Spanish Developments

With his first plunge Sylvia cried out. Her operatic response didn't surprise him. She seemed the type.

Long caring strokes let her writhe and sigh. He controlled her. Lowery exploited their pleasure by staggering his lunges and delaying his withdrawals. She could only anticipate then react. His mistiming prolonged her gratification. Lowery saw it in her face, felt it when her legs jellied and hands along his arms clutched him.

Patience reached, control lost, Lowery emptied himself until she was helpless yet happy. They eased into mutually peaceful slumber.

Lowery had requested what he considered an early wake-up call. Having gone to bed sooner than usual mitigated it somewhat. Nonetheless both woke bedraggled.

He accompanied her into the shower. Initially Sylvia regarded him as one might a stranger. Washing her back while nuzzling Sylvia's nape reintroduced them. Cradling his balls, soaping his cock into ruler straightness completed their familiarity. Shower streams diluted Lowery's hot thick spurts against her flat belly until these, like the previous night, became memory.

The pair dried and dressed in silence. Not from any embarrassment but out of the sense "this" maybe could've gone deeper. Of course that was unrealistic. They'd met by chance. Pleasant conversation led to dinner which culminated in vacation sex.

Neither delved into the other's soul. He hadn't even learned her last name or profession. Each truly remained ciphers both temporarily, broadly and conveniently solved.

Instead of behaving inconspicuously or avoiding the housekeepers' glances, Sylvia walked among them head raised high. The same scene played in America would've had a male peacock strutting ahead of his night's reluctantly identified partner.

Lowery wondered if the Iberians even had any concept of the "walk of shame."

In the lobby he suggested they have breakfast. Sylvia declined. She wasn't agitated so much as anxious to leave. Lowery offered escorting her to the metro. Again she declined. He followed her outside. They lingered at the hotel entrance.

Sylvia faced him. She was simpatico.

"Paul, you think your steps end at the metro? We shared a moment. Okay. An involved moment. It was nice. We had fun. You are kind. Nothing more. We owe each other nothing more, okay? Except maybe kind thoughts. Later on don't remember me as another Monica Vitti. I'm better than that. Claudia Cardinale, yes? I leave you here."

Sylvia reached up, caressed his cheek, a wan smile his answer. She kissed him but the gesture would've been hard-pressed to match last night's steam.

Close together as they stood, Lowery barely heard her farewell. "Ciao, Paul."

She turned and walked away. He watched her jaunty stride recede until the green sweater and black denims vanished around the corner. Other guests had also witnessed their separation.

Several Britons had watched her departure. They were definitely arriving. A bold one detached himself from the pod. Lager on his breath informed Lowery these Brits had waited until morning before calling it a night.

Addressing Lowery, his jolly new best chum brayed, "You shudda taken a picture, mate! It'd last longer!"