When I decided to spend a graduate semester in southern Spain, I knew I was in for an enlightening education. What I didn’t count on was her… or all the things she would teach me.
At a cafe by myself during siesta, I lazily drank rosé, snacked on tapas, and wrote in my journal. When she walked by, I swear the wind shifted. At first, I couldn’t tell if she was a man or a woman. With wide, soulful eyes, full lips offset by an angular jaw, and close-cropped hair swooped up in a classic pompadour, when I saw her only one word came to mind… hermoso. The masculine form of beautiful. She was tall and lean, with an easy swagger that drew me in.
Stopping mere feet from me, she nudged one of her companions for a cigarette. Lifting a match, she glanced up and caught me staring at her. Tossing the match aside without lighting her smoke, she strode over to my table.
“Got a light?”
Her voice was lower than I would’ve thought, and laced with a seductive lilt… British, almost, but not quite.
“I, um… I don’t smoke.”
Up close, her eyes were the palest green, and they sparkled with a curious mischief.
“Filthy habit anyway.” She pocketed the cigarette and gestured to the seat across from me. “May I?”
I nodded, transfixed.
Her friends hollered to her to hurry it up, but she waved them off. With an “I’ll meet you there,” she dismissed them and turned her focus back to me. Her eyes surveyed my face and body in such a way that left me feeling intrigued and vulnerable all at once.
She told me her name, and asked me for mine. When I gave it to her, I instinctively stuck out my hand as well. A bemused smirk crossed her face and I quickly drew my hand back.
“You’re American.”
“I am. And you?”
“Welsh.” She chewed her lip, squinting at me. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
I laughed, and she smiled.
“You sure don’t waste any time.”
“Why bother?”
I don’t know what came over me or why I trusted her so easily, but when I opened my mouth, I found myself saying, “Yes.”
We met at a tapas bar not far from my flat. I’d made a few friends since arriving in Granada, but dating hadn’t even crossed my mind. And this was clearly a date.
With a nervousness I last felt as a teenager - a combination of excitement, insecurity, and anticipation - I’d selected the most Date Night outfit in my limited arsenal: a black dress with a scoop-neck, fitted top that showed off my cleavage, and a kicky little skirt that kept it on the flirty side of sexy. I added black, strappy sandals because flats were a better match for the cobblestone streets, and I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard.
Standing next to her, I got the full sense of her height, and I swooned a little when she casually placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me to a table tucked in the corner. She wore slim-cut pants and a button-down shirt, with simple touches of masculine jewelry. A leather bracelet encircled her wrist, a necklace of what looked like army dog tags dangled over her collarbone, trailing down into the recess of her chest…
I looked up to see her staring at me, watching me study her… the look on her face could only be described as… hungry.
Something told me we were going to skip the small talk.
“Have you ever done this before?”
Which part did she mean… Going out with a woman? A Welshman? On a date in Granada? My confusion must’ve been evident, because her irresistible smirk appeared again.
“Do you already have a dominant?”
I felt my face flush as I examined the tabletop. Definitely skipping the small talk.
“How… how do you know I…?”
She nudged her chin toward the delicate chain around my neck, where two tiny gold handcuffs intersected. Most people assumed they were simply linked circles. I smiled and felt a tingle down my spine. It had been a long time since someone figured out my secret desires, and it had never happened so easily. She persisted in her questioning.
“Is it just decoration?”
“It was a gift, from someone. A long time ago. I haven’t been…”
“Owned?” she offered.
“...for a long time.” I finished.
Our server appeared and my date ordered for both of us, expertly, in flawless Spanish. This was a practiced and skillful seduction, so artful it appeared effortless. I didn’t stand a chance.
When the server left, she turned back to me, not missing a beat.
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes. But it isn’t easy to find someone I can trust so completely.” Why is it so easy for me to talk to her? I didn’t know anything about her.
“I would like to earn your trust. I’d like you to belong to me.”
A thrill went through my body. I couldn’t help it… images of her hands on me filled my mind. Her lips, her tongue… and ropes pressing into my skin… held in place by knots she’d tied…
The server returned with wine, but that didn’t stop her from persisting.
“What do I need to do?”
“For… um…” I glanced nervously at the server, as though somehow the nature of our conversation would be instantly understood. “...for me to trust you?”
She nodded, simple and direct.
Mercifully, the server finished pouring, and my would-be-Master (nothing about her read ‘Mistress’) tasted, approved, and we were alone again. Alone in a crowded restaurant, at least.
“I need to feel safe. I need to know my boundaries will be respected. I need to know we’re in it together, both giving as much as we receive.”
She smiled then, with a reassuring warmth.
“So you really have done this before.”
I smiled and bit my lip. She raised her glass, and I followed suit. She kept her eyes on me as she drank, and the wine hadn’t even hit my lips when I knew I would be hers.
Eva Monroe is a gal’s gal, guy’s gal, gal about town. She has a very active imagination and lots of opinions and frequently writes those things down. From screenplays to news articles to academic essays, Eva loves taking on the challenge of writing in new mediums, and her smut-tastic adventures with Bellesa are some of the most fun she’s ever had. Eva also co-produced two award-winning short films and has an MFA in screenwriting. Eva Monroe is not her real name.