It was a warm August afternoon, and Scarlet was sitting outside her favourite café, looking out over the Balearic Sea. The hot sun had baked her on her hike up the mountain to her favourite lookout spot, so she was now seeking some shade from the intense heat. Feeling the cooler air from the sea blowing around her legs and up her long flowing skirt was refreshing, she felt the cool soda in her hand quenching her thirst and helping to cool her down from the long hike. Her feet were hot; the walking boots and thick socks were probably not the best to wear on such hot days, but the terrain required something more study than a casual pair of shoes.
She sat with her current book, idly reading a few pages of the latest romantic novel that she liked to read. Her sex life was non-existent at the moment, fraternising with clients was strictly prohibited, and relationships among the staff were also frowned upon. The romance of the novels she read only increased her arousal levels, which she would occasionally tame with her finger when alone in her room.
The café's tranquillity was only disturbed by the occasional vehicle on a nearby road, which only locals would use as it didn't lead anywhere in particular. The occasional tourists walking along the well-trodden path also brought some distraction.
The waitress, another young girl like herself, brought her another ice-cold soda, and Scarlet thanked her and drank more of the chilled liquid.
The summer days were long and hot. She was working the summer as a tour guide at one of the popular hotels in the town. Most days saw her on various coach trips, escorting groups of tourists and dealing with their problems and questions. The pay was low and didn't cover the hassle and rudeness of some clients, but the accommodation and food were included, so her outgoings were pretty much non-existent. Today was one of her rest days, so she took advantage of getting away from everyone and the busy town.
Two young males, probably in their mid-twenties, appeared on the path; they saw the Café and, like her, took advantage of the shade and some refreshment as they sat a few yards in front of her. Scarlet studied them, her gaze hidden behind her sunglasses. They were tanned, well-built, and spoke with a Portuguese accent. She compared them to one of the characters in the novel she was reading; he was tall, dark and handsome, and the married female lead tried her best to resist his charm but failed miserably.
She continued her book, occasionally looking over at the guys, though they didn't once look at her. She imagined herself being the female lead from her book, having a romantic encounter with Juan, the name she had just given the guy in the tight white t-shirt sitting a few yards away from her. She felt her pulse quickening, her arousal increasing as she imagined laying back on his hotel bed, Juan moving above her, his hard cock in her hand and guiding him between her legs and into her aroused vagina.
She felt a tingle between her legs and knew she would relive this fictional encounter in her room later and bring some relief to her neglected body. Her thoughts and tranquillity were disturbed as the guys stood and paid the waitress, then walked off down the path and into the distance, never to be seen again. She sighed and closed her eyes, saving a mental image of them for use later tonight.
After an hour and a few more chapters of raw sex between the characters, she was thinking of leaving and wondering whether to head back to town or continue down the path. Her heightened level of arousal was leading her towards going back to the solitude of her hotel room and replaying her Juan fantasy while on her bed or in a cool, refreshing shower, adding him to scenes in her book.
She heard a motorcycle coming along the road, the loud noise eventually peaking and stopping outside the café. She heard voices getting louder, and a black, well-built guy dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt walked around the corner carrying his crash helmet. He was followed by the waitress. From their conversation, she gathered they knew each other as she was asking about some other people.
Her Spanish was okay, and she could get by with her limited vocabulary, but they spoke too quickly and in a local dialect for her to fully understand.
She saw him occasionally looking over at her as she pretended to read her book, though she was studying every inch of his body, imprinting him firmly onto her mind for use later. The waitress went inside, and he placed his helmet on a nearby table.
"Hola, día caluroso hoy!" He said, refering to it being a warm day.
"Si, muy caliente," she replied.
He nodded. "English?" he asked.
She removed her sunglasses and looked up at him, "Is my Spanish that bad?" she laughed.
"No, it's good. Better my English," he laughed. "May I sit?" he asked, pointing to the table next to her.
"Yes, of course," she replied, putting on her sunglasses again so she could secretly study his body.
"Are you on vacation?" he asked.
"No, I'm here for the summer season; I'm working as a tour guide for a hotel in town," she said, pointing down the hill towards the town, not giving her exact location away.
"Antonio," he said, holding out his hand.
"Scarlet," she replied, taking hold of his large, soft hand; the stark contrast of her tanned but white skin against his black skin was striking. They had a conversation as the waitress brought him a cool drink. He was local, living in a small town around twenty miles away and like her, he came up here for the view out over the sea.
"Have you been to Calafria? it's near Aguilas," he asked. "The beach is hidden with rocks, only local people know about it."
"No, but it sounds wonderful. I like Aguilas; it's a nice small town."
He nodded, "Would you like to go now? I could take you there." Her heartbeat raised. Was she seriously contemplating going somewhere with a total stranger? The waitress obviously knew him, which kind of made her feel safe, but she didn't know him at all.
"I err..." she hesitated, wanting to go with him but knowing she probably shouldn't.
