Insatiable

by Val

  I hung up, then rushed to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. I took a jacket from the wardrobe and suddenly decided to light a cigarette. While I was sitting on the sofa smoking – I had to be patient, because I hate arriving first – I started imagining Victor’s prick. What did it smell of? How did Victor like to make love? I thought back to our encounters. Got it! He usually preferred the missionary position. Well anyway, I doubted whether I’d get the chance to find out right now.

  I finished the cigarette and decided to go downstairs. I had waited long enough. When I reached the lobby, I looked all round to see if he had arrived.

  All of a sudden, a hand grabbed me by the waist, and prevented me from turning to see who it was. Then he wrapped his arms round me. We stayed in our passionate embrace for several minutes, despite the looks and giggles of the receptionists, who didn’t know where to put themselves. Afterwards, Victor took my chin in his hand, lifted my face, and gave me a kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘I’m so happy to see you! I thought you were in some far-off country, signing contracts. Are you still working for that same firm?’

  ‘Yes, but there’ve been big changes in the group, so I don’t know what the future holds. Whatever happens, in the next six months I’ve got two trips I can’t get out of. Next week I have to go to France for a few days to see my grandmother. Then I go to Peru and Mexico. I don’t want to get involved in all these internal restructuring problems. I’m off, and we’ll see what happens when I get back.’

  ‘What brings you to Madrid? Work?’

  ‘Not really. I came for a few days to accompany a friend, a newspaper editor. He’s here to cover a meeting of diplomats.’

  I could tell my explanation didn’t really convince him.

  ‘There must be something more to it than that. Go on, tell me the truth!’

  I carried on explaining.

  ‘Well, what I didn’t say was that this gentleman is a friend who has squatter’s rights. But that’s no surprise to you, is it?’

  ‘That’s my Val! Yes! That’s what I like . . . Tell me all about it. You’re the only person in the world I can talk to about these things without worrying about any taboos or prejudices. What’s it like with him?’

  I could see I had aroused his curiosity. Deep down Victor had always been rather repressed; someone who could only let himself go when we were together.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you any details. All I’ll say is we get on fine, but it could be better.’

  ‘Better? How? Come on, I’ll buy you a drink in the bar and you can tell me everything,’ he said, obviously angling to hear all about my relationship with Hassan.

  But I didn’t tell him a thing. I’ve never liked to boast about my affairs. Especially when someone like Hassan is involved. You never know. I’ve told other people about some of the strangers I’ve met, but never about Hassan.

  We said goodbye after two hours, most of which I managed to spend getting him to tell me what was going on in his life.

  When I got back to my room, I was surprised to find Hassan already in the bathroom.

  ‘What are you doing here so soon?’ I asked him.

  Obviously irritated, he replied with another question.

  ‘Where did you get to?’

  That night we didn’t make love. Hassan said he was tired, but I knew it was his way of punishing me for having given my attention to someone or something other than him.

  27th March 1997

  Hassan left the hotel early this morning. There was a press conference at Zarzuela Palace, and while he was dressing he went over the questions he had written on a piece of recycled paper. I meanwhile was mentally planning what to do with my day. I had no desire to go shopping or to the Prado museum. In the end, I had four sexual encounters. Two in the morning, two in the afternoon: a perfect balance.

  The first was in the metro. With the excuse that the compartment was full, a man touched my backside. We got off at the next station and I greedily set to work on his throbbing prick in an instant-photo booth.

  The second was around one o’clock in the afternoon, after I’d had a bite to eat. I was finishing my roll in Retiro Park, near the Palacio de Cristal, standing behind a tree with squirrels playing all around me – they looked just like hairy, shrivelled human beings – when a man came up and asked if I’d make love with him if he paid me. I refused the money, but agreed to give him pleasure. I couldn’t give a damn about money. I’m too curious a person to accept that kind of deal. Besides I reckon I’m priceless. We didn’t have much physical contact while we were doing it, because although I warmed to my task, I was always aware of the other people in the park. I didn’t want to be taken away by two cops to a police station.

  I had agreed to see Victor again later that afternoon. He came straight up to my room. I knew Hassan wouldn’t be back till late, so I allowed myself a few hours with an old friend. We talked about the times we had enjoyed in the Dominican Republic, then all of a sudden Victor took me in his arms. Our bodies came together in a lengthy kiss, full of promise for what was to follow. I took off his shirt, revealing his manly chest covered in a dense forest of hair. His skin was red-hot with desire. He removed my blouse and started to stroke my breasts, held in a bra designed to lift and compress the poor little things so they don’t look so forlorn. His hands moved round and round. Then he gently laid me back on the bed, holding my head in one hand so I would not bang it against the board. He started kissing my legs with his slightly moist lips, and the silent room was filled with the tiny noises his avid mouth made on my skin. By the time his mouth was licking all round my sex, I could scarcely contain myself. We made love, and came together. We soon wanted more, and this time I took the initiative. I knew he would like what I was doing, and he didn’t need much persuasion.

  By the time Hassan returned, I was stretched out on the bed watching television. He didn’t seem to suspect a thing, but he was in the same bad mood as the previous evening. He told me he had to return to Morocco the next morning, and that we would say goodbye in the airport.

  My Encounter With Cristian

  28th March 1997

  FIRST THING IN the morning we were at Barajas airport. Hassan said goodbye in a quick, cold fashion – he doesn’t like public displays of emotion. That’s the way he is. I have no idea when I’ll see him again. I didn’t ask him, either. Then I caught the shuttle plane to Barcelona, where I had a heavy day in front of me. In the evening I had a date with a bank manager, to whom I had once given my personal telephone number on my business card. Now he was inviting me to dinner. I never expected him to call me, but he did. So I had to make sure I looked my best.

  After work I began the ritual I go through whenever I have a date. I started with a shower, using my Crabtree and Evelyn sandalwood gel, perfect for this kind of occasion. I love the smell, because they say it’s an aphrodisiac. Its slightly woody perfume intoxicates me, and I want it to do the same to my skin. I poured it onto my hand, rubbed it all over my feet and legs, then my whole body. While the lotion was drying, I had a quick cigarette. Then I dried myself, and put on the same perfumed body lotion.

  As I was putting on my evening clothes – an emerald green dress with see-through stockings and high-heeled shoes – I was thinking of moments like these before a new encounter, when you are so full of expectation and desire. They really are the best. That’s why tonight I had no intention of surrendering easily. I wanted the feeling to last. First, I thought, we’ll go out to eat. During the meal, I’ll arouse him: I’ll hand him my panties and stockings as a foretaste of what’s to come. I want him to imagine every inch of my body with nothing in the way. I want him to smell my desire. That’s what I’ll do: I’ll hand him my underwear. Then while he’s chewing on his peppered steak he can imagine what my sex smells like.

  I put on a little make-up, but not too much. I don’t want eyeshadow running down my cheeks at our first contact. That’s enough to make anyone look like a cheap whore. A little gloss on
my lips. Some rouge on my cheeks. A soft white line on the inside of my eyes. That’s enough.

  The doorbell rang at the agreed time and when I went down I found myself facing a really attractive man. It’s strange, but he wasn’t how I remembered him. He was wearing a navy blue silk tie with subtle flecks of purple. His classic-cut suit was also navy blue, and his white shirt gave him an irresistibly elegant touch. The shine on his shoes told me he must have just cleaned them, and that he put a lot of effort into whatever he considered important.

  Cristian had a smile like a 1950s movie star, with two tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth. The first time I met him I could tell he was a very sensitive sort. He was bound to be a good lover.

  And yet last night, absolutely nothing happened between us. Despite the fact that we didn’t have much to say to each other, I didn’t dare carry out the plan I had dreamt up to fill the silence. There was no stealthy passing of stockings under the table, no titillation from me. But when he asked if he could see me again, I said yes, breaking one of my golden rules.

  Night of 29th March 1997

  I’ve come to visit an Italian friend, Franco, and his family, in the countryside. I found it easy to fall asleep, partly because the pure country air exhausted me. I had a strange dream; what most stuck in my memory was the way my image changed. I had dark black hair like a Japanese woman, cut short just above my shoulders with a fringe almost down to my eyes. It was a wig. I was horrified to see myself like that, because it was an image I had been forced to adopt. But it was perfect for the kind of work I had to do. I remember I was in a sort of convent with lots of other girls. At night we would go up to the first floor to work, where there was a geisha house.

  I woke up in a sweat, and lit a perfumed candle to help me relax. I breathed in the scent and lay on my back on the bed, with my arms stretched out. I felt as if I were flying through the air. It may sound strange, but I saw my soul rise from my body and fly. All of a sudden I felt someone (a man, I think) grabbing me by the arms and pulling, so that I would take him with me. I was trying to get him off, but I could not move properly. When he realized he could not hold me back, he fell on top of me. He was wearing a dark tunic, and to stop him penetrating me, I switched the light on and lit a cigarette. I had a feeling I was not alone in the room. I was terrified.

  My friend Sonia gave me her interpretation of the dream. According to her, the man in the black tunic represented all my phobias and negative energies, and it was a good sign that I had managed to free myself from him.

  ‘It’s the announcement of a new stage in your life,’ she told me, proud to be a clairvoyant for a day.

  30th March 1997

  At last I’ve come to France for a few days with my beloved granny. When she finally released me from all her hugs and sloppy kisses on both cheeks, I went up to the bedroom she had carefully prepared for me, to unpack. We had supper quietly together, then I went out for a stroll round the village. It had rained a lot the previous day, and now the air smelled really fresh. I decided to visit the cemetery. It’s a very special place for me, particularly when it is all dark and silent. I needed to think things over. As soon as I arrived, the smell of the earth started to tickle my nose, as though all the corpses had fled it with their flesh and bones and given it a unique character. I was immediately drawn to a huge, beautiful marble tombstone. I could not help going over to it and caressing the cold marble. It was a very strange feeling, but it brought me a sense of comfort and peace. And I suddenly thought how perfect it would be to defy death by bringing this place to life – in other words, by making love here among the tombs.

  The sound of twigs snapping or of someone treading on leaves brought me out of my reverie. It might have been just my imagination playing one of its tricks, so I decided to stay quite still, until all at once I saw a light in the distance. I was frightened, but also extremely curious, so I walked towards the glow, as it grew bigger and bigger like a moon fallen from the sky. It seemed to be torchlight. Realizing I was not alone made me start to tremble, and I could feel the palms of my hands becoming moist, either through fear or excitement. Then I heard voices. I could see the outline of two men, and soon saw they were digging in the middle of the cemetery. One of them spotted me.

  ‘Is there someone there?’

  I went closer and stood in the light from their torch.

  ‘I’m sorry, I heard noises and came to find out what they were.’

  ‘This is no time to be visiting a cemetery, miss,’ one of them said, waving the torch at me. ‘Aren’t you superstitious?’

  ‘Why should I be? I don’t believe in the living dead, if that’s what you mean.’

  Both of them laughed.

  ‘We’re digging the hole this late because there’s a burial early tomorrow,’ the other man explained.

  Even from where I was standing I could see the bulge in his trousers. He saw me staring at him and said, ‘Human nature can never stay still, even in places like this.’

  He was looking me up and down, and as my eyes got used to the darkness I could see his expression change, though I couldn’t make out his face very clearly.

  I was wearing a long black skirt with a tight-fitting short-sleeved top of the same colour, and a pair of sandals. All of this was quite thin material, and I could feel the cool night breeze on my body. My nipples began to harden, and I could sense my breathing accelerate more and more. It was so silent in the cemetery I was sure the two men could hear it too, and even see my taut breasts beneath my clothing.

  Then one of the men came up to me and started stroking my hair. He ran his hand over my face, and pushed two fingers into my mouth.

  ‘Suck them!’ he whispered.

  I did as I was told. The other man had moved behind me, and started fondling my backside, his hands muddy from the wet earth. He lifted up my skirt and pulled off my panties, raising them to his face to sniff them.

  ‘You smell of life all right, sweetheart!’ he said hoarsely.

  He bent down to pick up a clod of earth they had been digging, and started rubbing it hard into my buttocks. I was still sucking his companion’s fingers, licking between them. His workman’s hands had a strange tang to them: rough and salty.

  The other one took down his trousers, seized his prick in his right hand and started to masturbate, shining the light of the torch on my backside.

  ‘You’ve got an arse to die for, sweetheart!’

  Even though I could not see his face, I could sense how frantically he was pleasuring himself, and felt all the more aroused. Then the two of them tied my hands with a piece of rope and one of them pushed me roughly to the ground, right next to the hole they had been digging for the next day’s burial. My head was hanging over the side and I was looking directly into the bottom of the grave. I knew one of them had finished when an enormous hot jet spread over my stomach. The other man shone the torch right in my face, as if they were interrogating me.

  ‘I bet you like it!’

  All at once he seized my head and stuck his prick in my mouth. My wet, warm saliva made him come almost at once, spraying my palate and gums. I passed out.

  I don’t know how many minutes or hours passed. When I got up, my whole body was aching. Was it all a dream? I was completely alone, covered in mud from head to toe. Apart from that, there were no traces of what had happened, and no sign of any rope. I decided to go home.

  31st March 1997

  I spent the whole day thinking about what happened yesterday, while Granny sat knitting and occasionally glancing over at me, intrigued by how serious I looked, sitting there writing this diary. I was in a small armchair which is protected by a blanket because Bigudi the cat loves to get up on it and clean herself. Bigudi was in front of me, looking at me suspiciously because I had taken her favourite place. I picked her up, kissed her on the head and stroked her fur so that she would start purring: my favourite tune, so full of pleasure and satisfaction. I closed my diary to offer her room on my lap, b
ut she preferred just to sit there stubbornly, watching me.

  ‘It’s going to rain again today,’ I said to Granny, watching the cat clean herself behind the ears.

  ‘That’s good for the garden,’ she replied, with a slight smile that hung around her lips.

  Granny is always smiling. She’s a wonderful woman who’s almost six feet tall. During the Second World War she joined the French Resistance, walking through woods carrying secret messages in her baby’s pram. I admire her for that.

  I watched her intently as she crossed the wool from side to side. I have never known Granny with any other expression on her face than the one she has now. It’s as if she had suffered from amnesia all her life, or as if I had lost my memory.

  ‘Granny, did you have any lovers before Granddad?’

  My question did not seem to surprise her. She answered me calmly without raising her eyes from her knitting.

  ‘Your grandfather was the only man in my life. I married him because that was the thing to do in those days. But I learnt to love him. You have to bear in mind what they said in a film once: a woman without qualifications has only two options, either marriage or prostitution, and they come down to the same thing, don’t they? I’ve never made love with another man, if that’s what you mean, not even before I met your grandfather.’

  ‘And if you could start all over again, what would you do?’

  ‘Why, make love to as many men as I could, child,’ she replied with a laugh.

  So now I know where my liberal-minded character comes from. I got up and kissed her on both cheeks to thank her for her sincerity and the trust she had shown me.

  ‘Ah! And you have my permission to write and tell me all the details about your lovemaking, sweetheart,’ she said.

  ‘I promise I will.’