One Night in Barcelona… [E]

A Vignette

I’d met her with a group of other ladies taking a night off to celebrate a beautiful fall evening. She was petite, smaller than the others, not as full-fleshed. We both still had the leanness of youth, and as we drank, in the sitting area of their common rooms, her eyes were on me as much or more than mine were on her. Evening turned to night, and we found ourselves closer to each other: two objects governed by a subtle sexual gravity pulling us into orbit. A certainty just as sure as the autumn moon, seen through the windows, circled our world.

She had a bottle of champagne in one hand, as she rose from the black leather settee, and beckoned to me with the other. I took it. Her grip was soft yet strong as silk. As I stood, she rubbed her thumb across the corded tendons prominent on the back of my hand. “Strong… yes?” she asked releasing my hand to run hers across my shoulder and right arm. She stroked my hand again and lightly held it—a little tug toward the hallway. I let her lead the way.

In her room, though it also carried a chill, the breeze through the window brought delicate night music. The whispering of fountains and a susurration of the evening street noises of Barcelona, with a full moon rising over Las Ramblas… announcing the beginning of the weekend.

My senses heightened, the sound of the unsnapping was distinct. I turned from the window to sit next to her and watch long fingernails work down the front of her shirt to reveal the inside arc of high-set breasts. A chiaroscuro effect from the lamp beside us; the room’s only light. As I watched, her flesh prickled as the curtains billowed next to the chaise lounge where we sat. The October winds.

I made a dry-throat swallow… the kind you make when anticipation has lined it with dust. I reached for the champagne. With gestures, she asked me to remove the foil from the neck of the bottle before I opened it.

“It’s rough on my tongue,” she explained in broken English and some Spanish I didn’t quite follow but got the meaning of. She sat there, blouse unbuttoned down to her smooth stomach. With the acute eyesight of an aroused mind, I could see into the shadow of undone pants that flared open like inviting arms.

I fumbled with the bottle, and after a second’s difficulty peeled the foil from it. I offered it to her, and she made a pulling gesture, it became more of a stroking motion, as her smile broadened showing white teeth against her bright red lipstick.

I popped the cork, and with the resulting gush of foamy white, she leaned quickly forward to take it in. The immediate burst swallowed, she slowly licked the neck of the bottle, lingering at the tip. Her eyes never left mine and laughing, she then offered the bottle to me. She opened her blouse wide and made a pouring gesture over her chest and stomach as she tugged her pants and panties off and reclined. I poured… and drank from her. Her soft laughter turned to louder sighs that mixed with the sough of the night wind.

Later, sated, we moved to the balcony where wrapped in a blanket, I held her. We watched the moon fall from the sky while the statues near the fountains danced. Soon she slept, and I listened to her and the breathing of one of the loveliest cities in the world.

I wouldn’t sleep… it was a perfect moment… in a perfect night. I didn’t want it to end.

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