In the morning I watched Melina's shadow as she danced along the sands of Cartagena beach. We listened to the sound of the waves and kissed in the shallows. On the way home a motorcyclist drove past us and swiped the bag from my shoulder. I ran after him shouting as he sped off. The police wore stern expressions as they wrote down our statements. They wrote down our phone numbers, though he had stollen our phones, too. We knew it was a lost cause anyway. So we went home, took a cold beer from the fridge and called Maris.
Maris had dark olive-soft skin and haunches as round and heavy as any you'd seen. She was timid at first, when Melina and I started to take her clothes off and stroke her body, but that just made it all the more lovely when she started to relax, and then purr and writhe. Melina was a 35-year-old salsa dancer with yellow eyes and mercury hips. I’ve been to some of the most beautiful places on earth, read some of the greatest books civilisation has to offer, tasted some of the world's finest cuisine; but no pleasure on earth, nor any I can imagine, comes close to those few hours moaning and sweating with Maris and Melina in the shadows of a small rented room in the Cartagena heat.
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AuthorEnglish teacher from the UK. Living in Granada. Currently working in Doha. Archives
February 2022
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