A Spanish Alchemy

"Coming!" I called to her and took off my clothes (leaving my bra on) and ran towards the water.

The water was cold but a good relief from the sun's sweltering heat.

I dove in and, a moment later, popped up next to Eliana. I buried my feet into the sand to anchor myself against the slight pull of the tide.

Sunshine sparkled amber off the water. The reflections danced on Eliana's golden face. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought that she was the source of sunlight. She was radiant.

She came close to me. Her breasts, just below the waterline, like a pair of mirages in the rippling water, close to touching mine. I slowly inched away to avoid my discomfort with her proximity.

I tried making conversation to distract myself from my excitement.

"So, um, how long until the flamenco show?"

"It'll be at sundown. A couple of hours at least. Enough for a nice rest on the beach. Unless, of course, you prefer to have some tapas first. Or café. There is a nice place for that just down the road."

"Sounds wonderful. But I think I prefer laying on the beach."

"Then that is what we will do."

"Perfect," I said.

"Perfect," she replied with a smile.

Her eyes were on my face. Studying me and soaking me in. It was enough to make me blush. So, I turned away to watch the sea.

"Do I still make you nervous?" She asked, giggling.

"Sorry, it's the way you keep looking at me like that."

"I can't help it. You're very nice to look at."

"Oh, God. Stop it!"

I cringed like an embarrassed schoolgirl and pushed her away playfully and splashed water at her.

"Ok, fine. I can see it makes you uncomfortable. I'll stop," she conceded, giggling.

"Thank you, how considerate of you."

"I am always considerate. Anyways, I'm getting out of the water now. Time for sun."

I followed her out to lay next to her on her beach towel. Behind us, a line of short, fragrant stone pines whispering songs as the wind went through their soft needles.

I turned to face her. She was close enough to me to feel and hear her soft breathing. Her eyes met mine. They were the color of a swirling latte. They were bright. Mesmerizing. Full of life, showing within a beautiful free spirit. And the way they looked at me -- it made me feel good inside. Made me feel wanted. Not a feeling I have had in a long time. But there was something else in there that was curious. That despite her very young appearance, and her flawless skin, she seemed like she had fully experienced life. I was too shy to ask, so I simply guessed that she must be in her forties or early fifties. An ageless beauty that made me more intoxicated. Her eyes looked upon me lazily now. She cupped her eyes to shade them from the sun, which was now red, and dipped its lower limb into the thin horizon. I breathed heavily. I kept my gaze fixed on hers.

"It's hard to stay awake when it's so hot," she said. "I'm sweating very much right now. How is it for you?"

I nodded.

"It is hot. But bearable."

"You are a lover of the sun."

"I am. Very much so."

"That is nice to hear." She smiled. I smiled back. Another pause fell between us. A blissful silence, a shared silence. An effervescent moment that swirled in me like alcohol. A moment I wanted to last forever. A silent moment that I wanted to keep and take with me, not as a photograph or some such thing, but as a part of my soul. But it was only a moment. And because I wanted to keep it so bad, I knew the silence had to be broken at some point. So, I would be the one to break it.

"So...," I started with a nervous swallow.

"So..., what?"

"What do we do now?"

I cringed when I heard myself ask that question. I don't know what compelled me to ask it. I could have just said nothing and stay enjoying the sun and maybe taking a nap. But I didn't. I had to go and give her an opening, to give her any excuse to exploit my acquiescent nature.

"Well, we still have a little time before the show starts," she said. "We can lay here and enjoy the sun just a bit longer."

I liked the idea of enjoying the sun a little bit longer. But there was still something else that I wanted to enjoy. Something that I lacked, and I was too timid to put a word to it. Luckily, Eliana was not timid at all:

"...Or we can kiss now," she said.

"Sorry?" I muttered, my voice trembling.

"We can kiss if you'd like."

There was a side of me that wanted to fight against the seduction. That side fought fiercely. It screamed at me to deny it. But then there was the other side of me that, since I met Eliana in that Tarifa plaza, had been curious about the possibility of a kiss.

"I don't know if we should," was all I could muster to say.

"Oh, why not? I want to kiss you."

"I don't know if I should let you," I said in a whisper barely above the sound of the crashing waves, nervously hopeful that she would hear my faltering resistance.

Fortunately, she heard the weakness in my faltering voice screaming for her to act. She knew it was time to pounce. She leaned in towards me, paused to give me one last moment to turn away, and when I didn't, she leaned in farther and pressed her lips slowly to mine. I shut my eyes and melted into that kiss.

It was a soft kiss. Lips as delicate as the petals on a rose. Her tongue finding its way into my half-opened mouth, gliding against my tongue. Then there were her teeth. Biting down gently, pulling on my lower lip at the end of that kiss.

I sighed. She sidled closer, close enough to brush her bare breasts against mine.

"Oh God," I whimpered, then laughed, burying my head bashfully into my arm.

"You taste nice," she said.

"You taste nice, too," I replied. It was true. She tasted nice. Like red wine and lemons.

"How about another taste?"

She kissed me again before I could give her an answer (which was, undoubtedly, unequivocally, profoundly, yes). Her hand found its way onto my body. Wandered down my arm and back up. It found its way to my breasts. She stopped kissing me to watch her hand pulling my bra away from my breasts so she could peek at my hard nipples underneath.

"Those look like they taste nice too," she said.

"Then you should try them too," I replied.

She looked around her first to ensure no one was paying attention.

I panted heavily. I was hot. Burning hot. And wet. So wet.

She craned her neck down. Kissed my hard left nipple first. I gasped. Flinched. It drove me into a frenzy.

But that wasn't the end of it. She kissed again, and this time, there was tongue. She flicked her tongue against my nipple. And then she sucked. I squealed and clasped a hand to my mouth to stop myself from giving us away. But no one paid us any attention. They were all too worried about their own enjoyment of the sand, the waves, and the sun.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she sucked.

I bit into my forefinger as if there was a tremendous pain I had to stifle. But it wasn't pain but a tremendous pleasure. A wild pleasure that caused my body to seize up.

Her lips came off with a pop. A string of saliva broke off between her lips and my nipple. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, then said,

"Time for the show."

She stood, brushed the sand off her body, and slid her jeans and t-shirt back on.

I put my clothes on, too. But I was still aching with lust, and I was soaking wet. I didn't want to see a show, even in an old Roman amphitheater. I wanted her lips wrapped around my nipples. I wanted them all over my body.

As we got dressed, I returned to a somewhat functional head space. We strolled to the amphitheater.

The sun had disappeared into the horizon, and the sky glowed red and pink. The amphitheater faced south so that the beach and the crashing waves served as the backdrop to the stage.

We took a spot on a bench of smoothed stone high in the back. A man in a tuxedo came by with a tray of champagne. Eliana grabbed two flutes from the tray and handed one to me.

"Salud," she said and clinked my champagne flute with hers.

She sat close to me so that her skin touched mine. I wondered if she could feel the thumping of my heartbeat through my skin. She must have at least felt the electricity that put the hair on my arm on end.

The yellow crescent moon crept up in the east, between the columns of the ancient Roman city. Above it, many stars glittered in a formation I already recognize as the stretching Milky Way. I found Orion, Scorpio, and Cassiopeia. Venus hung low and bright above the horizon.

A silver spotlight flicked on, casting a lone circle in the middle of the stage. The only other light between that was the purple-red remnants of the sunlight in the west. The rest of the audience was cast in pitch-black shadow. And everyone was quiet, save for the occasional tinkling of champagne glasses and the polite clearing of throats.

A woman and a man walked out on stage. The audience clapped.

The woman entered the spotlight. Her flowing dress sparkled red. Red like a carnation, of which she had one adorned in her black hair, and the dress's many frills were like the frills of a carnation. She gave a curtsy to the clapping audience. There were already sporadic shouts of 'olé!' in the stands that echoed off the ancient stone walls.

The man stayed in the shadow and sat in a chair with his guitar. He spent time tuning it, and when it was tuned to his satisfaction, he strummed it a few times vigorously.

The woman paused in an elegant pose. We all waited with hushed trepidation.

A few mournful notes of the guitar were plucked. Then a few more notes to establish a sparse beat. The woman took a few steps with each beat. Her footsteps clapped against the stage, echoing off the stone walls. Her hands curled through the air like rising smoke, her body moving smoothly like a feline, her hips swaying to accentuate her feminine curves.

The guitarist picked his strings faster. The woman began her dance with echoed staccato.

Eliana leaned toward me and whispered in my ear,

"It is flamenco in the Malagueña style. A style that is as free and vivacious as the Levante wind."

The guitarist began to sing a wailing tune with a raw, cracking, and beautiful voice.

I had to hold my breath at the beauty of it. It was an intimate dance that was hard to say what it conveyed, except all human emotions at once. Joy. Sadness. Anger. Wistfulness. Most of all, there was sexual energy to it. And I could swear she looked right at me, curling her fingers at me as if to beckon me to join her there on stage so that she could hold my body tightly against hers as she danced. I felt that pull as if a thread was tied between us.

"Do you know her?" I asked Eliana.

"Yes, of course. That is Selena. You will meet her after the show. At the chiringuito."

"Is she a gypsy witch too?"

"Yes! How did you know!?"

"Oh, just a hunch."

Her dance was a confident display of all the passions contained in humanity, plucking my heartstrings as the guitarist plucked the strings of his guitar. A beautiful display that made my chest heavy and brought me to tears. A bewitchment of my emotions that made it clear that she, like Eliana, was indeed a gypsy witch.

When it was over, about an hour later, the lights came on, and I felt as if I had just come out of a dream.

The audience gave a standing ovation. There were more shouts of 'olé!' and the crowd threw roses and carnations onto the stage. Two young girls came onto the stage to hand bouquets to Selena and the guitarist.

"That was so beautiful," I said. "Thank you so much, Eliana."

"My pleasure," she said. "Now, it is over. But come, let's get drinks."

We stole two champagnes off a passing tray at the after-party and left to walk along the beach towards the chiringuito. We held our shoes in our other hands and let the waves lap coolly against our feet as we made our way back to the village and to the chiringuito where Selena, the flamenco dancer, supposedly awaited us.

I heard the thumping reggaeton music long before I saw the bar. Then I heard the jubilant shouting and laughter.

At the edge of the village, at the top of the beach, was the chiringuito, the beach in front of it a dance floor crowded with hundreds of people with their hands up in the air. The DJ stood beneath an awning of golden palm fronds, spinning the music.

As we approached, several people recognized Eliana and greeted her. She hugged and kissed and introduced me to some of them. I never caught their names or their faces.

It took some effort for us to get to the bar, but when we got there, Eliana leaned over the counter and gave the bartender a kiss on each cheek, and he handed us two beers. She put our now empty champagne flutes on the bar and shouted to the bartender over the loud music,

"Where is Selena?"

He pointed behind the bar. Eliana motioned with her head to follow her.

Around back, where the bartender directed us, there was a cozy grove of date palms, a private oasis. There was a bonfire, and people sat around it on milk crates and driftwood. Their shadows from the flame danced on the thick, curling date fronds. The music from the chiringuito was muted here.

The flamenco guitarist from the amphitheater was there, his guitar in hand.

"Hola Chicos!" Eliana shouted to the group.

They all shouted greetings back. She went around the circle and kissed each person on the cheeks until she reached the woman I recognized as the flamenco dancer, who was now dressed in lighter clothes, a white cotton blouse with a short blue skirt, and her hair tied back into a ponytail, and not the flamboyant curling gypsy waves she had worn it in on stage. Eliana pulled Selena from her seat into her arms. Hugged her and then, much to my shock, kissed her intimately on the lips. More than just a friendly kiss. It was a deep, passionate kiss, as romantic partners would kiss. It stung me like a cold bell. My heart sunk. Hope for a wild Spanish fling extinguished.

After the devastating kiss, Eliana introduced me to the group without noticing my confused devastation.

"Everyone, this is Julia. She is American, so be gentle with her!"

I smiled weakly, nodded my head, and drank shyly from my bottle.

"Bienvenido, Julia. Encantado," said the guitarist. He touched his hand to his forehead in greeting.

"Julia, this is Pancho. The best guitarist in all of Andalucía!"

Pancho strummed his guitar.

"Now, he will play us a song."

"Whatever Eliana says," replied Pancho. "She is the boss!"

As Pancho began a song, Eliana grabbed Selena, and they started dancing. Eliana showing tremendous flair. She danced like Selena danced. She danced like a gypsy. Her deft skill made me wonder if every Andalucían had it in their blood to dance.

The flickering flame cast them in an amber glow. The breeze ruffled the fire, and the firewood caught the air, crackled, and snapped, causing sparks to rise in high spirals. Selena and Eliana spiraled around each other like dancing flames. They gazed intensely into each other's. Their hands were at each other's hips and shoulders. They twirled around each other as only dancers who were keenly aware of each's bodies could. There was an intimacy there burning with a passion I had never known. And I was envious of it and very perplexed: How could Eliana have led me on so much? How dare she do to me the things she did on the beach this afternoon when, clearly, Selena was her partner? Uncomfortable questions that spiraled in my head, to which I was sure I would not like the answers. Yet, I was here now. And I had a cold beer in my hand. Good music to listen to. And perhaps I was overthinking it, as I tend to do. So, I tried sitting, listening, and clapping along to the music with everyone else, trying my best to catch the complex gypsy rhythm of the guitar as I could, and forgetting the brief, off-putting tryst.

Others got up and danced alongside Eliana and Selena. To my horror, a hand reached out, grabbed me, and yanked me to my feet to join.

"No, no, no!"

I tried sitting back down.

"Sí!"

It was Eliana. She had a wide grin on her face.

"Come on, Julia. Dance!"

"I don't know how!" I protested.

She squared up to me. Flicked aside her hair with impassioned flair, grabbed both my hands and pulled me towards her. She wrapped one arm around the small of my back and, nose to nose, her lips close enough to mine to hear her breathing, she said,

"I will teach you."

And so, we danced. She twirled me, and I stumbled and laughed.

I warmed up to the idea of dancing when I realized that none of the other dancers around the bonfire danced with anything close to resembling the virtuosity that Selena demonstrated in the performance earlier, and, for that matter, neither did Selena. She danced carelessly, with a beer in one hand, a man in another, and a face full of laughter.

Eliana showed me basic moves. I tried replicating them, and she laughed good-heartedly when I failed.

More beer came. Then shots. Tequila, Vodka, and Orujo, a strong Spanish liquor burned my throat. I drank until my mind spun like flames.

At some point, we had made our way to the beach out front, into the chiringuito crowd. I lost Eliana in the shuffle, but I found Selena. Or rather, she had found me.

A tropical house beat pumped out the speakers. Selena drew close to me until there was no space between our bodies. Her skin was clammy with sweat. Her blouse was damp. Her hair frizzled up from the humidity of the summer night.

The crescent moon hung above its own reflection rippling in the black mirror that was the ocean. Stars, too, reflected there, sparkling like gemstones on a black cocktail dress.

My eyes darted left and right instinctively for Eliana. But she was nowhere to be seen, so I turned my attention back toward Selena. There was a fiery curiosity burning in her eyes. A somewhat intimidating thing. Selena oozed sexual volatility. A chemical concoction ready to ignite with just the right shake or just enough heat.

I gave her a smile. She smiled back. The DJ played a salsa or a bachata (I couldn't tell the difference). She tightened her arms around me, bringing me closer so our bodies were one.

Selena was beautiful, not because she was a physically attractive being, though she was, but because she easily had me convinced that she lived in a way that most wanted to live but were too afraid to.

When I found a chance to, in a lull between songs, I asked her the question that loitered in my mind.

"So, you and Eliana. Are you a couple?" I asked her.

"Yes, of course!" She answered.

The answer I knew I would get. The answer I was afraid of.

"Oh. Cool," I replied. My shoulders slumped.

A new song came on. We began dancing, and while dancing, she went to her toes to put her mouth to my ear to say, "What do you think of her?"

The moment on the beach with Eliana flashed into my mind. Selena would have no idea that had happened. My mind flashbacked to the beach. Eliana's kiss. Her finger curled around my bra, pulling it down. The excited lust in her eyes as she gazed upon my breasts. Her lips around my hard nipple, her tongue, playful, soft, electrifying me with pleasure. I shook the image away and answered,

"She's nice," trying my best to mask the trepidation in my voice. Selena nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"Yes! She's great," she shouted above the song.

After the song finished, I motioned to her for a break. I needed a drink of water. To quench my thirst and to calm my nerves. We went to the bar, and Selena asked for water for us. I took a mouthful of water and washed it down my throat to try to loosen the knot there. She gulped hers in one long draught, then asked the bartender for a beer.