Chapter 2

Part 3; I cement my status in the village by seducing a 75 year old widow.

The town was as crooked as an old olive tree. State contracts, building permits, licensing for every sort of business all went through the mayor, and often needed police approval too. The mayor Don Carlos ran the place, and owned most of it. He barely talked to me, too arrogant to acknowledge a surf bum like me.

His mother however, was a different story.

I observed her flirting, laughing with some old local guys in the square. I watched how she walked, her confident stride. I was sure Donna Esmeralda still had it.

Seducing local women in a small village is even trickier than I was used to. One hint of suspicion and it would never happen. The days of Catholic control was long gone, Spain was a modern country. But small tourist towns like this have a certain dynamic. Locals and foreigners are different species.

So security was everything.

I knew who she was; she knew who I was. Everyone knew my basic story; I’d been the lover of the rich old banker woman who went missing. The American surfer toy boy perv.

I gave her the eye only when no one else could possibly see it. I studied her movements, she used the back entrance of her big house when she went to the little grocery shop in the square. All I had to do was circle around and an encounter would occur in the narrow ally.

The ‘chance encounter’ is important. I timed the walk, hers and mine. Oh, I’m devious.

She was a thin woman, small, her hair wavy and grey, always in a tight bun behind her head. Her face was symmetrical, still attractive to a perv like me. She always wore a long black dress and sensible shoes, a cloth over her head tied under her chin as old Spanish rural women do.

I came walking along towards her as if completely by chance, and smiled.

“Hola.” I said cheerily, “How are you today?” my Spanish was passable by then.

She stopped, flustered. Her door was just past me. I had a stroke of luck; she had heavy bags with her.

“Oh, do you need help with those?” I offered.

Of course she declined; but the message had been issued. I was willing. Was she?

It was all good fun. The village wasn’t yet my home; I could just move on if anyone found out I was trying to seduce the mayor’s old mother. Fast and far.

I rented a different room, my one window faced one of the windows of the big house in the village center where she lived. Then I waited.

There was a servant girl part time, and her daughter in law was usually there.

We started flirting across the narrow roadway. Just a look, a smile. She was into me, just a little. A tiny crack that might loosen her old mouth.

Most people would never even notice the little old lady, never see the small flicker of flame still glowing in her eyes, never feel the urge to talk to her, listen to her, appreciate whatever she might be.

But I did.

I like old women. I like young women too. I just love them all, while skirting around the deep dark trap of real attachment that everyone else seems so desperate to fall into.

Yes, I had an ulterior motive. I was genuinely turned on too. She was a tough old village crone, she’d lived a long time and I wanted to hear what she had to say. I wanted to add her experience to my library, I wanted to talk, hang out, know her. Maybe even in the biblical sense, if she wanted that.

I ran my eye up and down her skinny frame, and I thought she was pretty hot.

I followed her to the graveyard behind the church. I made sure she saw me, and sat on a distant bench. She came to talk. To my surprise, she spoke English. Not very well, but well enough.

I told some jokes and we laughed.

If I describe the little old Spanish granny, she doesn’t sound very attractive. Grey, dried up, her skin blemished by age, but still fairly tight on her bones. Her nose grown large over the years, and her chin too.

She had a spark though, she still had life in her, the way she talked and laughed told me she still had pleasure to share.

What I really liked was talking to her. You pervs think it’s all about the fucking; well, it’s not.

Every morning she would walk around the periphery of her huge family farm, some of the walk was road, some was a footpath on the sea cliff, some was along a wooded creek where I sat reading a book as I waited for her.

She walked carefully, but confidently; she carried a cheap black bucket to collect herbs and things, and a huge black umbrella. She had the cloth wrapped around her head and a wide straw hat above that.

She appeared to be withered; sexless.

She wasn’t.

She lingered to talk to me, the next day she lingered a little longer.

“Any progress with Donna Esmeralda?” Filipa asked me, whispering in the darkness as she slipped into bed with me.

“It’s hard to tell with old women.” I admitted, “She likes me, likes to flirt and talk, but she keeps it light.”

“Are you going to fuck her?” Filipa inquired neutrally, running her hand down my back to my ass.

“Probably.” I answered carefully, “She’s no beauty, but I like her. And if she’s my lover she’ll tell me everything.”

“Do you really want to do it with that old woman?” Filipa asked, and I could hear pain in her voice.

I put my hand on her warm naked body, stroking her.

“I really like you.” I told her, “At the same time, we both know we’re not a match. Don’t fall in love with me, Filipa! Remember what I am.”

“What are you?” she asked.

“I’m a piece of shit.” I answered, “A scumbag who uses women, a man who uses his penis as a weapon and his charm as a tool. I’ve never worked a day in my life and have no plans to do so in future. I give and I take, I’m honest about myself, not a thief.

“Yes, I want to seduce the old woman; I’m excited by the idea. The challenge of it, the wickedness. Her age excites me too. I’m a pervert, Filipa.”

She got out of bed. “I have to go.” She said carefully, keeping her emotions wrapped.

I don’t like to hurt people; my heart burned for Filipa but I knew I’d done the right thing, nipping our increasing attachment in the bud.

I wanted to help get her nasty boss off of her. At the same time, I have feelings too. I was becoming too attached to Filipa, and I liked Donna Esmeralda, she was a laugh and there was no danger of serious emotion.

A couple of weeks later, I had the Spanish granny in a vacant tourist rental house her family owned.

It didn’t seem quite fair; she was a defenseless old lady, how could she resist my well-oiled charm? My expert flirtation, practiced timing?

Ha! She wasn’t all virtue either. Old Esmeralda told me she’d been spending time with an old German who had a vacation villa on the cliff just beyond the border of her family property. She subtly let me know she was a sexually active woman.

I had to either move in, or move on.

I moved close to her. My body was tall and strong. She was short and slight. Her mouth was small and her eyes were big. She was intelligent, and knew what I was. She didn’t know what I wanted from her, just that I wanted something. And had something to offer.

I moved my mouth to her face, my arms at my sides. There must be no force, not a gram.

I kissed her. Another old lady, pretending to be sexless when just under her nondescript clothing a woman needed love.

Her weathered old face excited me; she was in good health and she had good teeth. Yellowed, but solid.

Our mouths stuck together. We stood silent, still. Neither of us wanted to break the kiss, but our hands didn’t join the event for a couple of minutes. Just the kiss, and her old granny tongue met mine at the border, and it was wet and sweet as any tongue ever was.

She was really small, lean but strong. I released the knot and removed her headscarf. I loosened her bun and her hair fell open. I ran my finger over her face and neck, touching her at last.

Her hair was almost entirely grey, it sprang out around her head and made her look like a doll.

Her face had creases, her neck liver spots, it was all sexy to me. I was thrilled, my cock pulsed with excitement. Even if this was as far as we ever went, it was crazily forbidden fun.

The perversity of just flirting with her was wonderful, kissing her was positively decadent.

I touched her lightly, just the tip of a finger on her forearm; but that touch was sex. A man and a woman in contact, alone in an isolated house, there was no more pretense of propriety.

I shuffled closer. Her old face looked at me curiously, doubtfully, and excitedly.

I’d found her beauty. It was in her, just below her drawn old skin. Her life of privilege, pain, devotion, work, motherhood. She walked around the village like a peasant, but actually she’d never been one.

Closer, a bit closer.

Intent was declared now. She had to choose; accept or reject me.

I love old women. Young women are great too, with their tight sexy skin and hormones, all fertile and perilous. Old women are salty, spicy, difficult to please, and more individual.

Esmeralda was a different species to Dulce, or Jules, or other old women I’d tried to seduce. My success rate with old women was a fraction of what it was with young women. Yet I persisted; I loved this part, the game was all fun, win or lose.

We sat on a bench in the privacy of the small cottage, and we continued our kiss.