2001
I've never seen her suite before, only few people were allowed in her majesty's private rooms and I was not one of them. Until now, that is. Promoted to head of security, I am finally able to enter the private quarters of the woman I've admired for the past ten years. I'd always imagined her rooms to be dark and lined with red velvet and gold with very old looking furnature and a giant bed you could sleep forty people in and a sitting room so large you could play a game of football. A huge television with surround sound, a wardrobe bigger than my room, a bathroom with a tub the size of a swimming pool.
But as I creaked the door open that first time and my eyes adjusted, I soon found that the way I imagined things was completely wrong.
My first impression when I walked through the door was that it was a lot smaller than I imagined. It wasn't filled with gold and velvet, it was filled with soft colours and floral patterns. The furniature was quite old looking, but it had obviously been re-furbished and the room wasn't dark - it had a warm glow and an inviting atmosphere. The queen wasn't in there at the time, so I was free to roam around and get a good look at everything she kept in there. She had many books on the shelf - none of which looked as if they'd been written this century - and the strangest collection of wooden dolls. I dared not to touch them. Should anything be left out of place while I was doing my first security check...well...I don't know what could happen. As I crossed to the windows I admired a photograph of the queen with her late husband and two sons. It looked as if it had been taken over twenty years ago as the king still had hair. I recognised the location they were at, it was the pear tree at the front gate of the palace. The two boys sat on either side of their parents who were holding hands and smiling for the camera.
I then drew my attention to the balcony and cautiously stepped onto it.
The view was spectacular. The stars shone bright, the moon was high in the sky and you could see the entire ocean. Out of all the balconies I've stepped onto at the palace, hers was definately the best.
I must have stayed out there for at least ten minutes before turning back to check out the rest of her suite. The door to the bedroom was open and I was quite giddy when I walked in to familiarise myself with it - which was the main purpose of me being there that night.
I was surprised to find her bed was smaller than mine. I have a king sized four-poster bed, all she had was what looked like a queen size matress and base ensemble. And I don't know why, but she had about forty miscellaneous pillows and cushions stacked on top of it. You could hardly even see the bed!
I had to fight the gigantic urge I had to touch her sheets. Never have I seen any that looked softer than the white embroided sheets which covered her bed.
My eyes were drawn to a painting on the wall, a portrait of herself close up in which she looked no older than eighteen. It highlighted her most beautiful features - her diamond-like blue eyes, short golden hair, milky white skin, pearly-white smile and the most perfect hand which she used to rest her chin on. You could only see the top of her shoulders, which were bare, but I'm almost sure she was topless. The painting thrilled me, it was painted so well and it made her look even prettier than she does in person if at all possible.
When I finally dragged myself away from it I walked into the bathroom and checked it out. It was sort of how I imagined it, only the bathtub was the size of a spa and not a swimming pool. The tiles were black and white, which surprised me because it looked as though they came straight from a diner. The curtains were white and the walls were a soft yellow. I sniffed the muggy air and decided that she had recently taken a bath. All of a sudden I imagined her taking a bath, washing her body with warm soapy water then emerging clean with bubbles all over her skin.
Snapped out of my daydream by a sudden noise, I bolted to the sitting room just as her majesty walked through the door with her pooch, Maurice alongside.
"Good evening, Joseph."
I stood up straight and cleared my throat, "Good evening, your majesty."
"Have you familiarised yourself with my quarters?"
Shakily I nodded, "Yes, maam."
"Good," she smiled, removing Maurice's leash and placing it on her hat stand. The dog ran to his pink dogbed and settled for the night.
"Thankyou for checking my suite, Joseph. How do you find it anyway?"
Her eyebrow was raised, yet her smile didn't fade.
"It's very..."
Very what?
Floral?
Pretty?
"It's very feminem," I finally blurted out. I didn't have much of an opinion of her room, I liked some of the things in it like the artwork and photgraph, but the actual decor? I had no opinion.
"So is it safe for me to go to sleep?" She joked with me.
"Well I noticed a vine lurking outside the window, but you should be safe from it tonight," I joked right back.
We both laughed and her face went red - was she blushing at something I said?
"I should go," I said, not really wanting to leave just yet, however I kissed her hand and bid her goodnight.
2006
It was a fascinating experience going into her rooms for the first time, however since we married it has become my suite as well and being there just feels natural. It's a place to relax and enjoy spending quiet time with my new wife.
There are some wonderful benefits of living with her in this suite. One of them is that now rather than imagining her taking a bath, I'm able to watch her and sometimes join her, which I really enjoy because she looks absolutely breathtaking when she's covered from head to toe in soapy water.
Another one is the bedsheets. I love the way they feel on my bare skin, they are softer than I could have imagined and I love rolling around in them.
But the thing I love most about living with her is bedtime. Sometimes when I don't feel tired, l like to lay awake at night with the lights dimmed and stare dreamily at the portait of her on the wall. I get a warm feeling inside as I look at the eighteen year old Clarisse in the painting, then turn to my seventy-one year old wife sleeping beside me and think to myself - she hasn't changed.
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