The afternoon terrace

The afternoon terrace

The heat of the first Saturday of June stuck to his skin like a glove. Javier Torres, fifty-two years old, dried his back of the head with the robe sleeve and looked at the roof-top horizon in front of him. Three months ago the one that had been his home had become two. Now he slept alone, drank alone and walked on Sundays through the park alone. That clear stone terrace was the only thing he kept for himself.

He chose a stool next to the balustrade and opened a book. He had barely read three lines when he heard the metallic tinkling of a piece of furniture dragging across the middle. A female voice dropped a brief whisper: “Shit”. Javier closed the volume. Through the bamboo plant he could see a silhouette that was leaning: thin arms, brown hair collected, a white T-shirt that was sticking to his back.

"Excuse me," she said, discovering the presence. "I didn't know anyone was there.

Javier got up and leaned on the railing. She looked across, surprised. He seemed to be about ten years younger than him, although the sunset light took away precision from the count.

“Relax. This terrace is very treacherous; you hear it even the breaths.

The neighbor smiled shyly and pointed a wooden box against her wall.

"I was trying to set up a clothesline. The ropes hook themselves.

• Let go of me.

She went down two steps and jumped the separation without waiting for permission. When she reached the other side, she took a step back and stared at him from top to bottom with friendly curiosity.

"Nuria," he said, offering his hand. "I just moved.

—Javier. Retired architect from the emergency room.

They laughed. The clothesline was simple: two posts, four ropes, a twisted pulley. With two movements it remained firm. Nuria watched him work and when he finished he pointed the hammock hanging to the other end.

• Do you have time for a thank-you beer?

She accepted. She went inside and came back with two cold bottles. They sat in the hammock. The fabric creaked under the weight of both. The elbows crashed. Nuria laughed again, a low, adult laugh.

“Sorry for the proximity. The apartment is small and there is still no furniture.

"I prefer spaces that have not been filled," he replied.

They chatted for a while. Nuria was a family lawyer, she had just separated herself, and she had chosen that neighborhood by the light of the evening. Javier told her that she was now devoting her afternoons to drawing plans that no one asked her for. The shadow of the sheath lengthened to cover their knees. Beer tasted like barley and salt. Nuria crossed his legs and bare foot brushed his calf. Neither of them withdrew his leg.

"Would you like to see the apartment?" she asked without haste.

He accepted. Inside everything was about to be released: stacked boxes, an inflatable mattress on the floor, a standing lamp without a screen. Nuria left the bottles empty on the countertop and turned. The shirt was glued to him in two wet areas between the shoulder blades.

• I need a cold shower.

Javier nodded. She did not close the bathroom door. The sound of the water ran soft and steady. It happened a minute. Javier leaned on the frame. From there he could see the diffuse silhouette through the grinding glass: wide hips, tight waist, the movement of his hands soaping his shoulders. He felt that his breathing had become deeper. When Nuria turned off the tap, the voice came from within.

• There's towels in the basket. Do you mind passing one?

The steam went up into curtains. Nuria was on her back, her wet hair falling on the shiny skin of the shoulder blades. She extended her arm without turning at all. Javier put the towel in her hand. She didn’t take it immediately. Both of their fingers were tied for a second longer than necessary. Nuria’s pulse was beating against the yolk of her thumb.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

He did not let go of the towel. She threw soft, but he kept the tension. Then Nuria turned. The water slipped between her breasts, lowered her through her belly, disappeared between her thighs. Javier looked her in the eyes. She did not turn her eyes away.

"I have thought," she began, "that we are both at a time when we do not want complications.

Javier nodded. “The consent was explicit and simple. He left the towel on the edge of the sink and put his hand close to Nuria’s hip. She took a step and pressed against him. Javier’s bathrobe opened to contact. He felt the damp heat of her body against his skin. Nuria’s lips rubbed his neck.

They kissed slowly, tasting the taste of the other, the freshness of the water, the slight beer flavor that was left on the tongue. Javier’s hands climbed up Nuria’s back and got lost in wet hair. She untied the bathrobe’s knot, pulled it aside and dropped it to the ground. They were naked in front of the foggy mirror.

Nuria pulled back and leaned her buttocks against the sink. Javier lowered his head and swung his clavicle with his mouth, then his left nipple. Nuria sighed, a serious sound, and tangled his fingers in his hair. He bit softly, then sucked. Nipples hardened against his tongue. With his free hand he caressed the inside of Nuria’s thighs, ascended, found the humid heat that was no longer just from the shower. She opened her legs. Javier introduced two fingers and curved them slowly. Nuria threw her head back and uttered a long groan.

"More," he whispered.

Javier knelt down. He kissed her in the belly, went down to the Mount of Venus. When the tongue found the clitoris, Nuria let loose a short gasp and leaned a hand on the wall. He licked with constant rhythm, alternating circles and pressures. Nuria moved against his mouth. Orgasm came quickly, with tremors that ran through his thighs. Javier waited for the spasm to come down and joined. Nuria kissed him with tongue, savoring herself.

"I want him inside," she said.

He took him to the inflatable mattress. He lay on his back, spread his legs and received him with his hands on his buttocks. Javier placed himself between them. The penetration was soft, deep, paused. Nuria wrapped him in heat. He began to move with long ramblings, withdrawing almost completely before going back in. Every time he reached the bottom, she let go of a sigh that was stuck in his neck. Nuria crossed his ankles in his back and squeezed him further inside.

The rhythm went up. Javier leaned his palms on the floor, his arms tense, and he rammed with contained force. Nuria clenched his nails on his shoulders. She’s second orgasm came with a choked scream against his neck. Javier felt the interior shrinking around him and could no longer hold back. He ran with a low grunt, buried to the bottom, his hips shaking.

They remained still, their breathing was agitated, their sweat was mixing with the water that was still slipping to them. Javier withdrew carefully. Nuria lured him back into his mouth and kissed him slowly, without haste to finish the moment.

Half an hour later, already dressed, they returned to the terrace. The city was starting to light lights. Nuria leaned back against the balustrade and looked at Javier.

"Tomorrow at the same time?" he asked.

Javier smiled.

• I'll bring the wine.