Barcelona is a marvellous city where lovers thrive. Its very streets are paved with romance. The food is so delicious, it makes you moan while you eat. The libation is so smooth, it brings out the smooth in you. The men here have firm hands and deep aspirations. The women are walking artforms with beautiful minds and beautiful souls.
My first time in this wondrous city was a living fantasy….
It was nearly sunset and I was tipsy from sangria. The intense summer heat was slowly being tamed by a sweet cool breeze, feeling like an extra breath of life effortlessly entering my lungs.
I heard the faint tumultuous sound of a crowd gathering around a beautiful Spanish girl in a long red dress. The melodic sounds of a finely tuned guitar accented her exquisite steps on a worn cedar stage harmoniously. My breathing grew heavy just watching from afar. The locals said this rarely happened anymore, that Spain’s traditional culture was fading. But by some miracle, a crowd of old souls and young hearts had amassed to witness this improbability. I walked closer, making my way through the tightly packed crowd, and stood watching in awe.
The performance was done en tientos, a slower dramatic tempo similar to the famous tango. The dance tells passionate tales of lost love and yearning. Even people who don’t understand Spanish feel the emotions behind each chord, like the effects of the Opera.
I stared intently at the beautiful girl, her wildly swaying arms and fervent hips. Her smoldering hazel eyes burned through me like a laser. The men around us were as stiff as the musician’s fingers, boldly keeping rhythm to the seductive steps of the beautiful Spanish Rose.
I felt my blood rush. Juices flowed up and down my spine, and between my legs. My eyes watered in empathy, both moved and entertained by each blissful note until the final brash descending falsetto. My brain repeated the somber tune, even after it was over. The small crowd roared with an amplified energy that would shame a professional stadium.
I stood silent amidst the cacophony. The passionate performance and the look in the girl’s eyes made me yearn to see the hidden art form beneath her red dress. I imagined her untethered, lips open to my kiss, body pulsing to my touch.
I stole a rose from the hands of a man next to me and shyly approached her. I extended my arm out to her, that single rose my humble offering. And from the plethora of petals at her feet, she chose mine.
I took her hand as she took my flower, and pulled her towards me. One silent gaze later, we stepped away and disappeared into the shadows of the alley nearby. The stars above were our only lights, while her exotic smile and my wicked grin sparked erotic enlightenment. There, in that magical moment, the Spanish Rose and I united like lovers reacquainted.
I pressed my lips to hers as our fingers entwined. I pinned her wrists above her head and pushed my body against hers. Her breasts heaved upon mine as I kissed her reverently. Her cheeks flushed in heat, her soft warm body shivered against the cool hard bricks. Lust ignited in darkness as two strangers became strangers no more.
She lifted her dress, guiding my hand between her thighs. I felt her wetness on my fingers and circled her clit slowly. My rhythm, en tientos. My passion, en paso doble.
I kissed her deeply, then knelt to the ground in prayer to my ephemeral Goddess. My knees turned to roots. My watering mouth, aching to be the chalice to nourish her stems.
I lifted her long skirt and draped it over my head, ready to worship her welcoming pussy. I rolled her panties down and off, then sneaked them into my pocket. I lifted her leg over my shoulder and kissed her pussy softly. Her slick pleats wet my lips. Her juices flowed down my chin as I licked and sucked her clit.
The beautiful sound of muffled moans and gushing wetness surrounded me under the rustling fabric. She thrust her hips up and down over my mouth as I licked her pussy harder. I sucked her swollen cunt adoringly while my tongue whirled steadily around her clit.
I eased my fingers inside her, twisting my tongue back and forth, as my other hand gripped her ass tightly. I curved my fingers up to her G-spot and flicked rapidly while sucking her clit.
Her breathing grew heavier and she began to moan, muttering sexily in Spanish as if speaking in tongues. Her hands pressed over her skirt, keeping my head in position like a preacher driving demons from a sinner.
I pressed my lips closer and kept my tongue whirling in achingly slow circles until my beautiful Spanish Rose bloomed into climax. Her pussy was throbbing, legs shaking, sex leaking.
I kissed her silken petals, still quivering from the motions of my hungry mouth. I licked my fingers clean of her sweet juices, lifted her skirt, and let myself free. I stood to face her. A flash of light passed by, letting me see a glimpse of her gorgeous smiling face. She kissed me softly and slid her tongue into my mouth, tasting her own nectar.
She took my face in her hands and whispered something so faintly, so rapidly, I couldn’t understand the words. I didn’t know if she was speaking to me or to herself, but I felt her words nonetheless. Her sadness and joy. Her fear and revelation. Her story. Now, I was a part of it, and proudly so.
She walked away, sighing and smiling contently, stepping back into the city lights. I stayed in the darkness with my wicked grin, a small distant shadow on the ground all that was left of the rose I stole for her. I stared up into the night sky, hummed the melancholy tune of my beautiful Spanish Rose, and smiled.
