I'll never forget the first time I saw her. I had been traipsing around Amsterdam all day, being a tourist, seeing the sights, dodging the bicycles, and my feet were sore and my mouth was dry, and what I really, really wanted was a long, cold drink. Alighting on Molly Malone's as I wandered the back streets in search of my hotel, which I seemed to have mislaid, the prospect of a chilled, heavy Guinness was too enticing to decline and with sudden, renewed vigour I pushed open the door and entered. The pub is long and dark and smoky, all wood and relics of Ireland, and the air was redolent of wistful repine, that curious hankering at once for a past that never was and a future that will never be. I wasn't sure if it was the place for me. And then I saw Marie.

"Hi," she said, "what can I get you?"

"Half of Guinness," I replied.

"Coming up. Have a seat, I'll bring it over."

She was Irish, and her voice carried a soft, easy lilt, convivial and confident. It was the sort of voice which seduces you, unconsciously sexy, conspiratorial, where the most innocent remark is conveyed with such drama and passion it sounds like a declaration of illicit desire. I took my seat and settled back and watched her pour my drink. Marie, Marie, dazzling Marie.

She had blond hair, fashionably cut, and a high, broad forehead. Her eyes were large and dark and round, and seemed constantly in motion as she glanced effortlessly around the bar, keeping tabs on her customers. A neat nose, sharp and slender, creased down her face, pointing to her mouth, which was wide and open, with full, calmly perfect lips. She looked over and smiled at me and instantly I was transfixed.

The most beautiful smile in the world, it seemed to me, and I felt myself captured by its easy charm. Perplexingly simple and beguilingly complex, the smile scorched through the room and blazed itself into my mind. Somehow, it seemed at once deeply intimate - designed only for me - and all-embracing, intended for the corporate delight of the entire bar. And sexy, so sexy. She smiled with her mouth and her eyes and her face, drawing back her lips and showing her snowdrop-white teeth, with her eyes dancing, the pupils gleaming, alive. She was full of grace, and full of charm, and confident in every way, a mistress surveying her empire and finding it to her liking. And I fell in love with Marie. Dazzled.

I knew it immediately. Deep inside, explosions of desire made me flush, and my brow was beaded with sweat and my pussy flurried wet and hot. I felt dizzy and light, my body stripped of its corporeal weight and reduced to fluttering sensations. I knew it immediately and felt breathless and afraid. Breathless and afraid. And in love. With Marie.

"There you are," she said, placing the glass in front of me with a flourish and another flash of her inspirational smile. I felt for my purse but she waved it away. "Oh, pay later, no problem."

"Thanks," I said. I looked at my glass and saw she had drawn a beautiful shamrock in the foam. "Very nice, thank you," I laughed.

"Oh, it's nothing. I do that for everyone."

"Oh," I replied. I must have looked deflated because she peered at my face and laughed.

"Never mind, I'll do you something special next time, maybe. And I don't do that for everyone."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Long as you hold me tight, I like a good squeeze."

"Oh really?" I wasn't sure what to say, to be honest. She was flirting with me and I was enjoying it, but I was also nervous, afraid of misinterpreting her signals or overreacting.

"Oh sure, I like a big bearhug. Just so long as it's not a bear doing the hugging, know what I mean? So what brings you to Amsterdam? Off to the Red Light District?"

"No," I laughed. "Though I quite enjoyed walking through it, actually."

"Oh yeah, it's good fun, but once you've seen one girl dancing in a red-lit window you've seen 'em all."

"Some of them are very pretty, though."

"Yeah, sure, if you like that sort of thing." I had rather hoped she might, and once more I suspect I let my disappointment show. She laughed again and reached for my hand and stroked it gently with the backs of her fingers. "Now me," she continued, staring into my face, "I prefer things, ah, more demure."

And with that she left.

And with that I melted.

And with that I knew what I wanted. I wanted Marie.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was in such command of her territory, so confident - majestic even - in the way she controlled the bar. A friendly word for everyone, a flash of her smile for the fortunate few, a grace and a warmth and a presence and strength. She was maybe five feet four, not much more, and she comported herself with free-flowing elegance, a capriccioso dance behind the bar and round the tables, shimmying, sliding, beautifully upright and perfectly composed. Time passed by, and so did my drink, and I scarcely registered either in my appetent trance. All the while her laugh - throaty, husky, and so very sexy - scudded round the bar, enlivening it with her presence. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her smile enraptured me, and I dreamed and I dared and I hoped to love. I was lost to time, lost in a world of romance, lost in the hope of the love of Marie. But gradually I awoke. Awoke to see her smiling curiously at me, waving ironically, attracting me back to the world of the living. Blushing furiously, I realised I had been caught staring at her and I looked away, but she waved at me again and waggled a half-pint glass in my direction, nodding as she did so at my own, now empty, resting on the table before me. I smiled and nodded, and she began to pour a fresh drink.

"Thought I'd lost you then," she said as she approached a minute later.

"Yes," I replied, laughing, "I was miles away."

"Looked like a nice place, judging by the smile on your face."

"It was," I said. "It was." I looked at my glass and my pulse skipped a beat. This time, engraved with infinite care in the froth of my drink was a delicate heart.

"Just for you."

"Beautiful."

"Yes you are, aren't you?"

And she skipped away.

I was trembling so much I could barely hold my glass, and resting it on the table I lowered my head towards it. The heart lay there proudly and I couldn't bring myself to tip the glass and break it. Instead, puckering my lips, I perched above it and kissed it gently into my mouth, caressing the froth slowly inside me. As I looked up, licking my lips, Marie caught my eye and smiled again, dazzling me once more with her jaunty perfection. My senses were overloaded, stomach a-flutter and fingers tingling, and deep in my abdomen eddying whorls of constricting pressure were building and budding, growling and growing.

Time marched by again, oblivious of my passion. I began to feel hungry and looked through the menu propped up on an adjacent table. Before I had finished reading it she was there, by my side, her note pad open and pen poised theatrically above it. And that smile. That smile, that dazzling, dazzling smile.

"Would madam like to order?"

"Hmm, yes please. I'd like a steak, please. I feel like getting my teeth into some flesh."

"Know what you mean." She was standing close, deliciously close, daringly close, her hips forward, her back straight, breasts large and firm. Sweet, my sweet, my sweet Marie. "That'll be a rare steak, is it?"

"Yes," I replied, surprised. "How did you know that?"

"You look like a rare girl to me." And she was off again. She liked to leave me with a savoury comment to digest, that was for sure. My steak was delicious, perfectly cooked, bloody and soft and chewy, and all the time, as I ate it, I could think of nothing but Marie, her smile, her laugh, her mouth, her hips swaying and sashaying, her... Oh, just her, really. I could think of nothing but her. Nothing.

She returned, brisk and bright, to clear away my plate. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, fantastic thanks. Beautiful"

"Yes I am, aren't I?"

"What time do you finish?" The words were out before I knew it, as though some internal mechanism prompted me, unbidden, to say them. I think I was as surprised as Marie.

"Half past nine. Late shift starts then. Why? Want me to show you the sights?"

"No, just you."

She stopped and remained motionless and I held my breath, suddenly fearful that I had blown it. Her face, that luminous, glorious face, turned away, blanked, misted over, and my heart prepared to tear itself in two. And then she faced me. And she smiled. Marie smiled, her dazzling smile.

"Just me, then."

And so, half an hour later, we stepped out of Molly Malone's, the beautiful barmaid and me, the dazzling smile and its enraptured amour.

"Where's your hotel?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, I can't find it."

"Hmm, that's not too helpful. Do you know its name?"

"Something about the Devil... Old Nick..."

"Old Nickel?"

"Yes, that'll be it."

"Then this way, my sweet." She took my arm and I felt the delicious, soft down on her skin. I felt her warmth, and I felt her breath, and I wanted the moment to last forever. We weaved through the throng, battling against the rush towards the Red Light District, making our own tracks, we unique lovers, alone in the crowd, united and enthralled.

Reaching my second floor bedroom, I eased the door shut behind me and turned to face her. She smiled again, this time for my eyes only, but no less brightly, no less carefree.

"Well," she said. "You've got me here. Now what are you going to do?"

And I kissed her. Marie, I kissed. I kissed Marie, and it was delightful, and it was sweet, and it was so, so exciting. Her breath mingled with mine, lip to lip, nose to nose, eye to eye, and we smiled, smiled together and smiled to joy. I ran my hand through her straight, fine hair, caressing her skull, drawing her towards me, resting her brow against mine. Sighing, for an instant I felt drained, that curious, flat, nervous moment when the elation of the chase diminishes and before the excitement of the entanglement has taken hold. I stretched my hands towards her, palms forward and she gripped hers to them, enmeshing her fingers with mine and pulling them down to rest on her thigh. And we kissed. Again. Marie and me, Marie and me.

I teased her jumper upwards and pulled it over her head, tugging it free of her hands. She shook her head, her hair careening from one side to the other before settling in place once more, only for me to disturb it again by pulling her tee-shirt up and clear. And my dazzling barmaid, suddenly coy, stood before me, her beautiful skin pale and creamy and soft as velvet.

"Time you showed some flesh," she said, her voice croaky with nervous tension. I nodded, and I removed my top, and I removed my bra and I stood to attention, awaiting her inspection. My breasts were aching, nipples hard in anticipation, and I longed for her touch. And when it came, when her peachy soft hand slid easily over the mound of my breast and cupped me, then I thought I would float into space, thought I would curl up and dissolve into a ball of delight.

I unbuttoned my trousers and slid them down, letting them fall to my feet. My juices were flowing and I was sure I could smell myself, and I didn't care. Kicking off my shoes I jigged the trousers free and quickly skimmed off my socks. Marie's hands slid up and down my bare arms, as though she were convincing herself I was real, and her face betrayed eager anticipation. I pulled her towards me, meshing my breasts against her, and felt behind for her bra catch. Unhooking it, I eased the bra outwards and stepped back, allowing myself room to slip it over her shoulders and drop it to the floor. Her breasts were revealed, magnificent, bold, firm, irresistible, and my hand slid towards them, fingers nestling on the proud slopes, edging towards her large and hardened nipple. I sighed, my breath hushed. Marie, it whispered, Marie, Marie.

I pulled her on to the bed and nestled beside her, face to face and breast to breast. And as we lay, side by side, and as we tasted happiness, and as we kissed, caressed, explored, we scented heaven, glimpsed the throne. And as my tongue drew shivers from her, pimpling her skin and chilling her flesh, we sailed, we flew, we ran, transported, settled on the very peaks of consciousness.

Her lips on mine, like molten ice, like yielding stone, like nothing I had ever known, and tongue, and breath, oh sweet caress, her fingers stroking, stoking, soaking, drenching me in my own desire, licking like flames of exquisite fire, Marie, Marie, my golden Marie. Her lips on mine, two bodies joined in one passion, she felt for my crotch and felt the dampness through my panties, and felt the heat of my cunt, and she pressed her hand to me, pressed hard and long, and stroked. And stroked. And stroked, dear god.

And then she slid my panties down my legs and laid me bare. Her head on my stomach, she drew rambling, lazy routes around my pussy, dragging through the undergrowth, alighting on my lips and sliding, grazing, teasing between them, tickling upwards, up to my clit, encircling it, enraging it, tormenting, baiting, besieging it. My body bucked, my muscles clenching, spasms jerking from deep in my belly and winnowing down my legs and arms. I had to reciprocate, I had to allow her to know the pleasure I was feeling, and I reached towards her, ruffled my fingers against the cotton of her panties, feeling their dampness, their heat.

The most extraordinary sensations were massing in my body, at the tops of my legs and around my crotch and my backside: a feeling of fullness, of tight, raking, clenching anticipation, a sense of imminent explosion. I eased her panties down and slid towards her, stretching my mouth imploringly to her haven, immediately sensing the musky aroma of her arousal. I hovered above her, my eyes taking in every miniscule detail: the pale whispers of hair glistening and glinting at the edge of her mound; the glorious, trim, unaffected triangle of golden down; the reddened, swollen lips, still neat, so beautifully, entrancingly beckoning my touch; the coy clitoris, mostly hidden, peeking bashfully from beneath its cover, pink and fresh and hard. And I lowered myself towards her.

And I kissed.

And I kissed her beautiful lips, and I trailed my tongue, and I flicked it and stroked it and sucked her into me, sucked her labia, one after the other, loving their touch, knowing their taste, smoothing her juices into my mouth and into my body and into my memory, forever. And I kissed her beautiful lips, and I sucked her beautiful clit. I sucked it and rolled my tongue around it, feeling Marie tense, her legs go taut, her muscles clench. And I sucked and sucked and rolled and rolled, the tip of my tongue gently probing, trailing around the edge of her nub, flicking quickly across and back, across and back. Her hand was hard on me now, fingers rigid and unyielding, sliding inside me, inside me, up and down. She stroked my hair and pulled me to her, gripping me tight, directing my tongue, leading the dance, drawing us to our sweet conclusion. Sighing and crying, her hips bucked and she ground herself into me, pelvis undulating urgently. I sucked anew, pulling her clitoris into my mouth and grazing a fingernail against her lips. She screamed as her climax burst upon her, rocking and reeling beneath me in an uncontrollable frenzy.

"Jeezus," she whispered.

"Okay?"

"Jeezus." Her fingers were still on me, still probing, still teasing, still drawing me towards my own climax. I lay beside her, feeling her breath heave in her chest, and we lay together and loved one another as the moon stood sentinel and the clouds murmured and floated through the night into a new morning. My beautiful barmaid and I. My love and I.