And so, with the hungry wolf of winter closing its maw around my windpipe, the fourth season of A Harem of Dusky Beauties must now conclude. My ashtray will lay fallow for a while, in the hope that it may someday bring forth a stronger crop. I hope that the last six months have brought you joy and education.
The Harem shall return someday, of course – perhaps on a morning when the river, engorged by the meltwaters of spring, floods its banks and threatens the integrity of my humidor; or when, awakened by the sound of gay singing outside my window, I adjourn to the veranda with a Petite Corona, and watched the parade of milkmaids on their way to work; or when, sitting on a restaurant patio with some paramour, she wrinkles her nose in distaste as the aroma of fine Havana leaf wafts from the table a ways over. “Excuse me,” I will tenderly whisper, removing my napkin. “There’s somewhere I would rather be.”
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Until we meet again, may all your smoke rings be round.
Update: The above mentioned hiatus ended on 1 January 2018.
Update: The hiatus referred to below ended on January 1st 2016.
Inevitably, indubitably, time marches on. The seasons have changed, and each morning now I awake to find that the frigid wind that howls in from the blasted Southern tundra has filled my ashtray anew with snow, and hung vicious icicles from my wicker smoking chair. So it is that I must purge my lighter, lock my humidor, send my smoking jacket to the cleaners, and turn my attention to other follies. Season three of A Harem of Dusky Beauties has concluded.
It shall return, of course: perhaps when I spy the first spouts of new born whale calves migrating past the heads, or when I am awakened by the delicate aroma of summer fruits on the gnarled tree outside my window, or perhaps when, lying together on the fresh cut grass of spring, my ladylove nuzzles my neck and whispers “can we stay like this forever?”
“No” I will callously reply. “I need a smoke.”
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Until we meet again, old friends, may all your smoke rings be round.
Update: The hiatus referred to below ended on January 1st 2015.
And so, as the days shorten and an icy wind begins to blow from the south, I must turn the key in the lock of my humidor, place my ashtray in its storage box, and give my tar filled lungs a chance to heal: season two of A Harem of Dusky Beauties has concluded.
I shall return with the mountain brooks begin to burble, their banks reverberating with the ballads of boisterous bullfrogs; or when the new foal takes his first tentative steps out from the shadow of his mother; or once I find myself on the platform of a rural train-station, alone except for a clear-skinned girl with hay-coloured hair wearing a gaily patterned summer dress. A rouge gust of wind lifts it momentarily around her hips, and as she struggles to pull it down our eyes meet, and she grins at me conspiratorially, the colour of her underwear a little secret shared between us (eggshell blue). I encourage you to subscribe to the RSS feed.
As is traditional, I have left you with the below bonus issue, a dusky beauty previously deemed ‘too vile’ for inclusion in the site proper. A word of warning: it forms chapter ten of my offensively racist autobiographical novel, My Life in Shanghai: Soft Drugs and Hard Women in the Whore of the Orient.
Hasta la vista, mi amigos. May all your smoke rings be round.
A. T. Groom
Update: The hiatus referred to below ended on January 1st, 2014.
The endless summer of 2013 has ended, and, having completed the combustion of every special edition Montecristo cigar, A Harem of Dusky Beauties is on hiatus. We shall return when the birds begin to lay, or when the summer sun shines, or when I complete My Disgusting Life: An Erotic Autobiography, whichever comes first or feels right. I encourage you to subscribe to the RSS feed.
In the meantime I have provided you with the below bonus episode, my very first attempt at one of these articles, written in Paris in July 2012. A word of warning: it is also chapter six of the above mentioned autobiography. Hopefully it will give you some solace through the many frigid nights to come.
A. T. Groom.