Is it just me? I find that sex and risk often go hand in hand. It is as if the two are linked at a very basic level in me. Perhaps the same hormones are at play. Perhaps, deep down, I still believe sex to be naughty, illicit. Or perhaps the sex drive is the only passion left in me that inspires me to take risks. I am pondering this because of a small incident which happened a month or so ago.
I was enjoying a sunny day on a particularly fine, little nudist beach: Miotiotissa, on Corfu. I had just purchased a freshly prepared fruit salad, topped with Greek yoghurt and honey, from the stall at the end of the beach. Wandering back towards my spot, I was focussing on the fruit salad, taking care not to let the precarious heap of fruit and yoghurt spill. It was at that moment that I caught sight of two beautiful young women, sunbathing at the back of the beach. With my attention somewhere between the fruit salad and the women, I completely failed to see a sand coloured beach rock, upon which I stubbed my toe quite badly.
The story does not end there though. It seems that a stubbed toe was not a sufficient war-wound with which to honour such feminine beauty. During the next two days, I was walking with a sack on my back, enjoying sleeping out in the fields and olive groves. My toe was hurting though, and I could feel myself trying to reduce the pain by walking with a slightly strange gait. By the end of those days of walking, my toe was feeling much better but my knee was in pain!
Even now, a month later, it is painful for me to kneel. It is a little reminder to me, of how a small incident can lead to wavelets that ripple out through time. Remembering the cause of the injury, though, brings a smile to my face...
