I’d spotted him in the supermarket a couple of days ago. I’d be perusing the long aisle of pork products, the endless varieties of jamon, chorizo, morcilla, sobrasada, wanting a local treat for my first night there. Reaching the end of the aisle, my basket full, I practically bumped into him. Looking up I gasped, not because of a near accident, but because here was this man, of a certain age, a certain deportment, a healthy, weathered tan. He was wearing good quality, loose summer clothes. His thick, grey hair was swept back, while his sleek, black-framed glasses only added to the air of Mediterranean sophistication.
Oh my God, I could have cried, you handsome beast. Instead, I apologised in rapid English. He replied at first in Spanish. “No es un problema.” He then switched to heavily accented English. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
I was so flustered I stepped away, my heart racing, not noticing what was in his basket, even whether he had a basket. The image of him stayed with me back to my remote holiday villa, when I should have been concentrating on the twisty mountain road.
Not bothering with my swimsuit, I ripped my clothes off and jumped straight into the pool. This was what being on holiday on your own was meant to be about, I told myself. Forgetting everything to do with home, with real life. Swimming naked in your own pool. Coming across startling fantasies. Reigniting physical feelings you hadn’t experienced for a very long while.
The water was delightfully warm. My strokes were decidedly languorous. It was no good. The tingling between my legs was only intensifying. I climbed out of the pool, and hastily dabbed at my body with the towel, before sinking onto the nearest sun lounger. There were six of them, beautifully padded. I’d worked out when I first arrived, that I could occupy a different sun lounger every day of my holiday if I wished.
At that moment, I also decided, finding my hand between my legs, that I’d bring myself off on each of them, one day at a time. The terrace was private. The grounds were surrounded by tall fences and sharp, straggly foliage. Besides, the villa was on the outskirts of a village, down a dirt track, though not so many kilometres from the sea. There was no one about, which maybe was a bit of a shame. I still had a body to be proud of, to be enjoyed by others.
It had always been a numbers thing. Ten circles with my index and middle fingers to the left of my labia, and ten to the right. Then five taps on the hood of my clitoris with the side of my thumb. This pattern could go on for a while. Indeed, I hadn’t masturbated for weeks, months probably. Expecting a drawn-out session, after just two cycles I was suddenly convulsing on the sun lounger, my stomach in knots, my thighs cramping, and with the man from the supermarket looming large in my mind over me. I could practically feel him between my legs, the thrusting of his massive, meaty member.
Standing, still shaky and weak, I looked down at where I’d just been writhing, certain that I must have also squirted. Just as well I had five more sun loungers, with their smart, soft covers, to utilise. Except, something told me that I wouldn’t be waiting for tomorrow before I had another urge to relieve all this pressure. I wouldn’t be waiting much longer before revisiting the supermarket either. I wanted so much more than pork products.
Fortunately, finally, I spotted him again, two days later. Frankly, the day before had been a frenzy of trips down the mountain on the twisty road, back up empty-handed, but not empty-headed. My masturbating was furious, explosive, and messy. It was like I’d been awakened from a 1000-year drought. Another three sun loungers were ruined.
And then here he was in the supermarket. What’s more, he was looking at me, with those serious glasses only intensifying the gaze.
“Hola,” I said, trying to sound casual, but practically panting. “We meet again.”
“Are you on holiday? Are you staying nearby?” he asked, and in what deep, accented tones.
“Yes, yes.” I nodded like an enthusiastic puppy, wanting to lick him all over. Wanting him to lick me all over. “All on my own,” I added. I’d missed too many opportunities in my life. I wasn’t going to let this one go. There was that itch, that warmth between my legs again. I was wet and hoped my tiny red lace knickers and thin white summer dress wouldn’t be too transparent, too revealing. I just needed to stay upright, on my feet.
“Ah, then maybe, I can offer to show you around? My name is Javier, and I am from here. I know all the best places for walking, for swimming, for eating. For discovering.”
For discovering… What did that mean, exactly? I smiled at him, then glanced down at his basket. I was surprised to see packets of pulses, rice, jars of olives, yellow tins of anchovies, fresh tomatoes, large green peppers, and bulbs of garlic. A couple of bottles of wine. Who was he entertaining? Who did he live with? The smile was fast falling from my face.
“Oh, it’s OK,” I found myself saying. “You must be busy. I’m used to looking after myself, finding my own way.” This wasn’t true at all. I wasn’t even meant to be here on my own. But I’d done with being fucked around. He’d clocked where I was looking and began smiling broadly.
“I’m shopping for my mother. She is elderly, and poorly. I also cook her dinner once a week. She lives in an apartment across the road from me, so I can keep an eye on her.”
I could have melted into the floor.
“That’s lovely.”
“Yes, though she keeps an eye on me, too. She is very nosy. She wishes I was settled down, with a wife, a family. She doesn’t understand that I am still waiting for the right person to come along.” His English really was remarkably good.
“I’m Ana by the way,” I said. My knickers had to be completely soaked, dampness spreading down my inner thighs, even though I was beginning to have the odd doubt. Was he too good to be true? Nevertheless, I told him the name of the village I was staying in. Determined to get what I wanted, what I deserved, for once. “It’s very private,” I added, dropping my eyelids. I described exactly where it was, not remembering the full address. “There’s a pool, sun loungers. Would you like to come over, later this afternoon, this evening?” Right now, I might as well have said.
“Yes, that would be lovely, if you allow me first to drop off my shopping, and prepare a local treat.”
I glanced in his basket again. “OK, but I’m not sure how hungry I’ll be.” Sex on a full stomach had never been my thing.
“Don’t worry. I think I know how to please you.”
“Really?”
“Believe me.”
The faint doubts continued as I drove back up the mountain. This sort of thing didn’t happen in real life. Not in my life. The yearning between my legs was much more powerful, however. Besides, I was meant to be on holiday. Go with it, girl. Did I need to prepare? I couldn’t wait.
As soon as I got back to the villa I ripped off my clothes, the absolutely drenched knickers, and now soaked skirt, as I ran down to the pool and the last clean, dry sun-lounger. There was no time for patterns, for the ten circles to the left, let alone the right. I simply pressed on my clitoris with the palm of my hand and began to come almost immediately. Thrusting three fingers deep inside me, reaching for my G-spot, I felt the quivers of orgasm build and stretch, build and stretch, forever and ever. As the intensity started to lessen, I pulled out my fingers, releasing a hot torrent. Yes, I saw Javier looming above me once again, had felt him throbbing deep inside me, so huge and hard, and now he was coming all over me, spurts and drips, like lava. I was practically erupting. Calming, gathering my breath, my wits about me, sensing the state of me, the sun-lounger, I knew there was little point rushing to clean myself up, to make myself presentable. I knew he wouldn’t be dropping by, this top local treat, just as I knew he’d never really existed.
That was OK. Being on your own in a new place was OK. Because something very necessary had burst. I promised myself then and there that I’d take myself away again soon. Forgetting your troubles back home and truly letting your mind wander, was the way to relieve all that pent-up pressure.
What’s more, there were no strings, no one to keep an eye on you. Just a holiday fantasy.
The way to go.