by Unknown
Suddenly they stepped backwards and started shuffling a bit, and then a voice came from behind us, rattling away in Spanish in what was most definitely a threatening tone. From our three chums’ reaction I assumed, and hoped, that the menace was directed at them and relaxed.
Turning I saw the kind of guy I’d have been delighted to have been introduced to in any circumstances, but if he was going to save us from assault by three skinny farm workers I was prepared to blind him with my maximum charm. He was tall for a Bolivian, with an aristocratically pale face unusual for someone with such high Indian cheekbones and sculpted lips. His dark eyes flashed fire as he harangued the men and despite the heat he was dressed in smart khaki trousers and a white shirt.
After he’d finished they slunk past us up the path without looking back. I turned to our saviour.
‘Thank you so much,’ I gushed. ‘Muy, muy gracias – habla Inglés?’
He wasn’t looking very happy. ‘Yes, I speak English. But I would suggest that as you don’t appear to be able to communicate with the field workers, your trespass is at best unwise, at worst completely irresponsible. It might be a good idea for you to bear in mind that English girls are seen as –’ his lips took on a disdainful sneer ‘– asking for it.’
I was furious. ‘Well that might be your take on it, señor, but I can assure you that to most people two women who have lost their way are not just easy game for any peasant who happens to be walking along the path. Anyway, she’s French.’
He laughed tightly. ‘In that case, don’t be stupid. Your guidebooks tell you not to go near coca plantations. Don’t they?’
‘So how are we to know?’ I asked innocently.
Not even bothering to answer me, and I don’t blame him because it would have been obvious to anyone, his eyes hardened even more. ‘When you’re in a strange country you must respect the customs of that country as much as its laws. You cannot do just what you like, and go where you want to.’
It was all quite right, but he was really bugging me. In one way I was impressed by his authority but I wasn’t too keen on being treated like a silly little girl.
‘As I said, we simply lost our way. We had no intention of showing any disrespect for anybody. So, thank you for helping us. We’ll be on our way now.’
Ironically he was blocking our path now but in the other direction, back the way we came.
‘I will show you the right path to the river.’
‘It’s not necessary,’ I said stiffly. ‘I think we’ll just go back to our hotel now – OK, Gabi?’
She nodded and he stood aside and let us walk on. However, I was aware that he was following behind us right up to a junction in the path, obviously where we had gone wrong. I swept past it and on to town without a backward glance, but I almost sensed him standing on the track, watching us to make sure we did indeed go back.
‘Well done, Bliss,’ said Gabi forlornly. ‘I wasn’t much use back there, was I?’
I put my arm round her. ‘Doesn’t matter. I suppose he was right, but he didn’t have to be so bloody rude about it.’
‘He was a bit frightening, I thought.’
‘Yeah. But tasty!’
She laughed. ‘You’re terrible. Aren’t I enough for you?’
I kissed her full on the lips. ‘Of course. It’s that bloody Carlos; he’s given me a taste for powerful men.’
‘You might have a taste for them, but I just can’t raise any interest in men at all at the moment.’
I wasn’t surprised, given the fact that her ex-boyfriend had made her into an unpaid and involuntary porn star. Poor Gabi; like too many women she’d been conned by a man playing the role of lover. We went back to the hotel and cooled off in the pool, and then I made her feel as special as I knew how.
Despite the delights of Gabi’s slim body I couldn’t get my mind off the man in the forest. Who was he, the plantation owner? He looked more like someone who would own a proper business, a legal one, rather than be involved in drugs. And what was he doing out there? Picking leaves surely wasn’t something that needed much in the way of supervision.
I shrugged off my suspicions – after all, anything could have happened with the three peasants – and let the memory of his angular face and chiselled lips come between my hands and Gabi’s body, which sent her whimpering over the edge, so he had done us a favour in more ways than one.
Back in La Paz we had a few days of half-hearted sightseeing and full-on fucking while we made our separate travel arrangements. Gabi was going south to reach Chile across the salt plains, while Carlos had recommended that I take the single-carriage train ride across the Andes.
‘I wish you would come with me,’ said Gabi on our last night together. ‘It’s the first time for months I’ve felt really happy.’
Bless. I was tempted to change my plans, but I was afraid she would get to depend on me. And realistically, while I love making love to women, after a while I really start to crave the attentions of men, especially tall blond ones and short dark ones. A pretty hopeless case, I’m afraid.
‘You’ll be right,’ I said, copying one of Red’s expressions. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’ll meet up again, if not in San Pedro then further down the line, and in the meantime you’re bound to hook up with someone else. Just try to stick up for yourself a bit more.’
My train left early in the morning, and Gabi came to see me off. We clung together and kissed passionately as the train pulled in to the platform, creating a bit of a stir among the couples who were to be my travelling companions. As luck would have it my seat was next to a middle-aged Englishman who kept trying to talk to me – oh of course, you want to know what women do to each other! – but I clamped my headphones on and stuck my nose in the George Orwell I’d picked up in the hotel’s book-swap library and only removed it to look out of the window. He gave up and started a conversation with the people behind and I had a peaceful journey.
Unfortunately the other end of the line, Arica, was in close competition with Puno for the least prepossessing place I’d encountered so far in my travels. Food and accommodation were expensive compared with Peru and Bolivia, but I economised by eating hot dogs and booking the night bus south, which would save a night’s lodging. There was little of interest in the town apart from a pretty little cathedral designed by Monsieur Eiffel – I wondered if it would have made Gabi homesick – so I beat a hasty retreat to San Pedro de Atacama.
It’s one thing leaving a girl a note saying see you in San Pedro, but quite another actually meeting up with someone in a strange town, even a one-horse oasis like this. It was like being in a western, the waterhole in the middle of the desert. If Red and Robbie were around I guessed I’d meet them sooner or later. Meanwhile I booked into a guesthouse that had rooms arranged around a central courtyard and got talking to some of the other backpackers who were hanging around it, who included the French Simon and Garfunkel guys I’d met on the Inca Trail and the Swiss couple from Taquile. The great thing about backpacking is you’re almost bound to meet everybody at least twice.
This point was proved when I got back to the guesthouse later that day, having spent the afternoon at the thermal spring swimming pool with two American girls I’d met in the courtyard, to find Carlos sitting outside my door.
Chapter Five
‘How on earth did you know I’d be here?’
I sipped my Tequila Healer. We were in San Pedro’s ritziest cocktail bar, by which I don’t mean anything resembling the Met Bar. It was a bit early for strong liquor but I needed some alcohol in my system to get over the shock of being tracked down when on an impulsive, where-shall-I-go-tomorrow type of trip. Not to mention to calm the seismic shifts my sex muscles were undergoing at the sight of the dark, delectable Carlos in jeans and T-shirt, the fluorescent whiteness of the latter being the only thing distinguishing him from your bog standard traveller. I’d forgotten how seductive that wide, thin-lipped smile was, with just a hint of tongue and tooth showing.
‘You told me where you were planning to go, remember? It’s not hard to work out how long you’re likely to spend in each place. I bet there are people here you’ve met before.’
He had me there.
‘So how did you know which guesthouse I’d be in?’ I demanded suspiciously.
He shrugged. ‘Deduction. Not rock-bottom cheap, but fairly basic, pleasant, courtyard ideal for a girl travelling on her own. Anyway it wouldn’t have taken all day to go round every guesthouse in the town to find you.’
I sat back and shook my head. ‘But you didn’t know I was still on my own. What if I’d picked up some guy and was sharing with him?’ Or a girl, I thought, but I decided to tell him about Gabi another time, probably when we both had most of our clothes off.
His look was opaque and for a second I wondered if he knew about Red, then realised there was no way . . . unless he’d seen me with him at Macchu Picchu.
‘Of course, we almost met up before, but you got in your car and away without seeing me,’ I teased.
‘What are you talking about?’ He stared at me, completely taken aback.
‘At Macchu Picchu,’ I said smugly. ‘I saw you come out of the hotel with some other men in suits and get into a fancy car and drive off.’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘Not me, Bliss. I haven’t been there for . . . oh, months, when I first came down here.’
I didn’t know what to say. Without doubt it had been him. Sure, he could have a double: dark handsome Latin types can be interchangeable, but a double with the same suit, even the same shirt?
‘Carlos, are you sure?’
He laughed loudly and took my hand. ‘Unless someone hit me over the head and I had a bout of temporary amnesia before being returned to normal, I am absolutely sure. Work’s been taking up all my time. This is the first time I’ve left Lima, and I shouldn’t really be here, but I’ve been working twenty-four seven and seeing you was a good excuse for a couple of days off.’
Puzzled? What do you think? It was him all right, so why was he denying it? But as stubborn as I can be, there was no point sitting there all night pantomiming, oh yes you were, oh no I wasn’t, so I dropped the subject and told him about my adventures though, as I’d decided, saving the Gabi detail for a later, private moment.
After dinner we wandered back to the guesthouse hand in hand and I was starting to wonder what restraints Carlos might have brought for me when he confessed he was going to exercise the ultimate restraint and go straight to his own room.
‘I’m sorry, Bliss. After such a hard few weeks and the journey down here I’m completely done in. I don’t want to disappoint you by giving you less than one hundred per cent. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.’
He pressed his lips to mine and then went into his room, leaving me feeling like I was in a reverse fairy tale where the handsome prince had vanished after a kiss. Sue and Donna, the Americans, were sitting with a group of Israeli guys in the courtyard and I joined them briefly but I couldn’t get interested in the conversation. Feeling vaguely depressed I too went to bed.
Red and Robbie hadn’t turned up; Gabi had gone south and Carlos had appeared almost miraculously only to disappear again. I almost wished I’d offered to buy Gabi’s vibrator, but as I was on a promise from Carlos for the next day another night of abstinence would get me nicely ready for an explosive reunion – unless he had any more surprises up his sleeve.
There was no reply from his room when I banged on the door the next morning. Either Carlos was still in a really deep sleep or he’d got up early and gone out. Feeling more than a bit pissed off I went round the corner with Sue and Donna for an extravagant egg breakfast. We got back to the guesthouse having decided to rent bikes for the morning and explore – sod Carlos – only to find him sitting outside talking to Simon and Garfunkel.
‘Oh, hi,’ I said casually. ‘Can’t stop, we’re off to rent bikes for the morning.’
‘Great,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Sorry I didn’t get up when you knocked earlier. I was in such a deep sleep it took me ages to get my head together, and by the time I opened the door you’d gone.’
‘How do you know it was me?’ I challenged grumpily, wishing I hadn’t made the bike arrangement.
He just laughed and put his arm round me. ‘I’ve been talking to the tour guide. We can get on the trip to the Valle de la Luna this afternoon to see the sunset over the sands. How about it?’
‘OK,’ I said grudgingly. ‘Sue and Donna are booked on to that trip as well.’
‘Yeah, we’re going too; it’s supposed to be fantastic,’ enthused Garfunkel, or should I say Marc.
‘So, you go on your bike ride while I book the tour and get some breakfast,’ said Carlos, kissing the tip of my nose.
I felt slightly aggrieved, as though he was calling all the shots, but then he had said he’d been tired so I could hardly blame him for sleeping in. It still seemed bizarre that he’d come all the way from Lima to spend some time with me and we had spent the previous night apart and now were going to have separate mornings too but, hey, I hadn’t even expected to see him for a couple of weeks so I couldn’t complain.
By the time we met up for a quick lunch I was in a better mood. We’d had a few laughs on the bike ride, even though the ancient ruins we’d planned to visit had somehow eluded us, but we weren’t too worried.
The coach trip to the desert was a blast. Marc and Christian took their guitar and turned out to know some other songs, mainly old Dylan stuff, which again thanks to Mum I knew better than most people, and the guide was happy to cut the commentary to the minimum so we could sing along. It was enjoyably naff, though I wasn’t sure exactly what Carlos made of it; I think he was relieved when we got off the bus to tour the old mine workings.
The guide led us through one of the abandoned shafts. He distributed a couple of torches around but unless you were the one holding the torch it was a case of feeling your way along. At first we were able to stand up but soon got to a point where the guide told us we had to go on all fours. There was a delay as people got themselves crouched down to go through the narrow tunnel. Carlos, who was behind me, put his hand on my arse. I was only wearing thin cotton drawstrings and wriggled against him, enjoying the thrill of such intimate contact in a crowd who knew nothing about it.
He moved his hands round to the front and pulled me back against him. He was as hard as I could want and I rubbed against him as his fingers made their way purposefully down to my clit. Suddenly they moved to my tits and started squeezing and mashing . . . until I realised they weren’t the same hands. Carlos’s hands – or so I assumed, though I started to wonder exactly whose hands were whose – were now snaking down inside the loose waist of my trousers and inside my knickers.
Was I going to shout for help? Like hell. Two people were fingering me and, frankly, I wasn’t that fussed who they were. We had been in a fairly close group as we went into the tunnel, me and Carlos, Sue and Donna, Marc and Christian. I was happy to get some finger action from any one of them, especially in the weird darkness of the mine. I even started to wonder if the whole thing was a set-up. After all, someone must have been taking forever to get through the tunnel. As the hands on my tits started teasing and squeezing my nipples, which had quickly hardened, the hands down my knickers started to scoop up my wetness on to my clitoris. Just as I wondered if I could come without knowing who’d made me the person in front turned and got down on all fours to get through the tunnel and I got ready to follow.
Once through we found ourselves in a chamber where the torches cast a dim light and I looked at the people either side of me. Christian was on my left and Donna was on my right. I could have sworn the person behind me, who I thought was Carlos, had come out of the tunnel and moved to my right. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to know that Donna was definitely not the one pressing a cock into my arse so I could draw no conclusions, which merely served to increase my excitement.
The guide moved o
ff with the torch and gradually the other torchlight also started to disappear. I too moved towards the vanishing light only to bump straight into somebody who turned and kissed me hard on the mouth.
That was a man. But was it Carlos? His tongue was insistent and I responded but, even more eerily than before, there was no other contact; my body pressed forward but on to nothing. Abruptly he turned away from me and walked after the others. Following, once again I felt a hand grab my buttocks.
By the time we got out of the tunnel I was dizzy with excitement and desperate for some release. I searched the faces of my friends but no one gave anything away. Yet someone had touched me who wasn’t Carlos. Someone who wasn’t Carlos may have kissed me. But I hadn’t cried out or complained, and couldn’t ask all four of them which one had groped me in the dark. If it had been a set-up by Marc and Christian, Carlos would hardly have been over the moon himself. I kept quiet.
We arrived at the valley, where great sculpted hills of sand rose up from the desert floor. Wrapping up as instructed we climbed to the top of a massive sand dune and sat waiting for the sun to set on the desert. It cast a red glow over the landscape and everyone used up too much film, especially me. The best bit, though, was running and rolling down the dune like five-year-olds. I found myself lying at the bottom in helpless laughter watching Carlos trying to ski down the slope using feet only and slipping and getting sand all over his cashmere sweater.
We were all subdued on the way back. Maybe because it was getting dark; maybe because it had been so beautiful, or maybe because we had exhausted ourselves by running down the sand or even just by trying to keep warm.
Back at the guesthouse Carlos held my hand and took me along to the end of the courtyard where his room was. As soon as he closed the door I burst out, ‘Who was it?’
He raised one eyebrow elegantly. ‘Who was what?’
‘You know. Groping me. Kissing me.’
He shook his head, an amused look on his face. ‘Not me. Tell me what happened.’