Room 705: Carnal Captivity

 

“Portrait of a Beauty” (미인도, Miindo) 

Attributed to: Shin Yun-bok (Hyewon, 혜원 신윤복)

Late 18th century, Joseon Dynasty

Dear Sienna,

I still see you wrapped in the sheets of Room 705, your skin gilded by the St. Julian’s morning light filtering through the InterContinental curtains. I remember the quiet, unguarded peace on your face when you believed no one was watching.

Then your eyes—elegant, almond-shaped, holding the serene composure of a classical Eastern beauty—yet becoming dangerously disarming when someone gets close enough to feel your breath.

I don’t know how such profound intimacy unfolded in less than forty-eight hours. 

I only know it is a rarity.

A beautiful energy charged the space between us—curious, physical, undeniable. Words flowed without hesitation; truths were spoken without filters, while our fingers were tracing slow, deliberate maps over each other's bodies, drawing out tremors and spelling on our skin a language of insatiable desire.

And after the words, there were only our bodies. No pretense, no holding back.

Just raw instinct and a connection that felt both new and familiar.

The cool water of the bathtub was no match for our heat, your wet skin sliding against mine in a slick, perfect friction, the taste of champagne on your lips as your soft, captured moans echoed against the tiles - until our bodies did all the talking, shaking the room with a shared release that gave way to breathless laughter, before finally sinking into long, dreamy silences in a oneiric embrace.

I also remember the laughing interlude of room service at midnight—that complicit and languid smile we shared as we wrapped ourselves in the night robes to receive a trolley overflowing with ice cream, cakes and another bottle of wine.
The waiter’s politely averted eyes only made our private conspiracy feel more thrilling.

It is a rare thing to find someone with whom you can be all things at once: romantic and light, sweet and daring, innocent and deliciously sinful. To be both playful and profoundly intense, all within a fleeting reel of hours that felt like a beautiful film spinning too fast.

I could not have asked for a better farewell to Malta, nor could I have imagined a better person to share it with.

I wish these rare encounters happened more often, but perhaps it is their rarity that makes them unforgettable.

As I move into a new chapter of my life—after closing one that revived a few old demons I thought I had buried—I feel strangely grateful. Grateful, because I am leaving it finally behind and walking away feeling lighter, genuinely happy, and very much alive.

Perhaps, it is too soon to know where or when our paths will cross again. 

But the best stories have a way of finding their way back when the time is right.

And sometimes, I’ve heard, they lead to Venice.