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“I’m sorry ... I ... I didn’t know.”
“I know, love.” He squeezes me tight. “Now smile, please. I need you to smile and to not ask me anything about what I’ve just said. It hurts too much, and I don’t want to remember it. OK?”
Without another word, Eric kisses me with real passion. I smile and try not to think about the tragedy he just revealed to me; I try to let love lead me.
A few minutes later, he picks up the trophy I’m still carrying around, and he looks at it. He grins. He lets me go and gets on his motorcycle, still carrying my trophy.
“Let’s go back to the house, champ. Let’s give your victory the celebration it deserves.”
38
The next day, after a night of passion and experimentation in our marvelous villa, Eric and I sunbathe in the nude while planning a getaway to Zahara de los Atunes. Neither one of us has mentioned Fernando again. Eric kisses my tattoo. He loves it. Every time we make love, he looks at me hungrily and exclaims, “Tell me what you want!” It drives me crazy.
Eric has suggested we visit some friends of his in Zahara, and I think that’s fine. We can spend a few days with them and then return to the villa, which, for the record, I love. It’s just beautiful here.
That night, when Eric takes me home, I find my father in the backyard, sitting on the porch swing, and I go say hi.
“This man is good for you, little girl.”
“Oh yeah? Why?” I ask playfully as I take a seat next to him on the swing.
“He looks at you the same way I used to look at your mother, and I like that. Until recently, I thought Fernando was the right man for you. But after meeting Eric, I’ve changed my mind. You and Eric are made for each other. You can see he’s a man of principle and dignity and that he would take care of you. He’s not like that fool I met in Madrid, pierced all over by needles and rings.”
My father’s right. Eric has his principles, but I’m sure if my dad knew about his sex life, he’d have a stroke. Mercifully, that will remain my secret.
“Papá ... I like Eric, but I’m not sure how long we’ll last.”
He’s surprised.
“What’s going on, little girl?”
My words are dying to come out. I’d like to tell my father Eric’s my boss, but I’m afraid of his reaction.
“There’s nothing going on, Papá,” I finally say. “It’s just that it’s difficult to keep up a long-distance relationship. You already know he lives in Germany, and I live here. When he’s done with what he’s doing in Madrid, we’ll both return to our respective jobs, and, well ... you understand.”
“Look, my love. You’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a woman, and I have to treat you as one,” my father says, and then, with his usual caution, he adds, “That’s why all I can say is, enjoy the moment and be happy. It doesn’t do any good to think about ‘what will be,’ because what needs to happen ... will happen. If you and Eric are destined to be together, there’s no distance that will keep you apart. But be cautious and a little selfish, and think about yourself. I don’t want to see you suffer unnecessarily.”
My father’s words comfort me, like they always do.
The next day, Eric comes by early and picks me up on his bike. Our little adventure begins. My father cheerfully says goodbye to us and wishes us a good trip. We visit Barbate and Conil. We eat and go to the beach there in the afternoon. When we get to Zahara de los Atunes, Eric’s phone buzzes and he brightens.
“Andrés is waiting for us.”
We climb back on the motorcycle and head toward the house. Given the confidence with which he moves on these country roads, I presume he’s been here before. After we speed down the road, we stop in front of a stone structure. Eric rings a bell; seconds later, an enormous black sheet door rolls up to open, and I’m left speechless. A resplendent garden with hundreds of colored flowers extends before me and frames a gorgeous little house in the distance.
We ride up to the door, and Eric turns off the motorcycle. I dismount, and seconds later, Andrés and a woman with a baby in her arms come to meet us. Andrés is the doctor Eric called to look at my arm in Madrid, and that startles me.
Andrés’s wife is named Frida, and the baby is Glen. Frida is German, like Eric, but speaks perfect Spanish, and we have great chemistry right away. A middle-aged woman comes and takes the baby. Then the four of us pass to a backyard, where an assistant brings us drinks. We chat, and I hear many entertaining anecdotes about their travels. Soon I realize the three of them share a friendship of many years. At around eight o’clock, Frida takes us to our room. It’s spacious, decorated exquisitely, and has a huge bed.
As soon as we’re alone, Eric takes me in his arms and kisses me as he undresses me. Then he carries me to an enormous shower. When he turns the faucet, we both scream as the icy waters hit us. Eric’s kisses get more intense as does my desire for him. Suddenly, he lays me down on the shower floor and places himself on top of me as the water continues to cascade. He’s ravenous and bites my lips while I feel his hands running all over my body. I tremble from his touch.
When his lips abandon my mouth, they descend to my breasts. My nipples are hard; when he nibbles them, I cry out. He continues his journey over my body, and I feel his tongue on my navel. He entertains himself there for an instant and then continues until his next stop.
When I realize he’s stopped his exploration, I lift my head to see what he’s looking at, and I catch him staring at my tattoo.
He kneels on the shower floor and urgently grabs at my hips to bring me to him. He separates my legs, takes the showerhead, and washes me. He drenches every inch of my vagina, delighted. Then he changes the intensity of the showerhead. There are fewer streams, but the water has more force.
I can imagine what he’s going to do, and I don’t move; I want it.