Lady of Spain

Maria Espalda gazed out of the window of her little shop in the hills of Derbyshire. She thought about her life and wondered seriously how on earth she had ended up there. Her hand strayed inside her shirt and she adjusted her bra, then without thinking, the fingers ran down her body to her jeans and she very gently touched her pubic area, not attempting to stimulate herself but confirming that she still had those parts. She was Spanish, from a small town in the wine-producing area of Castilla Mancha. She was supposed to be exotic, a dark-eyed woman with long, shiny black hair and dark eyes, and the British men had been all over her at first when she had come to the country with the man who was to become her husband. Graham was his name and they had met in Alicante when he was on a two-week holiday with a friend, and she had just popped down for a long weekend.Graham had swept her off her feet – in fact, they had swept each other off their feet, each fascinated by the other’s different culture and what seemed at first to be a better, more sophisticated way of doing things. He considered it something of a coup, she could tell, to get this shadowy, juicy woman into bed and she enjoyed the element of English gentleman which he undoubtedly possessed. It was somehow more exciting to be explored and invaded in a scrupulously polite way, rather than with the rustic indecent haste that the local boys displayed.As Graham had a decent job, as manager of a farm, and she was just working in a country farm shop, selling olives and pate and cheese, they had made their home in England, and she had been that mysterious “lady of Spain” whom the song said they all adored. Several of Graham’s friends and associates had tried it on with her, eager to get a taste of some foreign femaleness, but she had fended them off and after she and her English gentleman had married, they had pretty much stopped socializing and lived a private, remote life in their cottage, where they had set up the shop in an outbuilding, selling the same sorts of things she had been selling in Spain.The novelty of their relationship had worn off quite quickly as, she was disappointed to conclude, happened with most relationships, leaving them with a life of routine and tedium that seemed like the path to eternity. It was comfortable enough and happy enough in a bland way if you didn’t look into the future. They hadn’t had children because she was infertile, which bursa escort bayan was a rotten trick for nature to play on her and could have made her depressed if she had taken it personally. In fact, it had made her depressed from time to time, but the two of them had soldiered on and kept themselves occupied by importing Spanish goods and exporting British things to her family. But Graham was more dynamic than she was, and he had soon taken over, to the extent that he gave up his job at the farm and was flying to and from Spain and driving around the UK, while she was fronting the retail business which he told her was the ‘flagship”, although she always suspected that was just to keep her quiet.They bought a small house near where she came from, and he began to spend more and more time there. And then he just stopped coming back because he had hooked up with a woman who ran a bodega, a wine business. The divorce was a miserable affair, although not as bloody as some because there were no children involved. When it was finalized, she thought about going home, but Graham was now established there, and she had been in the UK for thirty years. She made a comfortable living and had a few friends in the nearby villages and towns, so life wasn’t so bad.When the dust settled on her new single state, all she thought was missing was some sexual excitement. There had been precious little of that in her marriage, but she had been almost too busy to notice. Now, though, her fiftieth birthday was looming and she wanted to spice her life up before it was too late. She looked at herself in the mirror and what she saw wasn’t a total disaster. The hair was still dark and lustrous, with a little assistance from a dye that covered the encroaching grey. Her face was still quite firm, and her eyes shone with a sort of mature feminine steeliness. Her breasts, always her favourite feature, remained eye-catching, and, depending on what she wore, she could turn a head or two. Bum and legs? Unspectacular but tidy, as they had always been.What really bothered Maria was her location. How was she ever going to get up to no good when she knew every man within 50 square miles and there wasn’t one who really fitted the bill? She didn’t want a relationship; she’d had enough of that to last her a long time. And because of the remoteness, she didn’t feel she could hook görükle escort up with someone online, because dates would be hard to arrange and if a likely man were to make the trek out there, there would be an inevitable sort of expectation that it would get physical, probably before she was ready.Maria found her fingers tickling her pubic mound again while she thought about one possible exception to the bleak rule. It was a man who visited every six months or so, trying to interest her in the wine he made in small quantities and against all the odds in some sunny corner of Cheshire. She had taken a dozen bottles off his hands on his third visit because she felt sorry for him and guilty at not helping him out. Why did the guy keep coming back? As she thought about it, her hand crept around to the back, so she was running a finger between her buttocks. She had caught this Billy looking at her bottom, and he hadn’t even flinched when he knew she had noticed.It would be very easy to send him an email, just a routine, businesslike note asking when he was going to be in the area next. So that’s what she did.Billy was quite tickled to get the email from the Spanish woman in the hills. She hadn’t shown any interest in his wine the first couple of times, but on the last trip, she had taken a case of his one and only type, a dry white that he liked to tell people was similar in style to Burgundy. It was made from the Seyval Blanc grape, and he had gradually improved it to the point where customers were saying nice things about it. Maybe this Maria liked it. Maybe she liked him. She was married as far as he knew, but he had only met the husband the first time, and she didn’t talk about him. Anyway, he could do the rounds in Buxton, where there was a nice little hotel that didn’t break the bank and go and see what – if anything – was cooking. She was a friendly woman and in good shape for her age, ten years or so older than him, he guessed. The big, clumsy glasses didn’t do her face any favours, although they might have been okay in the 70s when Deirdre was “Coronation Street’s Miss Sexy Specs”, or so the tabloids dubbed her. Maria wasn’t sexy, though, whatever that meant. Foreign women were always supposed to be more exciting than British ones, with some secret within them that would make them more fun in bed, willing to do things that your own variety wouldn’t, but Maria didn’t have that glint in her eye. The expression that came to mind was “untouched by human hand”, and he wracked his brains for where that came from. Some sort of advert in the 60s, he thought. He would have to look it up. The internet had made all knowledge available to everybody. Theoretically, then, the world was a cleverer place than it had ever been. And sexier, more adventurous, more permissive than ever, because there were so many ideas out there on pornographic videos, ready to enlighten even the most innocent. Even women. You didn’t find women admitting they looked at porn – men didn’t exactly brag about it either, for that matter – but the female of the species was interested in the male, along with other females. But still, heterosexuals were in the majority, he assumed (and hoped), so women must spend at least some time in the privacy of their own homes, looking at penises online, watching women getting fucked and licked and sucking dicks, and being treated in all sorts of kinky ways, not to mention instigating the kinky stuff themselves these days.Billy knew Maria thought he liked the look of her; it was always worth planting that seed, discreetly but clearly, because women didn’t usually make the first move, and the least you should do is let them know you would be interested. In her case, perhaps quite a lot of encouragement would be needed.Maria spoke good English, although like most Spanish speakers she couldn’t stop herself from making the i sound like ee, so to her he was Beelly. Maybe one day he would hear her doing her ee sound when talking about his willy or asking him to go a bit quicker or to suck her clitoris. Well, there was no harm in daydreaming.With nothing much on at the moment, he arranged the trip for the next week, and so it was that he pulled into the crunching gravel drive of the farm shop at 4 PM on the Wednesday. A note on the door said she would be back in five minutes. Probably in the toilet, sitting there with her trousers and knickers around her knees, dabbing at her bits with a sheet of pink tissue paper. Billy leaned against the door frame and waited. She saw him as soon as she came back into the shop from what he presumed was the little loo out the back. She instinctively wiped the back of her right hand on her jumper as she strode to the door.“Beelly!” she said happily. “I thought you was coming this morning.” Billy smiled enigmatically. The time of his arrival was deliberately planned so that they could have a cup of tea, which she always offered him, and then perhaps a glass of wine as the slow country clock ticked towards five. She was visibly pleased to see him, and he had to remind himself that this was a business meeting, a sales opportunity.