her right hand and reached out to shake mine.
"Hi Philip. My name is Sammy."
"Short for Samantha?"
"It is." She pondered me for a moment. "So you saw me at the market?" She was assessing me carefully; intrigued, but her guard still up.
"I did. I...well, I am drawn to beauty, what can I say? Whether it's the landscape, the architecture, or the people. You looked gorgeous with your...mother, I assume?"
"Yes. We shop together on Sundays...after church."
"You were wearing a lovely dress...and sensible shoes."
I smiled and so did she.
"Well, yes. I was with my mama."
"It was my first impression of Maltese women. But I haven't seen anyone to compare with you since," I said, quite honestly. "And I've looked."
"Does this approach work with women in America?" she asked, with a wry smile.
"It totally does," I replied. "How is it working here?"
She smiled again before replying. "That remains to be seen. The jury is still out."
She paused and I said nothing, feeling like she was going to continue.
"And you saw me at the café?"
