Welcome to Spain (fm:oral sex, 4049 words)

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He was true to his word. The mid-morning crowds were already surging back and forth across the marketplace, but I recognized him the moment he stepped off the bus, and into the moist heat that had long since reduced my silk dress to translucence. Looking around at the village as he adjusted his hat, he reminded me of the shady sidekick in some old black-and-white Humphrey Bogart movie, up to no-good in a small foreign town that itself could barely have changed in fifty years. I'd been here a day and, if it wasn't for the satellite dishes on a handful of roof tops, and the cellphone tower that towered over the church, I'd swear they turned back time at the city limits.

I started to move towards him, pushing through the revelers as they swayed to the first of the day's musical attractions. Peter hadn't seen me. In fact, even if he did happen to look in my direction, I doubted he'd spot me with the sun in his eyes. A little ahead of me, however, a couple of teenagers did see me, glancing up and whistling loudly. "Hey, Senorita!" The state of my dress with the sun at my back; they could probably see right through it. Slightly self-consciously (wishing I was wearing more than a thong!), I smiled back at them but I kept moving; dodged around a vast woman armed with a massive basket of onions; and then came to halt a few paces in front of Peter.

"So you made it, then?"

He stopped and squinted comically. I could see his mind trying to make sense of the picture before him. The last time he saw me, we were back in the States, the week before he left for a summer hiking trip around southern Europe.

"Chrissie?"

I enjoyed his confusion. "I said, you made it, then."

He nodded, his face still a mask of bafflement. "But what are you..."

"I fancied a break," I smiled. There was no point getting into explanations. They were boring and, besides, I would be back in Madrid on Monday, for the chain of business meetings that winkled me out of New York City in the first place. This was just a weekend diversion and, like I told his mother, Peter was the only guy I knew in Spain. So, of course I had to look him up.

I walked alongside him as we maneuvered through the crowds, waited while he picked up his money from the little Western Union office, and resisted the temptation to step in to help when it became clear he knew only the most linguistic basics. Somebody obviously didn't pay attention to Spanish classes at High School. But he sorted it out in the end and, as we stepped back into the sunlight, I locked his arm in mine. "Have you booked a room any place?"

He shook his head. "I thought I'd find something once I got here."

"Good luck." The festival drew revelers from miles around, and most of them stayed through the night. I doubted whether there was a room to be had any place in town. "But never mind. You can crash at mine."

Again he treated me to a look of bemusement, but I just laughed and pulled him along. We strung our way through the crowds, doubling down narrow alleyways to avoid the thickest crushes, circling through the maze of winding back streets that, thankfully, I'd already committed to memory when I negotiated them on my way to meet him. Finally, as the last of the stalls and sideshows began to thin, we reached the blue-tiled walls of the hotel, slipped in through a door that you'd never have noticed if you didn't know it was there, and crossed the ornately landscaped courtyard.

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LUST4LIFE writes Wed 16 Apr 2025 19:11:

Excellent story. Thank you for sharing. Do you really live like this? Or are they just stories? Congrats if you do, or imagination and hope makes life worth living?

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