The summer I stole my mother's pen pal

Week 1: The man from the ocean

I will never forget the first day I saw him, the day he came sailing onto the beach on the Italian riviera. He caught my eye within the very first seconds. There was something about him that was just ... different. He was a big guy. Not like a big, lazy guy that eats too much burgers and lays on the couch all day watching sports games, drinking beer and shouting at both the tv and his own wife. No, he wasn't like that. He was more of a big muscular guy. He took me for a guy that knew what he was doing. He was wearing a skirt made out of green, juicy leaves, as if he'd picked them himself straight out of the jungle. A strange style, I thought, but I liked that. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His bear chest was completely covered in dark tattoos. There were all sorts of mysterious figures and symbols that I knew would be studying all summer. I caught myself wondering whether he was wearing underpants beneath the leaves or not. My guess was probably not. Above his shoulders, he was carrying a large hook. It was white with a dark pattern engraved all over it, much like the tattoos on his upper body. His hair was truly beautiful. Thick, black curls reaching the middle of his back. I won't say I was attracted to him right then and there. More so, intrigued. However, I had no idea back then the impact this man, or should I say god (because believe it or not, he is technically a  god), would have on me.