Chapter 2: Joan Miro, Roman Ruins, and the Maltese Falcon

PAUL

We were sitting on the big teak afterdeck of the Hylas watching the town wake up and drinking our morning coffee. Janey was wearing short white shorts and a t-shirt. The t-shirt was not something you get in Walmart. It was a rich red, almost maroon. The people at J Crew probably called it some trendy name like “Burgundy.” It said “Boat Girl” across the magnificent swell of her boobs. It was made of a soft non t-shirt material, probably cotton-silk but it almost looked like alpaca, and it was tailored to perfectly outline her assets.

Janey had her legs propped on the transom. Her legs are perfectly muscled, shapely, and proportional to her body. Because they are so full, they look like they are longer than they actually are, but Janey is not very tall. However, Janey is so full of life that the general impression is that she is much larger than she actually is. In a lot of respects, it is a perfect example of how the inner person influences the perception of the outer person.

I asked her how last night went. She smirked. I said direly, “And who did you have to beat off with a stick last night?” She said, “Me? Nobody; Hilley was a different story.” My eyebrows shot up near my hairline. Janey said, “She met a very good looking Spanish boy who thinks she is 25 and they fell in love on the dance floor.” Since that didn’t sound anything like the little girl who I had been living with for the past 18 years my eyebrows and hairline probably merged.

Janey said, “She is beginning to experience the emotions that go along with all of those bubbling new hormones and she is going to have to learn to handle them in constructive ways before she can be a fully functioning adult.” I said, “You mean we should just let whatever is happening play itself out?”

Janey said, “Yes, within boundaries we set.”

We sipped some more coffee. Janey said, “Well, this is exactly what you bought the boat for.” The one thing that I DID know was that I was going to be listening closely to whatever my wise and level headed wife had to tell me over the next couple of months. We were continuing to enjoy our coffee when Hilley emerged from below.

It was an absolutely gorgeous, cloudlessly sunny day, with warm humid tropical breezes blowing out of Africa. Mallorca has an African feel, even though it is not quite even with the most southern part of Spain. Hilley looked incredibly chipper and radiant, which as far as I was concerned confirmed Janey’s story from last night. She kissed me on the forehead and said, “How are your ribs feeling Daddy?”

I gave a dramatic groan and tried to look pathetic.

In fact, I was wondering if I had not fractured one of them, because the pain had increased from the day before and my entire left side was a study in black and yellow. It was actually my ribs that were keeping us in Palma, since I didn’t want to venture the 700 or so mile voyage in the open Mediterranean, feeling like I did. Hilley drinks gallons of coffee, like I do. Janey went below to clean up from breakfast and we were having a daddy daughter moment on the after deck.

She was in a sleeveless, scoop neck tank top that showed off far too much cleavage for my tastes and she had on the same kind of short white shorts that Janey favors. Her legs are spectacular and she knows it. I was actually encouraged that she was starting to show off her body in a womanly fashion, since prior to recently she dressed like the tomboy that she basically is.

We were looking up the dock watching a kid come uncertainly along checking boat names. He appeared to my 50 year old eyes to be about 19. He was stopping at each boat as he went. Hilley jumped to her feet delightedly, and yelled, “Philippe!” Apparently, this was the guy she had met the night before. Hilley was excited. I was inscrutable. Janey came out of the cabin at that moment. She looked outrageously amused.

Janey sat down next to me and took my hand as Hilley went sprinting up the dock. My daughter threw her arms around the kid’s neck and planted a huge kiss on him then turned and dragged him happily toward the boat. I nearly fell overboard from sheer shock.

The young man who she returned with was indeed handsome, in the way a good looking Spanish kid can be. There is something in the pure blooded Spanish stock that is exceptionally pleasing to the eye. They are very fair skinned, which is probably derived from the Germanic people who overran the place back in the dark ages. But they have an exotic, big-eyed Celt-Iberian appearance that resemble Janey’s delicate features, and by derivation Hilley’s people.

This kid was very tall, my height or taller, but much lighter boned and gracefully slim. He looked absolutely nonplussed at the situation Hilley had just dragged him into. I could understand. The Hylas is a remarkably big boat; much larger than a person would expect for a middle class, or even a wealthy family. It reeked of big money.

I am sure that the Spanish kid expected to find a typical household when he went hunting for Hilley. The two women he met last night probably seemed like normal tourists. Because of her looks, Janey comes off like the world’s hottest thirty-something. You would never imagine that somebody so spectacularly gorgeous could actually be one of the best educated, most culturally sophisticated, and richest women in the world. And since she is Janey, she will not go out of her way to point out her social prominence to anybody.

Hilley looks and acts like a dazzlingly beautiful college girl, which she will soon be. The fact that she will inherit vast wealth and that she is smarter, better educated, more athletically gifted and culturally superior to any but a handful of young people would not be obvious to somebody who meets her in a bar.

Janey and I have worked very hard to beat any sense of social entitlement out of her. So Hilley doesn’t really know who she is yet, thank God! As she dragged the kid onto the boat, Hilley was flushed with excitement, and something else that was undefinable. She had ahold of his arm with one of her big firm boobs unceremoniously squashed on it.

She didn’t notice what she was doing. The kid did though. And he had the good grace to disengage himself from her before formally and quite politely shaking hands with me. Janey gave him an actual hug, which must have done wonders for his libido. I was astonished because she tends to discount Hilley’s friends. Then it dawned on me that this was not a teenager. The little man in my head was considering whether to keelhaul the lecherous bastard before making him walk the plank. Instead, I said, “Welcome aboard Philippe.” I did not immediately add, as I wanted to, “So how old are you really?”

We were sitting around the table on the after deck and I gestured to a spot. We still had plenty of coffee in the French press and I offered him some. He said, “Thank you” in almost unaccented English and poured himself a cup. Hilley was bouncing around on the deck like a Jack Russell terrier. Janey continued to look amused.

I said, “So I understand that you met my wife and daughter at Hemingway last night?” Hilley looked like she hadn’t wanted the kid to know that she was my daughter. Now her dark secret was out! The boy looked respectful and explained that he and two his friends had sat with Janey and Hilley. He won style points by calling me “Sir.” He said that he had come by to see if we wanted to tour some of the island. He said he had a car. There was one question hanging in the air between us, which was, “EXACTLY how old are you?” I was also curious whether he knew how old Hilley was, since she has the face and body of a mature woman.

I finally said as a gambit, “What do you do for a living Philippe?” He said that he was an electrical engineer working on shore power and marine electrical systems for Atlas energy in Palma. I was interested in that, partly because I am an engineer, but mainly because I might get a fix on his age. He said he had graduated from the University of Toulouse and worked for a short time in Marseilles before coming home. So, I said, “That is quite a bit of accomplishment for a 26-year-old.”

He said. “I am only 24, Sir. I graduated early from Toulouse.” Well! That meant there was less of an age difference between him and Hilley than there was between me and Janey. However, he was still skirting the boundaries of child molestation in my mind. Janey continued to look like the Cheshire Cat.

I turned to Janey and said, “I want to get an x-ray and a professional bandage job on my ribs. Are you and Hilley interested in a tour with Philippe?” I didn’t think it was possible, but Janey actually looked MORE ironically amused than before. She turned to Hilley and said, “Are you interested in spending the day with Philippe?”

I realized she was baiting our daughter. Hilley was literally bouncing up and down with eagerness so she missed the irony completely. She said, “I would LOVE to see the island with him!!” There was a subtext that said, “And you don’t need to come along”, which clearly wasn’t going to happen. So, Janey said, “Perfect, we will leave our wounded soldier here and we can spend the day with Philippe.”

After two decades of marriage, Janey and I can speak volumes with glances, and she was telling me with the look from behind her Bulgaris that this was going to be a splendid experience for Hilley.

JANEY

I came up on deck just as Hilley was hauling the boy she met last night up onto the boat from the dock. The Hylas pretty clearly states that the people who own it are extremely wealthy. I could see that the kid had no idea who we were when he set out this morning to track down his lady love. I was also relieved that he had not brought along his two energetically oversexed Australian friends. The last thing I wanted to do was to fend THOSE two off while viewing the wonders of Santa Maria of Palma.

I had noticed last night that the kid seemed to be the well-mannered and least horny one of the bunch, if not tremendously sophisticated. He was proving that he had some class by trying to gracefully cope with the situation that Hilley had just dragged him into. For one thing he was dealing with Paul in a polite man-to-man fashion, rather than the usual kid versus adult style of her other friends.

I could see that Paul was totally flabbergasted at the idea that Hilley might have romantic feelings for this guy. And I could visualize him immediately hauling anchor and heading for the open sea just to get her away from the situation. But his ribs were definitely bothering him, and it was good that he was taking care of himself for a change. I had no problem with the idea of touring the island and I was not going to leave those two alone for a second. Since I had a pretty good reading on the amount of heat being generated when they looked at each other.

I remember the first time I fell in love, and every other time after that. There never were enough hours in the day. I wanted to be part of their life and have them be part of mine. I wanted to touch them and have them touch me. It was that precise form of extreme touching that I was aiming to prevent. Hilley had finally gotten to a point that I had reached in my own life at 14, where the sensations and the deep-seated need for intimate contact pretty-much drove every rational thought out of my head.

I knew that she had the same instincts and desires that I have. How could she NOT have given her parents? My job was to make sure that she learned how to handle the inevitable infatuation and make intelligent choices about who she chose to satisfy those desires. The boy was nice enough and he definitely was attractive, but we were leaving in the morning and not coming back. Looking at my gorgeous daughter I could see why he would say all of the things necessary to try to convince her to stay. But I knew from my own personal history that Hilley had a long road to travel before she found “The One” and my job was to make sure that all of her decisions were smart ones.

I was dressed for the day in my usual Izod polo shirt and shorts, in my comfortable walking shoes with the 3-inch cork heels. Hilley was wearing a brightly colored silk tank top that showed off the mounds of her big, tightly gathered boobs. The fact that she was not wearing a bra was obvious from the nipple factor. I would have to have a talk with her about that. Her long, splendid legs were tanned and muscular and she was wearing Topsiders.

Where Paul says I am “cat-like” the proper word for Hilley is “greyhound, or thoroughbred.” She moves with the easy grace and power of those sleek and splendid animals. The boy was wearing an untucked white Guayabera with the kind of embroidery that told me that he had a bit of money too. He was wearing the white pants and sandals that are practically required with the shirt.

I gave Paul a peck on the cheek, trying to avoid contact with his injured side. I told him we would be back well before sunset, which was around 9:30 PM in Palma. I also told him that I wanted to see him fit and ready to go when I got back, or I would deal with him myself. Nobody is more capable of taking care of my husband than I am.

We walked down the dock to the kid’s car. That was my second surprise. Since this guy was a kid, I expected a Fiat 500 or something along the lines of a Peugeot 107. What was sitting there instead was a Mercedes E550 Cabriolet with the top down. I asked him outright, “So what does your family do Philippe?”

It turned out that he was one of the March’s which explained why a kid working as an engineer could afford a $70,000 car. There are lots of members of that family now but there is still plenty of wealth to go around. I thought to myself, “In exactly 5 days Hilley will be a lot richer than him, because that is when she turns 19 and the first installment of her trust kicks in.”

But I said out loud, letting a little wonder creep into my voice, “Oh my goodness! That is an old and wealthy family.” It is always a good idea to keep your daughter under the male radar, especially when she is as filthy rich as she will eventually be. The kid had the good grace to blush and mumble something about his family being one of the distant relatives of the Great Juan March Ordinas. I adjusted my opinion of the kid. He was now in Hilley’s class by both breeding and wealth.

Hilley is one of those people who are totally oblivious when it comes to class. It results from her being Paul’s daughter and Paul is a total anarchist when it comes to pedigree. I on the other hand am an unabashed aristocrat. I have very carefully brought Hilley up to be a refined and socially sophisticated young woman, who will be able to comfortably step into her place in society. The news that the boy was from a socially prominent family meant that I would have the opportunity to see how my daughter would handle herself around a boy from her own stratum of society.

Hilley is almost classless in her own attitudes and behavior. She has always been a tomboy and in many respects, she identifies more with Ada and her husband than she does the rich children she was raised and went to school with. But Hilley knows how to comfortably maneuver through my white glove social stratum because I carefully trained her how to do that. And she has my tastes and inclinations, not Paul’s when it comes to art, culture, and cuisine. So, she can easily interact in the highest circles of society.

I know that she is stunningly good looking, but the boy might have actually been drawn to the aura of breeding that Hilley radiates. I now had a chance to surreptitiously observe how she interacted with a member of the opposite sex who just happened to be from her own class. Hilley appropriated the boy’s arm as soon as we got to the street. She seemed to want to just be touching him but she had his arm squashed between her gorgeous teenage breasts in a way that indicated possession and something more.

I have played that game for almost thirty years and I knew what was going on there. So, I filed that fact away for further observation. The boy opened the door of the 550 and Hilley looked pleadingly at me like, “I can sit next to him, right?” The boy said, “Your mother should ride up front with me, you will get a better sense of the City being chauffeured.” The kid got a million extra style points for suavely offering me respect while not making Hilley feel like a little kid.

We drove a short distance into the old City and he parked. The building was a large domed structure that looked like it might have once been a private mansion or a hotel. But it had a commercial look to it now. I thought, “Strange! He’s taking us to an office building?” That was until I saw the name “Fundación Juan March.” He was taking us to one of the best collections of 20th century Spanish art in the world. The fact that the building that this art was housed in was sponsored by and named after the boy’s family didn’t escape my notice.

His great grandfather was one of the main Fascist leaders of Spain, best friends with the Dictator Francisco Franco. And the dynasty he founded still controls much of Spanish banking. There are branches to that family and I doubted that this kid was a direct beneficiary, but the fact his name was on the door was still impressive.

I am a dancer plain and simple. Hilley loves art. In fact, she has a range of cultural interests of which fine art might be her greatest passion. When she saw where the boy was taking us, I was afraid that she might throw him down and have him on the very interesting Roman looking terrazzo floor; just for pushing her number one hot button. I know I would have if I’d been in the same situation.

Instead, she literally shrieked with happiness and began pulling the poor kid around by the hand as she moved from exhibition to exhibition explaining, in perfect French, which I don’t understand, what she thought of each piece of art. I could tell that my time had passed and that the world was hers now. It was a satisfying and very gratifying feeling.

I was monitoring the interaction between Hilley and the boy. They had purposely switched over to French which I don’t understand. But I can read body language. And I could see that Hilley was feeling sexual. The little voice in my head was amused beyond belief by her awkwardness. But it was also whispering to me that there is nothing that my daughter can’t master and as I kept on observing her, I could see that she was beginning to pick up the whole “being seductive” thing.

She had been using her body too much an hour ago. Now she was just flirtatiously touching the boy with parts of her that he would find sexually attractive, like bumping him with her hips and just brushing him with her beautiful boobs. She even pressed her bare leg against his while they were watching the recital. And she would shyly hold his hand occasionally brushing it against her stomach and even once her ass.

My little voice chuckled and said, “She has a genius IQ in more than book learning.” We watched the short recital and then we got back in the car. The boy was doing his best to ignore the fact that my daughter had seduction in mind. I told him that I would like to sit in the back seat under the heading of sharing the seat of honor with Hilley. She was delighted of course since that meant she could hold the boy’s hand as he drove.

The next stop was five or so miles around the harbor. He pulled into a place I recognized since I am actually a big fan of Joan Miro’s work. In fact, I had purchased some of his originals when I was a girl, which were hanging in the apartment I had lived in when I first met Paul. That thought caused me to reminisce for a second. I was 23-years-old back then, queen of the campus but still very inexperienced and immature in the world at-large. Then I met Paul and my life changed. Our love together took me from naïve preppie princess to the woman I am today.

But I treasure those first few months together because that marked the beginning of a life-long love affair. And Miro is caught up in those memories. I actually proposed marriage to Paul instead of the other way around. When I did that, he was sitting on the settee in front of one of my Miro paintings. He was looking anxious because he told me that he expected me to dump him, not propose to him. I can still see the look of relief and delight on his face when I told him that he had better either commit to me or leave. He has told me several times that that was the one time he really believed in a higher power.

We have a mature romance now. But watching my daughter behave like she was with the boy still reminded me of the immutable power of puppy love. We spent several hours touring the museum. Since I love Miro and his school, I might have been guilty of most of the delay. It was lunch time when we left there, which in Spain is closer to 3:00 PM than noon. I suggested that we get a bite to eat down at the harbor, but the boy advised us to drive the 45 minutes across the island to the north side.

The drive was slightly longer than that but worth the effort because there is an entire, preserved Roman city simply lying there by the side of the road. That was Roman Pollentia, which means “power” in Latin. It was founded in 123 BC by one of the Caecillae Mettellae and grew into an economic powerhouse by the end of the Roman era. It was sacked by the Vandals who were then kicked out by the Arabs. They gave the area its name, Alcudia which just means “Hill” in Arabic.

I was beginning to really like this boy. I am a history nut, and I can wander around a place and literally feel its vibes. The City, forum, houses, and theater are all just sitting there by the side of the road as you arrive. We parked at the side of the dusty road and I wandered the streets. I have been in Pompeii and this had the same feel, in that the house walls were about hip high and everything else in stone is more-or-less the way the Romans left it.

Of course, this one was abandoned during the Dark Ages rather than snowed under by a volcano. But the same sense of Roman city life is still there. Pollentia was actually a bit of a fashion capitol, noted for making the best togas in the Empire and I could almost sense the fine ladies and men wandering the shops of the Forum picking out couture; not unlike me and Paul when we visit any sophisticated City.

Hilley and the boy sat on a marble bench that was probably 2,000 years old while I wandered around. She had reached the point where she couldn’t hold the feelings down any longer. I remember those days even if they DID happen 30 years ago. She was plastered against his side mooning at him with the puppy-dog eyes that kept saying, “Kiss me!”

He was resisting the urge even though I knew he wanted to. I have been in the exact same position so many times that I thought I would make myself scarce for a couple of minutes, not long enough for anybody to get into trouble. It was my reward to the boy for taking me to this wonderful place.

There was a fairly intact theater and so I told them I would be right back, but I wanted to explore it. As soon as I was out of sight, she had her arms over his shoulders and one hand behind his head and she was kissing him with a passion that I didn’t think she was capable of. I was suddenly very pleased and proud.

HILLEY

Philippe took us to another museum. This one was relatively world famous since it has a lot of the work of the artist Joan Miro. I really like Miro’s work but I was having a hard time concentrating since I was experiencing the same kind of strange new physical pressure. Apparently, the effects of that pressure are cyclical.

It is very disturbing to me to NOT be able to reason like I am used to. Instead, I was having emotions that were overriding my sense of logic and even propriety. I wanted Philippe to touch me in ways that would satisfy the intimate feelings I had for him. I kept touching him with my breasts, which were suddenly swollen and rock hard. I held his hand and would occasionally brush it against intimate parts of my body.

The little voice in my head that is probably my mother kept saying, “Excuse me! What the heck do you think you are doing young lady?” And I kept saying back to her “Butt out mother! I love him!” I don’t think anybody could tell that there was an actual screaming match going on in my head. But I kept getting odd looks from both of them. When we finally got back to the car I was in the middle of the most conflicting battle of my life.

One version of Helen Larson wanted to go back to the boat and hide in her room. The other one wanted to spend the rest of her life with this man. The little voice who is probably my mom said, “This is natural my daughter. You are becoming a woman a lot faster than I want you to, but you can’t fight the horny Larson genes so just enjoy the feelings.” Since I don’t trust feelings, I was very frustrated by the voice in my head.

Mother suggested lunch. I would have suggested that Philippe have me right there in the back seat, the problem was that my mother was occupying it at the time. He recommended that we wait because he had one more thing that he wanted to show us. We rode across the island from southwest to northeast. That was about a 45 minute drive. I spent it squirming in my seat and my mother, who loves convertibles, just sat there with the wind blowing her hair around, looking like an earth goddess.

Philippe was a good and careful driver but the rest of the Spanish on that island seemed to have a death wish, at least when they were behind the wheel. Fortunately, his car was extremely powerful and agile and he easily avoided the Citroen Deaux Cheveaus that were careening toward us with crazed drivers at the wheel and several pigs peering out of the back seat.

We drove to a little town named Alcudia’ That was just a few miles from Pollentia, which was the main city on the eastern coast of the island. He stopped there and walked a couple of hundred yards into an almost perfectly preserved Roman city.

I was thinking to myself, “He somehow knows my mother is a Roman history nut” but it turns out that he was one too. So, she and he talked their way through the remains of that ancient place for half an hour ... while I sat on a stone bench feeling more-and-more put out with my mother. She had not only gotten in the way of my plans for Philippe she was actually monopolizing his time.

He eventually came over to sit beside me. My mother wandered off behind some taller remains and disappeared. I had to kiss him. It was an absolute physical imperative. So, I threw my arms around his shoulders, put my hand behind his head and dragged his mouth down to mine. The kiss we shared had the same effect on me as a cool breeze on a hot day. I opened myself to him and he kissed me like he couldn’t get enough of me. I moaned in his mouth and we swapped tongues. I pushed my braless chest into his hand. He could feel how hard my nipples were. He slipped his hand inside my top and stroked my breast and then he squeezed the nipple.

That’s when I totally lost it. I threw one leg over him and tried to push him back on the bench. He resisted, trying to stay upright. I think he knew that my mother would not be gone long and he did not want her coming back to find him fucking her daughter - right there on a Roman bench. It didn’t stop me from mashing my boobs into him while opening my mouth as far as I could get. The little voice in my head was screaming, “Have you lost your fucking mind!!!” And suddenly, without any more contact than that I cried out and had the first orgasm I have ever experienced with another person.

I knew that would bring my mother back so I hastily hopped off him. He was looking the worst for wear and the bulge in his front was immense. I rearranged my top and tried to look casual as my mother sauntered from behind the ruins that she was inspecting. I could have sworn that she knew something had happened because she looked highly amused. I didn’t care what she knew. I felt blessed relief and rationality returning once again to my tortured soul.

JANEY

I discovered that afternoon how much a chip of the old block my daughter is. As soon as I walked behind the shielding ruins, she threw her arms around Philippe and kissed him like she was trying to suck his tongue out of his mouth. They shared a long tongue swapping kiss with her mouth getting wider and wider. I could hear her panting from the other side of the marble wall.

Since there was nothing but ruined columns between us, I could see all of that clearly. The only reason why they couldn’t see me was because they were otherwise engaged. Then the boy made the fatal mistake. He reached inside her top and appeared to squeeze one of her nipples. For my entire life, any man that does that to me had better be prepared to follow through, since that shoots a bolt of lightning into my pussy that starts a fire that has to be quenched.

Hilley groaned loudly. Then she tried to throw him down on the bench and have him on the spot. The boy had enough sense to push back, trying to stay upright. But that did not stop my daughter from continuing to molest him, which shortly produced an obvious big-time orgasm; with her fully clothed, right there on a bench, in the ancient Roman City of Pollentia.