nite_vision

When I say I didn’t mean to become Concita’s secret admirer, much less her clandestine lover I really mean it but more often than not these things happen contrary to your expectations or better judgment. Particularly, when you find yourself traveling in a foreign country, and your mail order travel companion puts it to you in no uncertain terms that an occasional dinner just ain’t going to cut it. That is, if you do want to come inside her or maybe stick it to her from behind after a day’s worth of driving, you’d better be prepared to foot the hotel bill as well, buddy, not just your share of it, 100 percent of it. Not even the hand job, Dulce? That’s what I took to calling her upon accepting the simple fact that her furry little mitten was about the sweetest thing this side of money from home. No hand job, no nothing, was her stern verdict. And she stormed out of our modest three star hotel room overlooking nothing.

I bumped into Concita (her real name Claire V. but that’s beside the point) in Granada, the summer of 1999 when I, utterly frustrated after what seemed like the twentieth attempt to find a parking spot for my rented 4-door Renault, asked a helmeted girl on the motorcycle the short cut to Alhambra. If you can’t park, you might as well see the mundo, was her tart answer in broken but serviceable English. Just my luck: Alhambra that Tuesday was sold out. How can a place the size of Disneyworld and a half be sold out, you’re probably pondering? Simple: if 50 thousand people it can accommodate buy their tickets three days ahead of time, then it’s sold out. Period. Fuck Alhambra, Concita said, let me check my mailbox at a nearest cybercafe, get a couple of bottles of red and go to your hotel, I want you to see (but no hands, promise?) my new bikini wax I think my stylist overdid a bit. Whatever, I thought. Landmarks come in all shapes and sizes. Let’s see if you change your mind-o after the first bottle of red, Conci. Well, it turned out her stylist didn’t ruin her do after all, it looked OK to this weary traveler. Everybody and her auntie shaves her pussy these days, am I right or am I right, guys and dolls? You bet I’m right. But it takes a real pro to turn afro into buzz with a dash of seventies excess thrown in for good measure. Know what I’m sayin? I said to Conci and proceeded to uncork the second bottle.