Part 24
Pulitzer and I are so intertwined that as I look in the mirror I see him tipping his béret at me.
Again the display on my phone lights up and reads "Meet me at Casa Gaudí."
I paid for the dried fruit, made my way up the curb and wrangled a taxi. In my excitement I left the dried fruit behind.
Closed my eyes as soon as I had delivered my instructions to the cabbie and sunk my adventure thirsting body into the twenty minute cab ride.
In the darkness of my closed eyes I traced Olivia's body, as if I was going to replicate it.
It was mid afternoon the crowds of hungry conquistadors and tourist alike were feasting al fresco.
Traffic was heavy so I got off near El Corte Ingles and proceeded to stroll up Passeig de Gràcia. The walk would calm my nerves and pump blood in all the right places.
Casa Gaudí as it's commonly called is one of many of master architect Antoni Gaudí creations.
Noticing the shoes I deliberately took time raising my gaze up her thigh.
Crossing the divide between her hidden world and her torso made me aware of her sheer polka dotted blouse and the Chanel bra that hid behind and called every hair on my body to stand in attention.
"Hola Brava" is what my lips and tongue decided to spit out as this chameleon stabbed the sidewalk with her six inch heels.
Her shoulders were bare but for the strings that kept her from a five alarm fire.
In her minuscule words she showed me tickets and gestured for me to walk this way.
Following directions is as adverse as I know how to be but if the devil wears six inch heels and she bids you to comply then you comply.
Took the tickets from her hand asserting myself on the scene. She followed my lack of compromise by holding on to my left had and strutting in step with yours truly.
The cavernous creation of Gaudí can only be experienced first hand any attempt for me to do so is detrimental.
Stuck my six foot three inch Roman like armature in all that Olivia thought a Gaiudí connoisseur should, and then elevator down.
Sidewalk and gin made great friends so I introduced us to them at the nearest bar.
She being the local twig and me being the foreign leaf, she took it upon to instruct and I played silly for her.
The church bell like cubatas filled with ice cemented by a spiral spoon that kept the tonic bubbles from breaking so that the gin would make its presence and the thirsty would drown.
After a few of these drown your brain cells and heart ache concoctions she got a call, I kept on enjoying my drink and purposely gave her space to handle her handle.
I could tell she was quarreling with herself, maybe the liquor or she genuinely wanted to extend my presence into the evening.
She buried her phone in her clutch, raised her burnt wood eyes at me and said "There is a party in Tarragona", I gestured my response and paid.
Tarragona is an hour and some depending on traffic. The cab was small and I crowded her with the might that makes me be.
I grabbed her right knee high enough to position my self for attack, then I filled the void between her legs with the same digits that write this scene.
Piercing a window between moist panties and thirsty lips I sunk a battalion of my digits and put them to work. I stroked a world of passion with wicked intentions for more out of her, bitting her neck and running those bras down to her belly and gorging on her heaving breast.
