Desire And Duende Ch 01

Dearest reader

I hope life is treating you well. This is a slow burn with not much sexy stuff. If that isn't what you are looking for, then no hard feelings at all. Maybe try

Pluna

or

HelenL

's work as they get to the sexy stuff much quicker than me. Plus their stories are awesome.

While this story should work as a stand alone, it is also a sequel of sorts to

The Third Date

, thus there will be spoilers. (Though I've been told that it's perfectly possible to enjoy The Third Date even if you know the outcome.)

Note: there's not a non-binary category on Literotica. The character is AFAB and prefers female sexual partners. I did consider other categories but, after taking advice from other authors, Lesbian Sex seems to be the best-fit category. I'm aware there's an implicit gendering going on by doing so and my apologies if that offends.

If you want to, there is a playlist on youtube to accompany this. Search "Desire and Duende" or check my profile.

Trigger warnings:

Racism and misgendering.

Anyway, enough wittering from me. Massive thanks to Mykymyk2 and KES for their advice, editing and feedback. All three parts are written and ready to go. Happy reading!

Best wishes

T x

___________________________________________________

Madrid: day seven of the tour

"Nade! Mel!"

"Priya! Kate!"

Nadine and Mel let out almost simultaneous squeals as they abandon their bags right in front of me, almost tripping me up, and dash across the hotel lobby to embrace their former flatmates.

I try to push their bags along with my feet, my hands being occupied by my guitar and trumpet cases - not going to leave those on the tour bus.

"We'll get them," says Sam as Yuki grabs the handle to Mel's suitcase.

"Thanks you two!"

The three of us head over to receive our own welcome hugs. I really like Priya, even if she's going to steal some of my best moments on stage with her cello for the next few nights. Whatever. I'm not the star here.

"When did you get in?" I ask Kate when I get a chance, as Mel handles check in.

"About 5 hours ago. We were all planning to see some sights but, actually, we were just knackered. Priya had to work really late last night to get all her recording done... so in the end we just had a siesta."

"Still, you're up for some sightseeing tonight, right?"

"Of course!"

One advantage of Priya and Kate joining us for the second leg of the Iberian tour is we get to do the tourist thing. Working at the University means that Kate's on holiday, so Mel has planned some off days. Normally, I'd be pissed off that the needs of a non-band member are being prioritised, but in this case it's a good thing. Plus I still get paid for today anyway. No gig tonight: instead we can explore what Madrid has to offer before the radio live session tomorrow night and the gig the night after. We're also having another day off in Barcelona, before they head back and we move on to France.

"Here are your keys everyone."

Mercifully, I've got a room to myself.

"Hmmm," I murmur out loud as I unpack, "what to wear?"

I hoik my bag onto the bed, zip it open and examine my options.

Usually, I prefer androgyny as a 'look', if it can be called that. I feel like I'm completely confused about what I am - man, woman, neither, either - so everybody else bloody should be.

But, I don't know, this tour I've been leaning more masc. I often do that in strange places: there's more freedom in presenting male. It makes me feel less vulnerable. But I don't usually take it to such extremes as I have been. Packing.

Nobody has said anything, but I know Yuki noticed, which means Sam'll know too. They'll be cool with it for sure, but I'm not sure they'd understand that it isn't about how others see me - it's about how I feel.

Seeing as we've got two nights here, I sort out some clothes to chuck into the hotel laundry service. That said, I've still got a nice red shirt that's clean. I give my dark, paisley waistcoat a sniff. It'll be good for another night, especially if I slap on the aftershave. Black suit trousers. Black leather cuban heels. Red socks. I lay them all out ready, before I jump in the shower.

After, I gel and style my short hair into a side parting. It's a fresh cut, only a week old, as I had it done just before we left. Crikey, has it already been a week? The overnight ferry, Santander, Salamanca, Porto, Lisboa, Sevilla. Okay, so nearly a week. Wow. Feels like longer. Gah. Must be the fact I'm the only singleton in the tour party. I can't believe Mel even managed to find a roadie/driver and engineer/second driver who were a couple, not to mention Richie the support act and his girlfriend, Lauren, who's on the tour to manage the merchandise stall. Another eight days in Spain, then up through France to Belgium and the Netherlands for nine more dates. Going to get lonely in the crowd of couples.

So, yeah, I've got another reason to want to look sharp tonight.

Spritzing on some aftershave, I slip on my boy shorts and white chest binder. This is a good one, worth the extra cash. My small tits sit quite high anyway, but the way this one flattens and slightly lifts them makes it look like I have pecs. My other one, the black one, gives me a flatter profile for when I want to rock the androgynous look.

Then I slip my packet in. It's nothing big or ostentatious, just enough to give a bulge. Pulling on the rest of my clothes, I admire myself in the mirror. I look sharp. I wonder whether to really King it up and add a fake moustache, or do some shading, but decide against it. Too much of a faff.

Time to head out.

* * *

"What about him?" Mel asks, pointing at this effeminate man gesticulating wildly.

"Well obviously," I sigh, rolling my eyes.

"Mel, even

I

could tell he's gay," Priya giggles, "and I'm Ms Oblivious."

"Okay, okay, too easy. Hmmm... Her." Mel nods her head towards a pretty girl with straight dark hair, hanging with a bunch of guys at a table.

"Nah, fruit fly," I say.

"For real?" Nadine asks, "Are those guys gay?"

"Oh, definitely. Wouldn't you say Kate?"

"Yep. One hundred percent."

We are strolling along the edge of Chueca, playing Mel and Nadine's favourite game when we're all together: test Kate and Leila's gaydar. To be fair, I've got to admit she's nearly as good as me. It still rankles a bit that she pinged Melissa before I did, but I sussed Priya and Nadine first (and her, of course, but that had hardly been a challenge). And, being the only singleton on tour, I'll get the job of testing our theories, which is nearly always a pleasure. I'll say one thing for language barriers, it tends to speed things up a little!

We end up grabbing a table outside a bar called El Gato on the edge of Malasaña and ordering some tapas.

"So what do you think of our waitress?" Mel asks.

"Bi," I say immediately.

Kate nods in agreement.

"Wanna test that out?" Nadine asks.

"What is this? Flirt vicariously through Leila? You two getting bored of each other?" I tease.

Nadine turns to her manager/girlfriend. "I dunno: you bored of me babe?"

"Fuck you," Mel whispers sweetly as their heads lean in close together.

"Is that a promise?"

"For sure." They kiss tenderly.

I lean on my elbow and turn to Kate and Priya. "Forgive them. There hasn't been much privacy on the tour bus! That's why Sam and Yuki are staying in I guess. So what's new with you two?"

"Well," Kate begins, her face glowing with pride, "Priya just got an Arts Council grant for this amazing collaboration... sorry... you tell her babe..."

I try not to wince at the casual gendering, while Priya blushes at Kate's compliment.

"Yeah, I got approached by this artist, Mona Hartoum, with a show coming up at the Tate Modern. She wanted a live score for some of her installations. We applied jointly for an Arts Council grant, so I'll get paid but also it means we can hire musicians to perform live during the day. It's going to be very exciting, very different from what I've done before. I just spent two days with her and she...."

I smile and nod as Priya describes what she's doing, but inside I'm deflating a little. I mean, I'm thrilled for her - she's talented and hard-working, and a lovely person too. It's just her telling me this is just reminding me of all the ways in which I'm not pushing myself, not moving my own career forward.

I love Nadine. I love her music. I've been playing with her for over two years now, and I know she started paying us as soon as she could, and she and Mel have been really open about the costs of the trip, the income streams. The per diems the three of us are being paid for the tour are more than fair.

But I'm not going to be rolling in it. Really, I'd probably earn more working in office admin. Wouldn't be as fun of course, but would be more secure. Would allow me to maybe have a serious relationship. The last romance that got even close to being serious was with this cute bi-student called Susie, but though she'd tagged along to a few festivals last summer, she'd broken it off before the US tour in the autumn. Yuki and Sam have each other; Mel and Nadine are a couple. It gets lonely on tour.

Yet more than anything what rankles, especially listening to Priya describing how she is getting to choose a blend of classical and experimental musicians to realise her soundscapes, is that I am playing somebody else's music. Priya has some co-write credits on a couple of Nadine's songs: I don't. At the end of the day, I'm helping somebody else succeed and, as much as I'm thrilled by Nadine's success and know she deserves it, I want that for me, too.

One day.

The hot probably-bi waitress brings out our food, deftly distributing plates of patatas bravas, deep fried aubergine fritters, slices of cheese, stuffed mushrooms and roasted asparagus.

"Aquí tenéis. ¿Algo más?"

"Un segundo. Do you want more drinks, peeps?" Mel asks.

"I'm good," I say.

Kate wordlessly raises her nearly empty wine glass.

"No, gracias," says Priya.

"Nos trae dos cañas," Mel indicates herself and Nadine, "y un vaso de vino blanco, por favor."

"Vale. Y tú, ¿no quieres nada?" The waitress looks at me, smiling.

"Err... no gracias."

She pouts a little and moves off.

"Wow, think you could be in there Leila," Priya says, as five pairs of eyes follow the waitress as she sways away.

"Too fucking right," agrees Mel.

I'm tempted. Really tempted. I had a fun evening after the Porto show with a Portuguese student named Alba. Crap, was that only three days ago?

But... I wanted to find some flamenco.

"Yeah.... She's hot. But I've got my date for the night right here." I tapped my guitar case. "I was reading about this bar down in La Latina where they have tablaos - kind of like a jam session. Thought I might head there."

"Oooh, kind of like an Irish bar jam session?" Nadine asks.

"I guess. I don't really know. I just found some stuff online."

"I'm sorry we couldn't stop in Sevilla, Leila."

I shake away Mel's apology. She's apologised for it repeatedly, but Richie had already asked if we could spend the day off in Madrid so he could visit his older sister by the time I'd asked. I suggested he get the train up ahead of us, but by then Priya and Kate had already booked their tickets to meet us here. I didn't want to stay in a strange city by myself. Plus it was rammed for the Fería de Abril: I'd have struggled to find somewhere to stay.

"It's cool. But, yeah, I'm hoping I'll find some flamenco tonight." I studied under this incredible flamenco guitarist, Juan Martín, as part of my degree programme, so this has long been a dream of mine. Hence why I'm lugging my acoustic around Madrid. And also why I'm not going to be distracted by our hot bi waitress. Even if she does have an awesome arse.

Maybe afterwards I can wander back and see if she's still working. Bars round here stay open late.

"I'd be up for that," Kate says, as she tucks into the food.

There's a chorus of agreement.

"Cool. Well, nothing's going to start up until after eleven at least, according to the reviews I've seen. So time enough to wander around."

The hot waitress returns, with the wine and beers.

"¿Cómo te llamas?" Priya asks her.

"Ana. ¿Y tú?"

"Soy Priya." Then she points at me. "Se llama Leila, y no habla español."

"What are you doing Priya?" I ask.

"Qué lástima." The waitress says as Priya waves at me to shut up. "Pero, a veces esto no importa, ¿no?"

"Verdad. ¿A qué hora terminas?"

"A las dos, más o menos." With that she gives me a wink and moves off.

"What the fuck was that Priya?"

"Meet her here at 2 and you're in. You're welcome."

"Fucking well played Priya!" Mel yells, leaning over to high-five her.

"Get in there Leila!" Kate slaps me on the back.

Only Nadine doesn't join in.

"Oh come on..." I start, "I'm not..." I don't really know how to finish that sentence. I just don't want them thinking I'm like that. Just after sex. I mean, I probably wouldn't say no, but still.

"Stop pretending Leila. You are dressed to kill." Priya takes a sip of her beer. "Seriously, you look fucking hot. If I wasn't with Kate..." She smiles at her girlfriend and bats her eyelids, while I quickly stuff my mouth with a fritter as I try to process that information. Talented and gorgeous Priya thinks I look hot.

A small black hole of regret is forming in my head and I need to banish it quickly. I figured Priya was gay way before anyone else - I was the one who mentioned it to her flatmates. I could have tried. She might be here with me now if I had.

"Yeah, but if you really want to masc up, you need to sit properly." Kate's voice brings me back to reality.

"Huh?"

"You've got your legs crossed - you need to manspread!"

"Oh, right, yeah." I comply, sarcastically splaying my legs, to applause and giggles from the others, which cause a few heads to turn our way. I don't maintain the pose. I wish I hadn't done that. I'm not trying to be a man. I'm not trying to be butch. But we've had this conversation, and she never gets it.

"Right, photos for the socials, people!" Mel calls, as she stands up to take a shot.

We raise our glasses and grin. Fan engagement is a serious business, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun with it.

"So, are you going to be back here at 2 or what?" Kate asks.

"Maybe. Where did you learn Spanish though, Priya?" I ask, wanting a change of subject.

"Mel and I did it for A Level together, and English actually. We were in the same class." Suddenly, she claps her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God!"

"What? What?" We all ask.

"Well, I've just... Mel, you remember when I came out to my parents and they'd thought we'd been a couple?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I think I've just realised why. It's because I was always telling them I was heading over to your house for oral practice."

It's a corny joke, but we dissolve into laughter anyway.

"What did you do Leila?" Kate asks.

"For what?"

"A Levels."

"Oh. Well, Music, obviously, plus Psychology and French."

"Fucking cheat!" Mel jokes.

"Why is it cheating?" Kate asks.

"I speak French with my parents," I explain, "I was born in London, but they are French. And, yeah, so what? Gave me more time to get shit hot on the guitar!"

"For real!" Nadine nods in agreement.

After the meal, and definitely more flirting from the waitress, who gets a large tip as a result, we set off to explore.

We skirt around the Palacio Real, taking in the lights lining the Manzanares River, then mosey back to the Plaza Mayor, full of overpriced bars and human statues, but still stunning. Meandering through the side streets between the Plaza del Sol, we find Chocolatería San Gines, but it's rammed, so we decide to come back for churros after the flamenco. It's open 24 hours anyway.

Eventually, after taking a pit stop at another bar, the five of us find our way to La Solea in La Latina around half eleven.

The main salon is half-full, mostly of tourists like us, which doesn't fill me with much hope of finding anything good. Small tables fill the central space and benched seating runs around the sides of the bright white walls, which are framed by decorative tiles. There's no stage. Instead, a single guitarist is playing in the middle of one of the benches.

Listening, I realise he's good. Very good. Maybe as good as me. Which is kind of perfect.

It's table service and we order drinks, then settle in to listen.

He's in the middle of a

copla

by the sounds of things, meaning he's playing in the Sevillanas style, using

tirandos

to fire out arpeggios in a rising

subida

style, interspersed by raking

rasgueos

. It's hypnotic. When he finally gets to the magnificent

macho

that brings the piece to an end, I explode into applause. I'm thrilled. This is exactly what I've been looking for.

As the applause dies down, he looks at me, or rather, my guitar case.

"¿Tocas?"

That I understand. He's asking if I play.

"Si. Si." I reply. I turn to Mel. "Ask him if I can."

He obviously speaks some English as he replies without waiting for the translation. "Yes. You play."

He doesn't wait for me though, starting the

salida

of another piece as I check my tuning. I realise I recognise the piece, which is by Marote. I watch his hands: he's using

abanicos

here, so I'm probably right.

I play

picado

to ease myself in. He nods, noting I've picked up the melody easy enough, and starts adding

golpe

taps to his own playing. Then he's deviating, heading off into this glorious

falseta

while I sustain the main refrain.

Once he returns to the

copla

, I decide it's my turn, announcing my intention with a

llamada

, before setting off on my own solo.

Calls of "anda" and "vamos" come from behind me as I advance

por arriba

, mixing

trémolo

with

tapandos.

I have no idea how long we play for, fingers furiously flying over frets, but when the

macho

finally comes, the applause is thunderous. Glancing behind me, I see the crowd has grown.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the crowd, a long note, full of

duende

.

Turning, I see an older man in a grubby jacket seated at a table next to me. His face is lined, his fingers stained, and he is singing with a passion.

"¡Anda! ¡Olé!" Shouts of appreciation come from the crowd.

Another man pushes past us, and squeezes himself in next to the guitarist, whom he clearly knows. At some unspoken cue, unknown to me, the guitarist starts playing at the exact moment the new arrival starts to clap a complicated rhythm with his palms.

Following with my eyes, I plunge into the

alegrías toque

he is playing.

I properly lose myself in the music, focusing very much on the other guitarist, following his lead. I'm really glad he's here - I wonder if they pay him to be a resident musician? - because knowing when to drop out and allow the singer to take over is kind of the hardest part. My grades on the flamenco guitar unit I did were the highest in the class, but we only ever played with singers a couple of times, so this dynamic is not one I'm used to.

The singer subsides, and the guitarist slips into a low, quiet

alzapúa

, a basic bassline, as the hand-percussionist continues a rapid but gentle and complex rhythm. Priya and Nadine join in with the

palmadas

, earning encouragement ("¡Vamos guapas!") from the palmero. It's a frantic, syncopated rhythm and the fact they are keeping time earns a wide-eyed nod of respect from the guitarist.