by Guy Lilburne
“Yes, yes, yes” she kept repeating. I think I had brought her to climax but now it seemed that it was on some kind of auto-pilot. She looked so sexy and she was lost in the feeling. Between her legs was glistening with juice. I just had to fuck her, and I had to fuck her now.
I pulled her legs open and brushed my cock over her clitoris. She gasped and panted in quick short breaths. I pushed myself into her. She seemed in some kind of exquisite pain, her clitoris must have felt very sensitive. As I gently pushed in and out in long slow strokes she rode on my cock. Her pelvis moved in a circling motion. Her vagina was making some fantastic squishing noises.
I saw that she had tears in her eyes, and she was weeping very quietly. I stopped. “I’m so sorry Barbara. We shouldn’t have done this. Please don’t cry.”
“No. Please don’t stop. I’m crying because I’m happy. I have never felt this. You have made me realise what it is to be a woman. I want ‘this’” she smiled through her tears. She was very wet and she came again. We made love several times over the next two hours, and in between we just lay together naked, stroking each other’s body and talking. She said that Norpick would never dream of having oral sex with her, and that their sex life was very basic and very infrequent. She said that until tonight she had not known anything different and didn’t know that sex could be so good. She had discovered something. I could tell that she was in some kind of personal turmoil. We were having really great sex, but I could sense that it all meant a lot more to Barbara than it did to me. It was almost as if she was going through some life changing event. Maybe she was.
“Are you going to tell Norpick about what we did?” I asked.
“Yes. Of course. I have to tell him everything.”
“Oh well, give him my best regards then!”
We felt very close to each other, and had shared a very intimate experience, but we never mentioned about exchanging names and addresses. We both knew that it was just a brief encounter. A very special brief encounter that I’m sure we would both always remember. The whole episode was dripping in romance, and at that brief moment in time we loved each other.
She said she was going to tell her husband everything about this experience. She now realised that they had a lot of problems. Poor Norpick. He was going to have one hell of a conversation when his wife got home.
At 7.30 am we had a shower together and I went back to my room. I didn’t want the kids to wake up and find me not there. I sat and watched Barbara from my balcony as she packed ready to leave. She looked over at me a lot and waved each time. I waved back and I think that both of us were smiling through a sadness that hung over us. I didn’t want her to go. I was going to miss her.
At 8.45 am she came out onto the balcony and shouted that she was going now, her lift was here. I blew her a kiss.
“Come with me to Majorca!” she called.
“Bye Barbara.”
She blew me a kiss. We waved once more and she went. I have often thought about Barbara. I have wondered how she got on with Norpick. Did she work things out with him? Maybe she left him for somebody else, and now had a wonderful lover. I hope that she thinks of me from time to time, and I hope that she remembers our night together. I just hope that she is happy.
The kids and I had a great holiday and we all returned to England in a much better frame of mind. I got custody of the kids at the end of May. I went to collect them from my ex-wife on the 15th June. It was my birthday. When I did, my ex-wife threw Delia out by her hair and Samson ran out of the back door and round the side of the house to avoid his mother. They never heard from their mother again for the next 18 months. Although I had got the kids we were still homeless. It was another six months before I got my house back and managed to get my ex-wife and her boyfriend out of my property. When we got back in the house it was wrecked. Totally trashed. Both the kids burst into tears when they saw the state of the place; smashed windows, burnt carpets and furniture, wallpaper ripped off in every room. The carpets and lounge suite were stained with God knows what. She had even sold the kids’ cycles. The house stank. We cleaned it and replaced everything as we could afford it.
The divorce was finalised in December and I had to pay her a fortune; a lot more than she was morally entitled to and a lot more than she deserved. It goes to show it does pay to tell lies after all!
The next few years were very hard for me. I was skint. My ex-wife has never paid a single penny towards the upkeep of her own children. She managed to convince the CSA that I was an alcoholic and dishonest. The only way she could maintain the children was by sending clothing and food parcels every week. What a joke. There was no contact between my ex-wife and the kids at all and they never received anything from her. This was the same caring woman who had sold her own kids’ bikes. The CSA, at their usual professional best, took two years to assess my ex-wife and decided that she should pay £0.00 each week in respect of the two children.
Chapter Seven: A very Spanish Affair.
I have never really had much luck with keeping pets. When I was a kid I got a rabbit because everyone seemed to have one in those days, but I just wasn’t great with pets. My rabbit, let’s call him Larry, was my responsibility. I was supposed to water him and feed him and clean his hutch and generally take care of him. The trouble was that I wasn’t ready for such responsibility. Well that and I really just couldn’t be bothered with all that stuff. I sort of forgot all about Larry until, one day during the summer when I went into the garden, I noticed that Larry wasn’t in his hutch. I must admit that I hadn’t fed him for ages and, at first, I thought that he had finally got fed up with waiting and ran away from home. But, on closer inspection, I saw that his skeleton was still there, almost hidden in the straw. Poor Larry must have died a good while ago, because there was nothing left of him, just bones. There might be a lesson to be learnt here somewhere, about feeding animals that you keep as pets, but it just escapes me right now!
I also had a budgie, a mouse and a cat that all died or ran away from home within weeks of me looking after them. I think I must have also been the only boy in the world who had a goldfish that ran away from home too. Either that or the cat ate him.
Luckily for Samson and Delia, I seemed to do a lot better looking after the children. I had now been a full time single parent for over a year and neither Samson nor Delia had turned to maggots or run away from home. Life was hard but happy. I seemed to spend all my time either hard at work or at home, cooking, cleaning, ironing, sewing on buttons, doing homework, and preparing sandwiches for the next day. I had stopped drinking and smoking. I would like to say that it was because it would have been a bad example to set for the children, but the truth is I just couldn’t afford to do either of these things. The divorce and the subsequent settlement had left me financially crippled. When the car ran out of petrol, I couldn’t afford to fill it up, so I left it in the garage. I kept thinking that maybe next month I might be able to afford to fill it up again. I never did. The tax and MOT expired. I cancelled the insurance and the car stayed in the garage where, just like my childhood pets, it sort of just died. It’s still there to this very day.
I had promised the kids that every year they would get presents at Christmas and birthdays and have a summer holiday abroad in the sunshine. Somehow I managed to keep my promise and I was really quite proud of myself for doing so. We were poor but we were happy and the house was a happy home.
It was time to go on holiday and this year we were going to Menorca. Well, it was the cheapest one I could find and, as it turned out, the kids really loved the place. We flew out from Manchester airport and arrived in the capital, Mahon. We were driven in a very hot and over-crowded coach to Calla En Forcat on the other side of the island. But, as anyone who knows Menorca will know, it’s only a tiny island and didn’t take very long.
Unlike a lot of holiday destinations that always seem to look like a
war torn Beirut between the airport and your accommodation, Menorca was green and lush. In fact, it reminded me of Wales, but with sunshine and no Welsh people.
We stayed in a holiday complex, which consisted of two storeys of whitewashed apartments encircling a large pool complex. There were also shops, a games room, restaurant, tennis courts and a five aside football pitch. Somebody told me that there are 365 beaches on Menorca, one for every day of the year, but I think that most of them are no bigger than the garage in which my car had been laid to rest. The night life wasn’t exactly Ibiza but, at that time, as a single dad with two kids, it was a great place to be. The island is quite beautiful and they do have some fantastic wide sweeping beaches. The weather was dry and hot while we were there and the local people were a delight. We really did have a great time in Menorca.
The complex was self-contained and secure. The kids were 14 and 12, and there were lots of other children on the site. Samson and Delia had a little gang of friends by the end of the first day. We had an agreement that all day, and each day, we could do whatever they wanted to do and they could stay up around the complex with their friends until midnight.
At midnight I would take them to bed, have ten minutes chatting to them and then I could go out for a few drinks by myself and they would go to sleep. This arrangement worked very well. In fact, I actually didn’t see much of them at all, except in passing or when they wanted money or feeding.
On the first night I put the kids to bed and walked out to explore Calla En Forcat. It didn’t take very long. It was still quite early in the holiday season, so the few bars that were there weren’t very full. But I was on holiday and I was relaxed and happy and I didn’t expect anything else. I have always been a bit of a loner, so it is no problem to me to spend time in bars and restaurants alone. In fact, I quite like it. I can always start up a conversation with someone if I want to. I ended up in what was probably the only disco type bar in that part of the island. I had a few drinks and watched the girls dancing for a while and then I walked back to the apartments at about 3.00 am. Two weeks of this is probably just what I needed.
The next night I did pretty much the same, but something happened in the disco bar that I wasn’t expecting. I went to the bar to get my second pint and, while I waited to be served, I looked in the mirror that ran the length of the bar. I saw myself staring back. Everyone in there was about 19 - half my age. I hadn’t really noticed it the previous night. There was nobody else my age in there; absolutely nobody.
Fucking hell! These kids must think I own the fucking place. Either that or I’m some lonely old bastard who likes hanging out in kids’ discos. I turned around to make sure that the mirror wasn’t lying to me. It wasn’t. I turned back to the bar and tried not to look at myself in the mirror, but I did, in a very disapproving sort of way. I tried not to let myself see myself looking at me in this manner, but I could not stop myself.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I asked myself out loud. I didn’t try to offer any explanation. I felt like a sad old bastard and decided to leave.
Outside I walked around and wondered into a bar. It was full of locals, but the ages ranged from 3 to 73. This was the place for me. I had been learning Spanish for two years and was delighted to try it out. I managed to order a pint of lager with no mistakes or misunderstandings. I liked the place straightaway. It was full of life and Spanish people, who have always had a special place in my heart. A huge TV was showing a repeat of some Spanish football match. The juke box was playing loud enough to drown out the noise from the TV set. People were playing cards, eating meals, talking, and shouting, laughing, embracing, kissing or back patting. Toddlers ran around between the tables or sat asleep on old peoples knees. Older kids smoked and played pool. Men shouted advice and abuse at the footballers on the TV screen, even though they knew it wouldn’t make any difference to the result of the match, which took place two days ago. Women sat in groups and talked about the men and the children. The children were just being children. Spanish children, who would grow up to be Spanish people, are every bit as important in this wonderful Spanish culture, whether they are 1 or 100 years old. My two favourite races of people in the world have got to be Spanish and Irish. They both have an irresistible charm and somehow embrace life and not just live it.
The barman was either impressed with my fluent Spanish in ordering a pint or he was taking the piss, because he started talking to me in Spanish. He asked me if I was on holiday alone and why did I speak Spanish when nobody in England speaks Spanish. I was a bit perturbed that he had sussed that I was English so quickly. I thought that my Spanish accent was pretty good, and for all he knew I could have been Dutch. They speak every language known to man. How on earth did he know I was English?
I felt really on my metal now. I wasn’t used to having a proper Spanish conversation with a proper Spanish person. I managed to tell him about my divorce status and my kids. Amazingly, the conversation flowed and before long he knew my name, occupation, hobbies and all the places that I had ever been to on holiday. He gave me a brandy on the house.
“Tu Muy amible” I said. It was the nearest I could think of to ‘that’s terribly kind of you’. I guess every Englishman who wants to be Spanish, will always sound very English. I had noticed a woman sitting along the bar from me. She was listening to my conversation with ‘Pepe’, the barman, and we had made eye contact a few times. She smiled and I smiled back, but not too convincingly, because I didn’t know who she was with. I didn’t want one of the men who were shouting at the TV to come over and start shouting abuse at me. I noticed that she had two daughters; one who was about 8 years old and was sitting at a table playing a game of Connect 4 with some other kids and one who was about 14, who kept coming in from outside to cadge cigarettes off her mother. I would say that the woman at the bar was about 34 or 35. She was quite attractive and typically Spanish looking. A bit weather worn if I’m honest, but the remnants of her beauty were clear to see. I would imagine that when she was younger she must have been a real beauty. She had a nice smile and I felt as if I had already made two friends in this bar tonight. She took another cigarette from her pocket and placed the packet and her lighter on the bar. She got off her stool and walked over to me and asked for a light. I was really quite delighted. I told her that I didn’t smoke and I asked Pepe if he had a light. Pepe walked along the bar, picked up the woman’s lighter and handed it to me. I lit her cigarette and handed the lighter back to Pepe. He smiled and raised his eyebrows with a slow nodding of the head. He placed the lighter back on top of her cigarettes. Wow! How Spanish was this. I pulled out the vacant bar stool next to me and asked her if she would like to sit down. She went and fetched her drink, cigarettes and lighter and came and joined me. Pepe
said he would see me later and moved away along the bar a little. Her name was Porta, short for Portarica. Believe it or not Porta was the divorced mother of the two girls who I had already seen. I sort of quite liked her straight away and I knew that she liked me.
She didn’t seem to mind that I kept having to ask her to speak more slowly and repeat things. Even Pepe joined in by translating her Spanish into his Spanish so I could understand. Once Pepe started doing this other people along the bar joined in, either translating her Spanish into what they thought was a simpler choice of Spanish words or by telling her to speak more slowly for the ‘English foreigner, who at least was trying to speak Spanish’. Some people tried to offer a mime to what she was saying, which just resulted in everyone laughing, mostly at me I think. But I really didn’t mind. Suddenly, I had a whole bar full of friends who were now taking an interest in the football, the music, the cards, the family and Porta and me! I had become part of their night. Porta’s daughters pulled up a couple of bar stools and sat with us, interested in the funny Englishman who was making everyone laugh, who spoke Spanish….. slowly, and was flirting with their mum. Suddenly I wasn’t sitti
ng at the bar people watching. I was part of what I would normally be watching and I was having a great time. Porta and her girls were charming and, best of all, I was making them all laugh. Pepe was now like my long lost brother and was calling people over to introduce me to. There was a lot of good humoured banter about Porta finding a man, but she would have to work fast before the ‘English Casanova’ went home from his holiday.
If it was possible to become a local in a bar in one night, then I think I managed it that night. It was an amazing and memorable night that left me with a warm glow, which I can always recall whenever I think of the kindness of spirit and generosity of heart that these strangers showered on me that night. Nights like this only ever happen to me in Ireland or Spain. That’s why I love these people.
Before I left Porta asked me if I wanted to meet her the next night and we arranged to meet in the same bar. Everyone in the bar was aware of our arranged date. Only in Spain could a courtship be such a shared public event.
I went to meet Porta the next night and walked into a bar full of friends. Porta was already sitting at the bar waiting for me.
“Your knight in armour has arrived” announced Pepe the barman.
There were a lot of smiles and greetings and good humoured banter. We stayed in the bar all night until the early hours, and I had a great time. Before I finally got back to the apartment, Porta and I had sat on the beach and watched the sun wake up. We kissed and cuddled in the sand and although the petting got pretty heavy, we didn’t make love. As we parted we arranged for Porta to pick me up in her car at around 2.00 pm that afternoon.
I went back to the apartment, made some breakfast and then slept around the pool for the rest of the morning. Porta looked great that afternoon, sexy and stylish in dark sunglasses and a short summer dress. She took me to a few places around the island and introduced me to various people who she knew in various bars and cafes. It was a lovely day in the hot sunshine, meeting people who I would have never got the chance to meet if it wasn’t for Porta. She held my hand a lot as we walked around. It was turning into a good holiday and I was enjoying myself.
