An Enduring Flame - Our love story

Inspired by the style of Memoir from Antproof Case

It was a romance that burned hotter than most, which is no extraordinary thing - what’s extraordinary is how long it has burned hot.
Not all men (if they are being honest), can say that they’ve had a grand and all-consuming passionate love affair in their lives - that they’ve had a “love of their lives.” Most men settle; they find their partners in the space between lurching after the biological urge and compromising their values and standards to buy a bit of comfort.
I have had a love of my life - a star that shines so bright that it blots out all others while serving as a celestial beacon to navigate by to a mythological land of abundance. This is our love story, what we kindled now burns hotter than ever.

We met at a club, which might surprise passing acquaintances of mine - people tend to meet their partners online, at work, or through friends nowadays - but not anyone who has known me for more than a decade.
Nightclubs, discos, dance clubs - whatever you want to call them - always made something in me come alive, even when I was sober. I’m an unapologetic dancer. The beat of the bass, the undulation of the revelers under the disco ball, the contrast between the crispness of the cool night air and the sweaty hotness of the inside of the club, I find it all thrilling. And I’ve had some of the most unforgettable nights of my life clubbing across three continents.
So it’s really quite fitting that I met my wife at a club.

It was my second time in Sofia, Bulgaria and I had arranged to meet a friend, Nikolay at a language exchange at the Culture Beat Club.
A “language exchange” is a cultural phenomenon that you can find in any cosmopolitan city and undeniable proof of my personal evolutionary psychology theory of sexually-driven linguistic adaptation and divergence. In short, since we came down from the trees as a species, men have desired the luscious loins of women but have been left wanting if there was a lack of fertile women in their tribe. Thus, many of our ancestors were men who ventured out into the unknown - across rivers, plains, and mountains - to find themselves a woman. They either had to take a woman by force or win her from her tribe with persuasive charm and/or meaningful labor, both options demanded linguistic adaptation. Either the man had to pick up the woman’s language to talk her family into handing her over or the woman was kidnapped and dragged back to the man’s tribe. Thus, language learning and the novelty of a foreign accent became entangled with one of the most exciting of human experiences, falling in love - that great descent into the depths of our carnal urges for each other.
Culture Beat is located in the Bulgarian National Palace of Culture, this gargantuan white building (that looks like it belongs in a science fiction movie) looming over downtown Sofia.
I got more than a bit lost in my meeting with destiny that night. I navigated the wrong way around this building that likely produces its own gravity well, entered the wrong entrance, rode the elevator up and down, and explored the cavernous and increasingly unpopulated and unlit interior in search of the club. Eventually, I ended up in a parking lot where I accosted a mother and daughter for directions; they led me to an architectural outcropping of the Palace of Culture where the club is perched. Finding my friend in the dimly lit club would prove a lot easier. 

Funnily enough, the moment of our first encounter is a matter of debate. As I remember it, I was standing at a table with Nikolay and a few other forgettable occupants, and out of the crowd of darkened silhouettes, I gestured for a cute girl passing by to join us. Which she did with a smile, I introduced myself, and we had a brief yet pleasant conversation about something, well, totally forgettable.
But by my wife’s account, she approached us because she knew Nikolay, and then Nikolay introduced me as his “drug dealer” friend. To settle the debate we’d have to audit the club’s security camera footage for the night of February 23, 2017.
We ran back into each other a little while later, and I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but there was electricity between us. I regaled her with my tales of travel and adventure. She was especially entertained by the account of the abuse I suffered at the vicious paws of a territorial cat with whom I had to share an Airbnb with in Odesa, Ukraine.
But, with my three-word answer to a question of hers, I owned her body, mind, and soul forever. She asked what I did for work, and I responded, “I’m a writer.” My wife is, was, and will eternally be a voracious reader. She loves books so much that I suggest to our descendants that she be buried with books (in case of reanimation). Visibly, she could barely contain her curiosity about me - from that moment on she was mine to do with as I pleased. After finding each other and finding each other again in the club, we exchanged Facebook contact details and went our separate ways into the crisp Bulgarian night.

Some romances are like stubborn logs piled in a fireplace, that take a bit of effort and prodding of kindling to become inflamed - such was ours. Shortly after meeting, my tourist VISA in Bulgaria ran out of time, and I boarded a train for Istanbul. I was uncertain at the time if I’d even return to Bulgaria and I wanted to give Istanbul (supposedly, one of the great cities of the world) the chance to entice me, so I left a few messages from her unanswered which did not please her. While I enjoyed sipping dark Turkish-style tea in the cafes of Taksim, Istanbul would prove disagreeable to my tastes (well, mostly my taste for fast wifi). So I decided to leave that city where the kitties so boldly stroll through grocery store aisles.

Back in Bulgaria, I hadn’t noticed that she unfriended me on Facebook, she was understandably irate that I hadn’t stayed in touch as I ventured toward Asia Minor.
But, fate saw fit to give me a second chance; “Hello Mr. Roseland” I heard from behind me at a Couchsurfing meet-up as she ran her curious fingers over my shoulder. The seat was open beside me and she required about 11 minutes of charm to be persuaded to re-friend me on Facebook, that night she and a friend invited me to a nearby local hip-hop show. When a bouncier beat moved me I grabbed her and dragged her (inspired, no doubt, by my cavemen ancestors) to the dancefloor for a bit more vigorous interaction. We’d part ways again into the night and I’d do a little better job with my QWERTY communications.

A few weeks later we arranged our first (let’s not call it a) date in an appropriately ambient environment. Intending to escalate beyond dry conversation, I selected seating and maneuvered our bodies at a 90-degree angle to each other. Impatient to taste if her tongue was as sweet as her accent, I leaned in to kiss her at the closest thing to an opportune moment. Half expecting to be rebuffed, I was pleasantly surprised at her surrender. I withdrew and we continued the conversation as her stare spoke much. Our tongues would continue to tango there between talk of travel, family, pets, and... I really don’t recall what else as I was so enjoying the tenderness of her lips! Her beauty and womanly softness were such that I resolved to seduce her, maybe not that night, but I resolved to explore every inch of her. I walked her home, hand in hand, with a newfound lightness in my step. I drifted off to sleep imagining the thrill of dining, wine-ing, and intertwining further with her.

After a few more encounters, it was clear that our bodies were aching for each other. She lived with her mother and I was staying at a hostel with sweaty tourists, so I booked us an Airbnb downtown. As a prelude to the seduction, I enlisted her assistance as a selfie-stick-wielding camerawoman and bedazzled her with a philosophical rant I performed in a park adjoining a military museum. Then we taxied to meet a few friends for dinner and grabbed a drink together, but did not let the night wear on long before we strolled (coinage in boot) back to our abode for the evening.
Back in the modest (yet thankfully stocked with ice) flat my mind raced with anticipation of laying her body down and taking in the full glory of her boobies, but we lingered on the balcony, sipped our drinks and each other’s saliva, and indulged in the time-honored Balkan tradition of having a smoke before sex.
I pulled her clothes off, delighting in every new curve of her form revealed in the dimness of the bed chamber. At some point in advance of the fumbling-with-the-condom stage, she informed me that she hadn’t had sex in a while. Which I didn’t contemplate deeply, but resolved to make love to her with deserved gentleness. Stroking her porcelain skin (all of it) was a pure pleasure that inspired my persistence in penetrating her jade gates.
We awoke and lingered in bed in a state of dreamy undress as long as we could before a final kiss goodbye. Alone in the flat, her womanly scents still present, I marveled at my good fortune. I departed a little later; strolling back to my hostel, the streets of Sofia were never sunnier, the trees never greener, and the tweeting of the birds never tweetier.

It was May, a month I’ve always loved not just because it’s the month of my birth but because it’s the month when (in the northern latitudes, at least) spring ceases its teasing. The changing of the seasons reminds us that life is profoundly cyclical. As the snow melts away, the sky’s gloomy grayness retreats and the green leaves of the trees bud, a sense of optimism has always infused my being. Spring also urges us to seize the moment; as a glorious summer beckons, we’re compelled to drink deeply of the sunny joys of life as the chilly fingers of winter yet stroke the backs of our necks.
And that was a particularly optimistic spring as it was also the spring of our relationship. Our moments together were full of laughter and kidding serving, of course, as the overture to moans and grunts of carnal exuberance.

The inconvenience of our domestic situations turned into a great excuse to be rather juvenile about our encounters. We snuck off into darkened corners of city parks to make out, dry hump, and wildly grope each other like teenagers.
Desiring a full weekend of savoring her body and presence undistracted by my work, we arranged a weekend getaway to the Black Sea coast. I booked a surprisingly affordable room in Sozopol, a resort town where the ocean-scented breeze demanded playful withdrawal from the worries of life. Leading up to our stay there, my thoughts were consumed with fantasies of how we would frolic between the sheets without a care in the world.
On the bus ride there, I debated whether we should first dress, stroll the streets, and dine out or if I should grab her and have my way with her as soon as the hotel room door was latched. And, yes, just as soon as we were secluded in our room, I seized the moment.

After our inaugural romp, we showered away the stuffiness that bus rides always seem to gift the passenger. Dressed in a casual summer dress, her beauty beamed brightly as we departed the hotel. At the time she smoked, and wanted to enjoy one before dinner, but being classy enough to not smoke at dinner, she stopped on the steps to light up. Eager to explore the town, I urged her, “Babe, you can walk and smoke.” Her witty response, “Only hookers walk and smoke” (which, rings true in a funny way), struck me with the sheer and cinematic newness of the moment - making love to a beautiful foreign girl in a foreign land, in a new-to-me place that I didn’t even know existed a week ago.

Post-puff we promenaded through the cobblestone streets crisscrossing the old town of Sozopol and our giddy affection was, no doubt, evident to all the peninsular residents. We ascended the steps to the patio of a seafood restaurant that afforded us a view of the sea, its enormity stretching to the horizon, and the billion colors that the setting sun painted the sky above.
The meaning of life has been debated since such a question could even be pondered, I’d advance that the meaning of life is simply to take note of the richness to be found in the moments when one finds oneself in the presence of beauty. And, at that moment dining al fresco with a dazzling girl beside me, her countenance beaming bright, and the Thracian sea breeze faintly caressing us, I took note.
With our bellies full and our spirits high, we explored the old town a little further, but our desire for each other had not been satiated. Our clothes did not remain on long after we returned to our room, sedated by the fine food and drink, we (I can’t quite call it making love nor would I call it fucking) savored each other longer, time-lost meaning until we lost consciousness, slipping from bliss into slumber.

And the rest of our time there went like that. I’d wake, gaze over and her softly-heaving curves would beckon to me. I’d question for just a moment whether this was all just a splendid dream, and surrender to the desire. We would welcome the day with a raucous romp; in the light of day, I’d feast on the vivid image of her body - her full boobs, her skinny waist, her shapely ass, and her pretty face flush with the passion of the moment.
The touristic activities of the day would wane in comparison to our playtime there in that room. She put on an unforgettable striptease for me, as sexy tunes flowed out of my Bluetooth speaker, she appeared looking ravishing in lingerie and proceeded to give me an enthusiastic yet sensual lapdance.
Our sexy time in Sozopol was so all-consuming that quite frankly, I don’t recall much that we talked about the whole trip other than our inaugural argument as a couple, which was funnily enough, about blueberries. And blueberries, though small, are worth fighting for.

And since then we’ve had other fights, about things more substantial than those little phytochemical-filled berries of ecstasy, which is an ordinary thing. And unquenchable passion between young lovers on vacation is not an extraordinary thing. But, we have something that is extraordinary - we have something rare and fine, which few couples possess, which money cannot buy - we’ve stoked and kept our passion for each other. It’s been four years and we have not allowed the mundanity of life to erode our desire for each other.

This walk down memory lane I’ll conclude with a great leap forward, into some indeterminate future point...
I’ll be in my home office, working on something important (maybe my next book), but not more important than her. The office will be an elegant place, sparsely yet tastefully decorated with the artifacts of lively life, and a commanding desk - all illuminated by landscape windows with a view of the black sea. And there will be shelves and shelves of supplements there. Glancing out the window, I’ll note the receding of the daylight and will leave my work for the next day.
The home office will be located just off or adjoining our home library, a chamber with even more personality. Thousands of titles will fill bookshelves covering the walls of the room, reaching from floor to ceiling - there we’ll keep every book we’ve ever read and a number that we haven’t. The other occupants of the library will be two plush leather seats, a sofa, and a chaise lounge adjacent to a set of landscape windows. That’s, of course, where she’ll be.

As I enter she’ll look up from her book and smile at me, she’ll be older, but still beautiful. Her eyes will still have that girlish gleam to them. I’ll propose, “Hey babe, it looks like a fine evening for a stroll on the beach, have the dogs peed on the floor yet?”
“No, but the Vixxie 2.0 (that cat’s name) did. We better take Bitcoin and Schisandra (the dogs’ names) for a walk now.” She’ll respond.
She’ll leave on the end table the latest page-turner about talking animals solving a murder mystery in some fantasy land that she’s devouring. And we’ll make our way down to the beach for a stroll with our furry friends. As we’re strolling I’ll detect that she’s worried about something, I’ll inquire and she’ll respond, “You know your son has been in Korea for 9 months now, I know he loves it there, but I’m concerned that he may be overstaying his tourist VISA! You should really talk to him about this...”
“Oh, sure, I’ll talk to him. But he’s a smart kid, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I’ll respond, putting my arm around her shoulder.
As the dogs sniff around the beach to ascertain the ideal location to make their deposit, I’ll wade just a bit into the water. With the surf lapping at my toes, I’ll gaze into the distance towards the horizon, taking note, I’ll meditatively take a slow, deep breath of the sea’s zephyr into my being.

Looking back at my wife with the dogs, I’ll be struck by her natural and enduring beauty, her hair blowing in the wind, and her curvaceous form accentuated by a casual summer dress. She’ll playfully smile at me betraying her spirit that never grew much older than about 13 years.
At that moment, I’ll thank God to have made it through the trenches and triumphs of life with her. And, taking note, through my mind will flash a million moments of passion, lust, desire, playfulness, comfort, good conversation, and laughter along with defining moments of honesty, decision, commitment, and clarity composing the grand love affair of my life.

If you're a romantic at heart, this may bring a tear to your eye. I poured everything in me into this piece of writing. Of my two books and over a thousand articles, it's the best writing I've ever done. And I did it for my wife a few years ago, I'm sharing it now publicly to show off (a little) - writing is the consuming passion of my life, it's one of the few things I'm really good at. I've enhanced my innate talent and creativity with Biohacking tools like Nicotine, L-theanine, and mnemonics. I'm sharing it now because I want to write a book for you.

I want to write your story, which is more epic, haunting, edifying, and instructional than you may know. I want to write a book for you enshrining and crystalizing your life experiences, values, worldview, and philosophy. And here's the really cool thing about this book, it's going to be the most beautiful book you will ever hold; I've found an artisanal printer in Vermont who creates these beautiful old-school hardbound, leatherbound, gold-adorned masterpiece editions. And these are made to last 200 years. This book will sit on your children's and then your grandchildren's bookshelves when you are gone. When they are struggling in life and questioning who they are, they'll open this book and they'll learn about themselves by reading about your story, challenges, and hard-won life lessons. They'll be reminded how your life philosophy - your closest-held principles and values - was multiplied and made manifest by how you lived. This book results from a one-of-kind 6-month transformational coaching program I offer called Anakainōsis; this program entails genotyping-informed precision Biohacking and longevity consulting and other things that make it totally unique as a transformational offer.

For my wife's birthday this year, I did another epic creative project, I wrote a 12-song Country Western (a genre she loves, funnily enough) album, telling our epic 7-year love story. Unfortunately, none of you get to listen to it, because it's for her! But she said I could share just one song; "A strange new world" - about how I introduced a young, innocent girl (with a bangin' body) to the world of Biohacking (which she succumbed to) - listen to it here on Suno.