Hi again, readers! Hope you enjoy this juicy little bit...thanks for your great comments on my other stories...
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I was walking through the streets of the little Central American town, headed to one of its many markets. Founded by the Spanish over 500 years ago, it's nestled in a ring of mostly-dormant volcanoes. You can still see the occasional plume of steam and smoke escaping the crest of one or the other of them.
I stepped across the median of the bustling street, cars, motorcycles, buses, mopeds, and other pedestrians crowding together on all sides. The main market was ahead of me, and I looked forward to wanderings its confines. I was washed in a sea of sights, sounds, and smells. There were seemingly endless rows of stalls, hawking endless varieties of goods. Here, (probably) illegally copied movies and CD's, over there, soccer jerseys, down the way, a variety of shoes, and across from that, used parts for cars and motorcycles. There were people of all descriptions -- black, white, red. This is a favorite destination of European visitors, and I can see -- and hear -- Germans, Brits, French, as well as other nationalities I didn't readily recognize. There are those of Spanish descent, or Castilianos, as they are known, as well as the darker skinned mestisos, and still-darker native descendants. All in a hodge-podge of colors, textiles, and textures. I smelled chicken grilling in an open-air cookshop, ripe fruit hanging at every turn, diesel and oil fumes, sweet perfumes, roasting coffee grown on the adjoining volcanic hillsides, the pungent odor of unwashed humanity. It was a paradise of old and new -- forgotten and yet undiscovered. And did I mention some of the most beautiful women anywhere? THAT was just an added bonus to my travels.
It was Friday, my first day in this town, and toward late afternoon, I begun noticing even more people on the streets and sidewalks, if that were possible. People were getting out of work, and I also noticed a peculiar addition to the burgeoning population of pedestrians. There began to be uniforms everywhere -- specifically, girls in uniforms everywhere. Were they schoolgirls? I didn't think so...they appeared to be in their late teens and early twenties. I was intrigued, and definitely titillated. The majority of the uniforms were a combination of short plaid skirts in the school's colors, a dark blazer over a white blouse, and to top it off, knee high stockings and heels. Almost invariably, heels. 'N-i-i-i-i-c-e,' I thought to myself.
I continued to shop for a while, enjoying the sights and sounds, but then decided to head over toward the Parque Central, the town's huge public square. The area was over 100 yards on each side, and in the center a gigantic fountain and attendant sculptures spouting water. I stood near the fountain, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. Along one side was a long arcade, people crowding in a long queue to put their paychecks in the bank. I was told this was an every-Friday occurrence. Along another side was a massive palace-like structure, complete with stone pillars, loads of sculpture and ornamentation, and armed guards along its facade. Opposite this was a string of small shops, restaurants, cafe tables, and bars. But what struck me most was the people. It was a people-watching paradise.
I decided to take a seat on one of the many benches, at the opposite end from an older gentleman, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. He smiled at me genially and nodded. After a while of drinking in the sights, I decided to strike up a conversation with my neighbor. He introduced himself as Francisco. He said he like to come here in the afternoons while his wife shopped in the markets. The two of us sat and watched, as children played in the fountain, or chased each other playing tag. There were people of all ages; mothers walking with their children, homeless begging for spare change, others returning home from work, or most people, like me, just enjoying the fading light of evening.
"Francisco, what is the reason for the uniforms the girls all wear?" I asked my new friend.
"These are girls from the secretarial and business schools," he replied. "Beautiful, si?"
"Si," I nodded emphatically.
As we continued to watch, a pair of these girls approached from our right, on one of the pathways traversing the park. One was tall, approaching six feet, with long, slender legs, and the lighter hair characteristic of the Castilianos. Over her shoulder, she had slung a bright pink Hello Kitty backpack. She had a natural beauty, and appeared only to wear a little eye makeup and lipstick. Her companion, dressed identically, was maybe a foot shorter, slightly darker complexion, and noticeably stockier, although still very attractive. She appeared more thick-waisted, with more athletic, muscular legs than her tall friend. All in all, a very sexy pair. I received nothing more than a quick glance from both girls as they made their way in front of us, and off to our left.
About 10 minutes later, as Francisco and I were talking about the history of the town, the same two girls -- I saw the backpack -- walked toward us again. This time, they eyeballed me a little longer, so I nodded. At this, the two girls leaned in to each other giggling as they walked past. Francisco rattled off something unintelligible to the pair, and the tall one glanced over her shoulder, sticking out her tongue at Francisco, and then gave him the sweetest, most devilish grin I've ever seen as they continued on away from us.
