6 December 2006Chapter 2
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Su Guitarra Espanola free porn video
Special thanks to my editor, LadyCibelle
(Inspired by Toni Braxton track. Mistakes in the Spanish are mine but should be minimal. If you haven’t heard the song, you won’t understand this. If you have, read on and enjoy, even better, listen as you read, and be transported.)
* * * * *
The cafe is small and dimly lit. Along each wall large red candles burn, accenting the wisps of smoke pushed around the room. The air is pregnant with the scent of tobacco and jasmine. As is the custom at this hour, the cafe is filled with the crush of young Spaniards. A door creaks open and admits a young woman. With quiet determination she enters and makes her way to the wall furthest from the stage. Her skirt whispers against the chair as she seats herself. No one takes note of her passing save for the wisp of her perfume. She has been here before. She comes every night to hear him play.
She waits. Soon her heart will open, for soon he will play only for her.
The curtain to the side of a small, low stage opens and he walks to take his place on a stool to the left. In his hands he gently cradles a guitar, the sheen of its wood glistens in the reflected candlelight. He is young, with rich dark hair carelessly brushed. His frame is tall and slender. His clothing is old but still serviceable. The eyes, a deep turquoise, scan the crowd taking measure of what he should play. They move quickly past her. He smiles wanly. His fingers deftly find their place and open with a chord.
A camarero walks to where she sits and places a ‘tapa’ platter of jamon and olives accompanied by a glass of ‘jerez’ on the table. He moves off as she closes her eyes to the guitar. Her hips begin to sway as the sound caresses her. She passes through the music into a land of dream under the deft guidance of ‘su giutarra Espanola’. Her eyes close and she is swept away.
His playing speaks to her of a love they will share, a fuego dulce del amor y de la pasión. His fingers move from his playing to her face. His searching eyes meet hers. Cradled in his hands he slowly pulls her face toward his. His lips slip butterfly light along hers as they share one breath. She presses her slim fingers against his seeking to lock their grip on her. His lips move up along her jaw seeking the shell-like ear. He whispers, ‘Mi amor, mi corazón.’
His lips continue their progression pausing in their travels only long enough to kiss each soft eyelid before coming to her neck. He sweeps her hair back revealing the throbbing pulse of her carotid. Enrapt, she sighs as his kiss tell her of his desire. His hand runs down to the warm dimple of her spine. Her body moulds to his.
His fingers which had only moments ago sought the notes of his song now run through her glistening hair. His lips still content themselves with the flush neck.
‘Deseo mezcla mi alma la tuya comparto, mi corazón con el tuyo,’ he sighs
His hands slide up her back, tracing lines of desire, he cups her shoulders and their mouths touch, tongues seek. She moans into his mouth as his fingers wrap deep in her hair. Their kiss breaks and he leads her past the crowd and out into the night.
The night at this hour is quiet. They walk into the Barrio de Santa Cruz. He encircles her waist as they follow the scented breeze toward the Cathedral and the Patio de los Naranjados
He pulls her to him. His arms come around to envelop her. His face is buried in her hair. He takes in the fresh scent of shampoo and lilac. He brushes his lips along the strands.
‘Aquí es donde casaremos, querida’ he promises as he tips her face up to meet his. He kisses her feather-soft on her nose and again they move off into the night. She does not know where he is taking her, the destination pointless. What matters is that they are one in this moment.
She places her head on his shoulder and asks if they will have children.
‘Muchas, querida, nuestro hogar sonará con el sonido de niños,’ he replies.
She whispers her pleasure and brushes her hand through his hair, dark as this night. They step off in the street toward the river. The night’s lights are reflected in her dancing eyes as his hand slips down to rest on the soft curve of her hip. She calls out to the children lost in the rivers edge. His laughter drifts towards her through the dark. He tells her of his plans and of his love for her.
Contented, she sighs as the turn back to the Barrio, back to their beginning. For a moment she is frightened. She seeks his hand, warm and comforting in hers. She looks up and gazes into his lined-face framed by thick wisps of grey. She asks if they will always be together.
‘Hasta las estrellas no más de largo vivas en la noche,’ he swears.
Finally they reach the door to the café where it began, moments ago. She sighs as he walks her inside. The table is still there, a token of her love and yearning. She moves against him and she looks up as he kisses her, deeply and with a passion never spent. She presses against him, never wanting to let him go, willing him to stay with her and not return to the stage where tonight they began.
He smiles and runs his hand along her face. His lips again brush hers and their eyes shut in a kiss beyond time.
Her eyes open again as his fingers strum the final cord.
He peers about the room trying to anticipate the audience reaction and how much he will earn tonight. Will he sleep in the warmth of a bed or again seek the shelter of a glade of grass along the park. His eyes touch hers briefly then move along. The basket brushes her and she tucks a ten euro note inside.
He stands, and accepts the straw basket and its treasure. He takes the offered euros and steps offstage to the wings and where he pulls back the crimson drape, disappearing into the blackness beyond. He’s finished for another night in Sevilla.
She rises and smoothes the lines of her shirt. Her eyes drink in the seat on the stage where they shared a lifetime together. A coin clinks on the table in offering to the camarero who serves her. She takes the last olive and raises it to her mouth, its pungent taste mixing with the lingering kiss.
Perhaps tomorrow when she returns. Perhaps tomorrow he will see her, note her need and grant her desire. Perhaps tomorrow he will see what she sees, that they belong together and she is his.
Perhaps tomorrow he will know she exists.
Wynona
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