She hit on me on the date site. Interested in kinky and no commitment. She seemed exotic but grounded with the most mischievous and licentious of grins. We began a text/sext affair that lasted almost ten breathless days. She grew up the child of privilege in a mysteriously beautiful South American country riven with struggle, hope, and blood. She lived in Paris where she learned French and furious fashion. She was a Barcelonita muy bonita. And she's lived a stone's throw from me in the country for many years. I knew I knew her and yet couldn't place it. No parties, no chance passings in town. It was from another life we'd lived together for though we knew many in common we'd never met.
We planned to remedy that but her conscience caused a delay. If she was looking for her next great love she was spending precious time if she dallied with me not going anywhere she'd set as an emotional goal. I totally got that but was devastated nonetheless as by that time I had many pictures of her to ignite my flights of fancy. She swam across lakes at sunset, cutting the water smoothly under twilight sky. She rode horses. I imagined her at a canter wearing tight cream jodhpurs and a prim white shirt buttoned to the neck. And there was the riding crop...
So when she cancelled I got it but was devastated. And then she came back, confessing distraction from her search. With my wife temporarily out of town, we met, drank, and dined with a view of the lights coming up across the awakening of a perfect Manhattan summer's night. Then we found a park bench by the river and made out like teenagers. A kid rode by on his bike and skidded to a stop right next to us. "Damn", he yelled, "This is Make Out Paradise!!" We collapsed laughing and saw two other couples going at it down the bench.
She'd made me speak to her in Spanish over dinner and pronounced that I spoke well. She was being charitable, but she did say I should install the Spanish keyboard on my phone. So the next morning she texted that she'd awoken to thoughts of our "besos mordelones". She loved our kisses that bit. I rejoined that she'd left "recortes pequeñitos en mis labios codiciosos". No, I haven't had a sex change operation. I wrote she gave "little cuts to my greedy lips". She called me a poeta. I told her I'd cheated on her with Google Translator. She told me I needed much correction.
So we shall see. If I get lucky we'll soon be up all night tryin' na get some.
A Munch Guide
2 weeks ago