Chapter 2

“What’s there to do in Bolonia beside see old ruins and a beach? There’s a beach right here in Tarifa,” I said. A meager effort, I suppose, to spurn her advances, as I am naturally inclined.

“There is a show at sundown I’d like to take you to. A traditional flamenco. A real flamenco show. Not one for tourists. But, if you really do not prefer my company any longer, then I will leave, as the beach here in Tarifa is also beautiful, and I’m sure you will like it. if that is the case then I will bother you no more, but not without saying I very much enjoyed having a drink with you this afternoon, Julia.”

The way she said my name, the way the J melted softly into an H with her Spanish accent, melted my heart. I felt it too much to not go with her. Besides, I had never seen a real flamenco show (among Roman ruins on a beach, no less), and my only other plan was to wander the streets of Tarifa listlessly again, as I had the night before. She left me no choice.

She clapped once, loudly.

She hopped from her chair, tied her reclaimed red bandana around her hair and motioned for me to come with her.

I followed her through the dizzying winding streets until we were out of the old city to where her truck, a rather beat-up and dusty Nissan Frontier, was parked alongside the tall medieval city wall.

Across the street was the Tarifa beach, where, out on the shimmering ocean, kite surfing kites of all sorts of colors danced in dizzying circles like playful birds in the strong wind. Below the kites, the kite surfers blazed through the water and jumped high up into the air to perform incredible aerobatics.

Distantly were the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. Below them, I spotted the white city of Tangier, glinting in the bright afternoon sunlight.

We hopped into the Nissan. The engine coughed on.

I was on my way to a beach called Bolonia with a beautiful stranger, an enchanting woman claiming to being a gypsy witch.

I had to clutch on for dear life. The roads were narrow and winding. Eliana drove with abandon, weaving around cars, taking sharp bends at speeds much higher than I thought her Nissan could handle.

Soon, we climbed up a backroad up the side of a mountain peppered with brown cows on its golden summer pastures,

until we crested to come upon a magnificent view of a vast bay with turquoise water and a golden-white crescent stretch of beach. She slowed down to allow me a chance to soak in the beautiful vista. Nestled in the trough of the bay, a small white town.

“That is home. That is Bolonia.”

“It’s amazing,” I replied.

The sun hung low, nearing the distant shimmering horizon, painting the sky golden and the sailing clouds pink. I couldn’t help but grin widely. My heart grew with excitement, and I was elated now that I had agreed to this spontaneous adventure.

A few minutes later, we were driving through the small village, then a small promenade lined with date palms along which daily beachgoers parked. The beach was crowded, but the village was small and sleepy. I was surprised to see such a beautiful beach like this in Spain devoid of tall resorts and condos.

“A while back, the government named this a natural park. So, new development is not allowed here.”

She parked her Nissan behind a beach bar of a style common in the beach towns of Southern Spain called a ‘chiringuito.’ Many people crowded it, with beers or Aperol Spritz in hand, vibing to a laid-back house beat.

“The show doesn’t start for a little while. Until then, why don’t we sun ourselves on the beach?”

I agreed, so she led me down to the beach. We passed by the old Roman amphitheater still in use, where we would watch the flamenco show. The marble remains of the ancient city were scattered around the amphitheater like bleach white bones of an ancient leviathan. The amphitheater seemed to stand as it had the day it was built, thousands of years ago, as if untouchable by time.

“The city was called Baelo Claudia,” she explained.

“How many people live here now?”

“Permanently? A hundred, more or less. In the summer, that number can grow into the thousands. A lot of villagers had turned their homes into rentals. Illegally, of course. And then there are the caravanners that come here for the water sports. Some of the villagers hate them. I don’t mind them so much. They are fun, and of course, they bring money.”

We sat on the beach in front of the ancient ruins. Eliana took out a beach towel and spread it out. I had to hold my breath when she took her top off. Her breasts were perky and perfectly curved, like breasts on the marble statue of a Roman goddess. Her nipples were a brown of sun-kissed dates.

“My eyes are up here,” she teased.

“Oh, sorry! I’m just not used to…”

“It’s ok. You are an American, so you are a prude. But you are in Spain now, so no one will care if you want to take your top off.”

“I think I’ll leave my top on.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied as she rolled her jeans off her legs, revealing thin black thong underwear that strained to cover her nudity.

She tossed the jeans aside.

“Come on, let’s get in!” She said, then sprinted towards the water.

For a moment, I watched her run towards the water. She was graceful in the way she ran. Her legs were long and slender, but her thighs were muscular like they were meant for running on sandy beaches.

When she reached the water’s edge, she dove headfirst into a wave. A moment later, her head popped up, and she waved at me to join her.

“Coming!” I called to her and took off my clothes (leaving my bra on) and ran towards the water.

The water was cold but a good relief from the sun’s sweltering heat.

I dove in and, a moment later, popped up next to Eliana. I buried my feet into the sand to anchor myself against the slight pull of the tide.

Sunshine sparkled amber off the water. The reflections danced on Eliana’s golden face. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought that she was the source of sunlight. She was radiant.

She came close to me. Her breasts, just below the waterline, like a pair of mirages in the rippling water, close to touching mine. I slowly inched away to avoid my discomfort with her proximity.

I tried making conversation to distract myself from my excitement.

“So, um, how long until the flamenco show?”

“It’ll be at sundown. A couple of hours at least. Enough for a nice rest on the beach. Unless, of course, you prefer to have some tapas first. Or café. There is a nice place for that just down the road.”

“Sounds wonderful. But I think I prefer laying on the beach.”

“Then that is what we will do.”

“Perfect,” she replied with a smile.

Her eyes were on my face. Studying me and soaking me in. It was enough to make me blush. So, I turned away to watch the sea.

“Do I still make you nervous?” She asked, giggling.

“Sorry, it’s the way you keep looking at me like that.”

“I can’t help it. You’re very nice to look at.”

I cringed like an embarrassed schoolgirl and pushed her away playfully and splashed water at her.

“Ok, fine. I can see it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll stop,” she conceded, giggling.

“Thank you, how considerate of you.”

“I am always considerate. Anyways, I’m getting out of the water now. Time for sun.”

I followed her out to lay next to her on her beach towel. Behind us, a line of short, fragrant stone pines whispering songs as the wind went through their soft needles.

I turned to face her. She was close enough to me to feel and hear her soft breathing. Her eyes met mine. They were the color of a swirling latte. They were bright. Mesmerizing. Full of life, showing within a beautiful free spirit. And the way they looked at me — it made me feel good inside. Made me feel wanted. Not a feeling I have had in a long time. But there was something else in there that was curious. That despite her very young appearance, and her flawless skin, she seemed like she had fully experienced life. I was too shy to ask, so I simply guessed that she must be in her forties or early fifties. An ageless beauty that made me more intoxicated. Her eyes looked upon me lazily now. She cupped her eyes to shade them from the sun, which was now red, and dipped its lower limb into the thin horizon. I breathed heavily. I kept my gaze fixed on hers.

“It’s hard to stay awake when it’s so hot,” she said. “I’m sweating very much right now. How is it for you?”

“It is hot. But bearable.”

“You are a lover of the sun.”

“I am. Very much so.”

“That is nice to hear.” She smiled. I smiled back. Another pause fell between us. A blissful silence, a shared silence. An effervescent moment that swirled in me like alcohol. A moment I wanted to last forever. A silent moment that I wanted to keep and take with me, not as a photograph or some such thing, but as a part of my soul. But it was only a moment. And because I wanted to keep it so bad, I knew the silence had to be broken at some point. So, I would be the one to break it.

“So…,” I started with a nervous swallow.

“What do we do now?”

I cringed when I heard myself ask that question. I don’t know what compelled me to ask it. I could have just said nothing and stay enjoying the sun and maybe taking a nap. But I didn’t. I had to go and give her an opening, to give her any excuse to exploit my acquiescent nature.

“Well, we still have a little time before the show starts,” she said. “We can lay here and enjoy the sun just a bit longer.”

I liked the idea of enjoying the sun a little bit longer. But there was still something else that I wanted to enjoy. Something that I lacked, and I was too timid to put a word to it. Luckily, Eliana was not timid at all:

“…Or we can kiss now,” she said.

“Sorry?” I muttered, my voice trembling.

“We can kiss if you’d like.”

There was a side of me that wanted to fight against the seduction. That side fought fiercely. It screamed at me to deny it. But then there was the other side of me that, since I met Eliana in that Tarifa plaza, had been curious about the possibility of a kiss.

“I don’t know if we should,” was all I could muster to say.

“Oh, why not? I want to kiss you.”

“I don’t know if I should let you,” I said in a whisper barely above the sound of the crashing waves, nervously hopeful that she would hear my faltering resistance.

Fortunately, she heard the weakness in my faltering voice screaming for her to act. She knew it was time to pounce. She leaned in towards me, paused to give me one last moment to turn away, and when I didn’t, she leaned in farther and pressed her lips slowly to mine. I shut my eyes and melted into that kiss.

It was a soft kiss. Lips as delicate as the petals on a rose. Her tongue finding its way into my half-opened mouth, gliding against my tongue. Then there were her teeth. Biting down gently, pulling on my lower lip at the end of that kiss.

I sighed. She sidled closer, close enough to brush her bare breasts against mine.

“Oh God,” I whimpered, then laughed, burying my head bashfully into my arm.

“You taste nice,” she said.

“You taste nice, too,” I replied. It was true. She tasted nice. Like red wine and lemons.

“How about another taste?”

She kissed me again before I could give her an answer (which was, undoubtedly, unequivocally, profoundly, yes). Her hand found its way onto my body. Wandered down my arm and back up. It found its way to my breasts. She stopped kissing me to watch her hand pulling my bra away from my breasts so she could peek at my hard nipples underneath.

“Those look like they taste nice too,” she said.

“Then you should try them too,” I replied.

She looked around her first to ensure no one was paying attention.

I panted heavily. I was hot. Burning hot. And wet. So wet.

She craned her neck down. Kissed my hard left nipple first. I gasped. Flinched. It drove me into a frenzy.

But that wasn’t the end of it. She kissed again, and this time, there was tongue. She flicked her tongue against my nipple. And then she sucked. I squealed and clasped a hand to my mouth to stop myself from giving us away. But no one paid us any attention. They were all too worried about their own enjoyment of the sand, the waves, and the sun.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she sucked.

I bit into my forefinger as if there was a tremendous pain I had to stifle. But it wasn’t pain but a tremendous pleasure. A wild pleasure that caused my body to seize up.

Her lips came off with a pop. A string of saliva broke off between her lips and my nipple. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, then said,

“Time for the show.”

She stood, brushed the sand off her body, and slid her jeans and t-shirt back on.

I put my clothes on, too. But I was still aching with lust, and I was soaking wet. I didn’t want to see a show, even in an old Roman amphitheater. I wanted her lips wrapped around my nipples. I wanted them all over my body.

As we got dressed, I returned to a somewhat functional head space. We strolled to the amphitheater.

The sun had disappeared into the horizon, and the sky glowed red and pink. The amphitheater faced south so that the beach and the crashing waves served as the backdrop to the stage.

We took a spot on a bench of smoothed stone high in the back. A man in a tuxedo came by with a tray of champagne. Eliana grabbed two flutes from the tray and handed one to me.

“Salud,” she said and clinked my champagne flute with hers.