I could see the battered, red bus coming from the top of the hill, rounding the last bend
in the road before it turned into the cobbled marketplace.  I paused for a moment, hoping
that he’d actually caught it; even Peter’s mother complained that his itinerary was vague,
although he’d been adamant that this was his next halt… if only so he could pick up the
money he’d asked her to wire and hang out at the festival taking place that day.  
He was true to his word.  The mid-morning crowds were already surging back and forth but
I recognized him the moment he stepped off the bus into the moist heat that had long since
reduced my silk dress to translucence. Looking around as he adjusted his hat, he reminded
me of a shady sidekick in some old black-and-white Bogart movie, up to no good in a small
foreign town that itself could barely have changed in fifty years – I’d been here a day
and, if it wasn’t for the satellite dishes on a handful of roof tops, I’d swear they
turned back time at the city limits.
I started to move toward him, pushing through the revelers. He hadn’t seen me – in fact,
even if he did look my way, I doubted he’d spot me with the sun in his eyes.  A little
ahead of me, however, a couple of teenagers did see me, glancing up and whistling loudly.
“Hey, Senora!”  The state of my dress, the sun at my back – they could probably see right
through it.   Was nice to know that even having crested forty I could still attract the
attention of young men. I smiled at them but kept moving; dodged around a vast woman armed
with a basket of onions; then came to halt a few paces in front of Peter.
“You made it, then?”
He stopped and squinted. I could see his mind trying to make sense of the picture before
him – the last time he’d seen me, we were back in the States, the week before he had left
for a summer hiking round southern Europe.
“Chrissie?”
I enjoyed his confusion.  “I said, you made it then.”
He nodded.  “But what are you…”
“I fancied a break,” I smiled.  There was no point getting into explanations – they were
boring and, besides, I’d be back in Madrid on Monday, for the chain of business meetings
that had winkled me out of New York in the first place.  This was just a weekend diversion
and like I’d told his mother, Peter was the only guy I knew in Spain.  So, of course I had
to look him up.
I waited while he picked up his money, then locked his arm in mine.  “Have you booked a
room any place?”
He shook his head.  “I thought I’d find something once I got here.”
“Good luck.”  The festival drew revelers from miles around, and most of them stayed
through the night.  There wasn’t a room to be had.  “But never mind.  You can crash at
mine.”
Again a look of bemusement but I just smiled and pulled him along.  We strung our way
through the crowds, doubling down alleyways to avoid the thickest crushes, circling
through the maze of back streets that, thankfully, I’d already committed to memory when
I’d negotiated them on my way to meet him.  Finally, as the last of the stalls and
sideshows began to thin, we reached the blue-tiled walls of the hotel, slipped in through
a door that you’d never have noticed if you didn’t know it was there, and crossed the
ornately landscaped courtyard.
He whistled.  “You don’t do things cheaply.” 
“No,” I agreed.  “But why would I want to?”
The concierge handed me my key and looked, I must admit, a little askance at my
unannounced guest, but I’d iron that out later.  Then a rattletrap elevator that had seen
better days and, finally, into my room.  
I lit an incense burner on the mantel, squirted some patchouli into the air, and gestured
towards the open window.  “There are stables directly underneath us, and the smell can get
a little ripe in the heat,” I explained.  “This takes the edge off it.”
Peter laughed.  “Don’t bother explaining.  It’s a lot more exotic if you don’t.”  then,
“But speaking of exotic, do you mind if I take a shower?  After that bus ride, I’m feeling
a little fragrant, myself.”
“Go ahead.”  I watched him leave, then stripped off my dress, to hang by the window and
air out a little.  Still sweating in my bikini, I curled up on the bed, lying back and
watching the lizard I’d seen on the ceiling that morning.  It crouched motionless in the
corner by the window.  Good pickings – every few moments, a lengthy tongue would dart out
and snatch something out of the air. Unbidden, a curious thought crossed my mind – I
wondered if lizards enjoy oral sex?  With tongues like that, they ought to.
I heard the clunk of the shower switching.  “Towels in the airing cupboard,” I called. 
There was an answering grunt, the sound of some rummaging, then the door opened.  I
shifted my shoulders, allowed my head to dangle over the edge of the mattress, as Peter
stepped out of the bathroom, one towel around his waist, while he vigorously dried his
hair with another.
“I needed that,” he murmured through his motions. 
I smiled, “I bet you did.” then stretched out both arms, clasping him by the knees.  He
stepped closer, and I tugged gently at the towel.  It slipped down, but I kept my eyes
trained firmly on his, trying to overlook just how comical he looked, his arms frozen in
shock above his head, his hair a wild tousle around the towel.  People have said my eyes
are my best point, people who’ve only seen me fully clothed, that is. I won’t disagree. 
Peter certainly seemed to be drinking them in, gazing back at me, his own face a wonderful
confusion of bewilderment, surprise and anticipation.
Time to break the spell.  My hands were still on his knees; I pulled and he toppled
forward, catching himself just in time to avoid falling on top of me, his legs parted
behind my head and his cock just inches away.  I grasped it in one hand, fat and soft and
as unsuspecting as he seemed to be – hah!  Just how I like to start with them.