“Yes, it definitely has an air of mystery to it. It’s because of the gothic and baroque architecture, I suppose, and because there are so many places of worship here. The Easter processions are spectacular.”
“I’d love to experience that.” Lisa wandered into one of the dozens of courtyards they passed to admire the plants that were lit up from underneath, creating a shadow theatre on the walls of the white buildings. “I hear music. Is that where we’re heading?”
“Yes, it’s this way.” Stella turned into another narrow alleyway that brought them onto a small plaza where locals were perched on the edge of a fountain, watching a woman in a long, red gypsy dress and a matching shawl with ruffles, dance and clap in the dimly lit square. The ruffled tail on her skirt moved gracefully around her, swaying with every turn. The sound of guitar music echoed off the tall walls surrounding them. High-pitched, sharp, percussive and painfully dramatic, it always pulled at her heartstrings. Sitting on a folding chair with his legs crossed, the guitarist picked at the strings and simultaneously tapped the instrument, the rhythm powerful, the music improvised. An old woman sitting beside him was singing, leading the performance with her hoarse and powerful voice.
“Oh my…” Lisa stopped in her stride and stared.
“They’ve played and danced for change here every night for as long as I can remember. Her grandmother and mother used to dance here, and now she’s taken over the family tradition. The guitarist is her father, and the singer is her aunt,” Stella whispered, pleased to see how much the performance affected Lisa as she led them to a free spot under a tree. “Do you mind sitting on the ground?”
“No, of course not.” Lisa sat and leaned back against the trunk, and Stella beckoned her to wait while she walked to the hole in the wall that served tiny glasses of beer.
“There’s no need to book some silly expensive touristy flamenco show in an air-conditioned building while you can sit out here where nothing is orchestrated,” Stella said as she handed her a drink. “Here, it comes from deep within, it’s passion in its purest form.”
“It’s truly beautiful. So intense.” Lisa’s gaze followed the dancer, her hand, leg and body movements intricate and her footwork percussive.
“It’s a state of mind, an expression that connects with the audience on an emotional level.” Stella put an arm around her, and Lisa sank against her, resting her cheek on her shoulder. She was glowing, intensely happy to be here and experiencing her favourite art form with the woman she was madly in love with. There wasn’t a more romantic place in the world than here, on this plaza, a secret place that was hidden so deep in the labyrinth of the city that tourists rarely found it. This was her Seville and although she sometimes missed living here, it also meant that she appreciated it more than ever now. Lisa was looking gorgeous in her yellow summer dress, her skin damp and her cheeks rosy from the heat.
“I totally get your passion for flamenco now,” she said, turning to her. “I wish I could understand the lyrics. I can pick up a few things, but the accent is so different to what I’ve heard in the past months.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Stella felt an urge to kiss her, but it was a little crowded for that here. “The songs are always sung in a very strong Andalusian accent, it’s hard for outsiders to understand.”
“It doesn’t matter, I feel it right to my bones.” Lisa snuggled closer to her and watched the performance, occasionally tapping her feet along. It was hard not to, Stella was tapping her thigh herself, the rhythm so entwined with her being. The members of the audience—even some of the regulars she recognised—were transfixed on the trio as if they were experiencing flamenco for the first time.
“Thank you,” Lisa said when the song was over, and the dancer stepped away to take a break. “For letting me come along. This whole trip has been an amazing experience and I loved meeting your parents. They’re so nice.”
“They like you too. Honestly, you have no idea; they wouldn’t stop gushing about you while you went to the bathroom and said you were always welcome, with or without me.”
“Even without you?” Lisa laughed. “That’s a good sign. So… it could have been worse.”
“Yes. It definitely could have been worse.” Stella lowered her gaze to Lisa’s lips, the pull of longing stirring potently in her core. “You must be tired; we were up early and it’s been a long day.”
“If with that you’re suggesting we sample that single bed of yours, then I’m all for being horizontal.” Lisa shot her a flirty look. “But I hope you have a lock on the door because it’s warm and I intend to sleep naked.”
55
After a long day, nothing felt better than a cold shower followed by the privacy of Stella’s small bedroom, even though it was small and warm and the bed creaked. Lisa was still on cloud nine from their romantic evening and felt lucky to be here, where she had the opportunity to get to know Stella on a deeper level. The window was wide open and the noisy fan on full blast was facing the bed, only redistributing the warm air. She had the impression nothing had been changed here in decades and was fascinated as she sat on top of the covers and looked around, studying the evidence of Stella’s teenage years. The poster of Pamela Anderson made her laugh, and so did several centrefold pages, some only hanging on one corner, stuck to the wall with duct tape. There was an ancient CD player on a messy desk, CDs piled high next to it, and an old leather studded jacket was draped over the back of the office chair behind it. On a pinboard above the bed were pictures of Stella with friends on nights out, and she looked adorable in her failed attempt to look cool with a mohawk. Lisa found it hard to imagine Stella as a punk chick, then remembered she’d gone through a goth phase herself. Her mother had hated her heavy black eyeliner and her dyed hair, and it had taken her years to grow out her natural colour again.
“Pamela? Really?” she said when Stella walked in with a towel wrapped around her breasts.
Stella shrugged. “I was young, and I’ve always been a sucker for blondes.” She reached out to caress Lisa’s wet locks and grinned. “If my teenage self had known I’d have you in my bed one day…”
“And is that what you used to wear while you were hitting on girls?” Lisa pointed to the jacket with a smirk.
“Hey, don’t make fun of my jacket. I happen to look really cute in it.” Stella dropped her towel to the floor and put it on, her naked body on full display under the soft, black leather as she held it open and spun around.
“You’re right; it’s kind of sexy but I especially like what’s underneath it.”
“Yeah?” Stella sat down on the edge of the bed and cupped her neck, then pulled her in for a kiss.
Lisa closed her eyes and welcomed her. After hours of behaving themselves, she was more than ready for some alone time. “Then let me be your Pammie for the night,” she mumbled against her mouth, parting her lips to let her in. She removed her own towel and heat flared inside her, the ache between her thighs growing as Stella pushed her back and draped herself on top of her.
“I’m not going to say no to that,” she whispered, moving down to her breasts. “But you have to be very, very quiet.”
“I can do th—” Lisa slammed a hand in front of her mouth when Stella sucked on her nipple, stifling a loud moan.
“Shh… My parents are right next door.” Stella looked up and shot her an amused glance, then continued to feast on her while her hand disappeared between her thighs. “God, I love your body. You’re so, so much sexier than Pam—”
Lisa muffled her words by pulling her tightly against her breast, bucking her hips in delight. Being in Stella’s old bedroom was especially arousing for some reason, and she felt sixteen again herself. “Have you had lots of girls in this room?” she asked, keeping her voice down.
