Ibiza 2

Ibiza

Lucy wakes with a splitting headache. Her hand grasps for the tumbler on the bedside table, but it is empty. Angus is already up. He is standing over the toilet, taking a long and noisy piss. Why does he never shut the door? She picks up her phone. There are no new messages.

It is nearly midday. Across the island, the locals are in church about now, while the tourists are still all sleeping it off. She sits up on the edge of the bed and looks over to the balcony. It already feels hot, there is not a single cloud in the dark blue sky. She slides open the glass partition, enjoying the breeze in her wispy shoulder-length ginger hair, stirring her nakedness.

She closes her eyes and remembers last night.

They had bought a pair of doves from a man at the harbour that afternoon and downed them with several tequila slammers in a bar along the street. By the time she entered the club, Lucy was rolling. She had that warm, fuzzy feeling, that she belonged in this place among her people. She was safe and happy. Trance music saturated everything, its melodic baseline pounded her senses, projecting waves across the crowded dance floor. Spotlights swept the smoky darkness, streaking above her head in a dazzling kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and reds. Lucy wanted to dance, so she joined with all the beautiful creatures dancing around her. She had never felt so alive.

Someone took her hand, pulling her through the wall of bodies. Others pleaded with her to stay with them, to dance with them, but the hand in hers would not let go. She was not afraid, why would she be? Everyone was happy and just wanted to dance. Lucy should have resisted the arms that slipped easily around her waist. The embrace felt wonderful, so right. Angus was nearby, out there in the crowd. No doubt he was looking for her, but she no longer wanted to be found.

"Hi, my name is Katya," the stranger said, when they came up for air. "I love you."

Angus pats her bum on the way past to the kitchenette.

"Do we have any bread left?" He peers into the fridge. "Fancy a cheese sandwich?"

"Not just yet, I need some water. My throat is parched." Lucy fills the beaker at the sink and gulps it down.

He stands on the balcony in his trunks, dropping crumbs all over the red tiles. "What do you want to do with the rest of the day? I thought we might go chill at the pool."

She returns to the bed and pulls on an old washed-out tee. "I thought we might explore the island. You can catch a bus from the market square. Apparently, it goes all the way round."

"Really?" He sounds surprised. His idea of a holiday is sand, sea, and sangria.

"Yes, really." She pokes out her tongue at him, disarming him with a girlish giggle. She doesn't want him to think too hard about it. "I heard the coast is worth seeing, lots of cliffs and rocky coves. We can take a few pictures that I might be able to show my parents."

"True," he says. "Do you think we'll be able to find any good bars?"

"I'm sure we can find

you

one." Actually, Lucy is counting on it.

"Where did you hear about all this?"

His sudden question catches her off guard. There is no need to panic, just tell him the truth.

"A girl I met in the club last night."

"Okay, we'll do it, but I'll need a shower first."

"Fine with me." She needs time to pick out something to wear.

* * *

The bus ride takes about an hour along twisty and narrow roads. Angus grumbles all the way, probably wishing he had spent the afternoon by the pool. Lucy ignores him, hoping it isn't a wasted journey. They alight at sleepy San Josep, a village not far from the coast. It consists of a couple of tired cafe bars on opposite sides of a cobbled square with a small church. There are a few white-washed houses scattered haphazardly for a few hundred meters in all directions.

Angus heads straight to the nearest bar, finds an outside table on the veranda, and orders a pitcher of sangria from a bustling waiter. Lucy sits down opposite him with a clear line of sight to the bus stop. She watches him drinking, playing along with the idea of getting drunk, while making sure his glass is always topped up. More local buses arrive, and then a bright blue and orange charter coach, each one depositing a few more bewildered tourists into the square. The tables fill up around them. Her hope fades, her mood sours. She orders another pitcher for the table and pours herself a large glass.

A silver saloon swings into the square and stops abruptly at the church steps. A rugged older man and his partner emerge first, while a young blonde in a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses pays the driver from the back seat. The taxi pulls away and heads back to town. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of Katya. Wearing a lacy white smock over her bikini, the young woman stands with her companions. They survey the scene before heading over to the other bar.

Stay calm. Whatever happens next is up to her. Angus is settled into his chair, eyes half-closed. She reaches across the table and lays her hand on his, noting his muted reaction.

"I think I might go find the sea,... do you want to come?" Please say no.

"No, you're alright," he mumbles. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on the table."

"If you're sure." She rises swiftly and gives him a perfunctory peck on the cheek. "See you later."

Her heart is racing. Thinking like a spy, a direct approach is too exposed. Lucy heads out the back of the bar, passing the toilets, following the passage to a vacant lot. She weaves around a dirty, old VW Beetle and several abandoned scooters, and walks behind the church along a dirt track between the houses. Of the two, the other bar appears the more popular choice, patrons spilling out of the ramshackle building in small groups. She squeezes through the crowd to the bar, anxiously searching the tables for her quarry. Katya and her friends are sitting under the awning. With her back towards the bar and hat removed, the young woman tugs absently at her pretty blonde ponytail.

No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Perhaps Lucy is not Jane Bond after all. She can't simply walk up to the table and introduce herself, that would be weird, wouldn't it? Her stubborn feet are rooted to the floor. Unable to move forward or back, she waits for fate to intervene, one way or the other. Just then Katya turns around and sees her. A moment later, the young woman is on her feet, saying something to her friends, navigating her way to the bar.

"I am happy to see you." Katya greets her with a polite peck on the cheek. "I was afraid you would not come, but I had hope I was wrong."

"I wanted to see you."

Katya smiles, lighting up the space around them. "Good. We go for a walk, yes?"

"I would like that, but what about your friends?"

"They understand." Katya waves goodbye to them from Lucy's side. "They are tired to listen about the beautiful English girl I met in a club last night. They will enjoy the silence."

Lucy blushes. Katya's compliments seem effortless, but they find their target.

They leave the village far behind, following a stony path along the top of the cliffs. They pass an older couple out for an afternoon stroll and a group of ramblers, possibly lost, but for most of the time, they are alone. Katya reaches for her hand. It feels odd at first, but the strangeness of it soon passes. They walk on holding hands, drifting closer and closer. Katya talks about her family. She comes from Saint Petersburg on the Baltic Sea. Her father owns a fish factory and her mother is, or rather was, a schoolteacher. The Russian has an older brother, Pasha, who works with her father, and a younger sister, Nessa, who is still at school and the apple of her father's eye. The family attends church every Sunday. Until last summer, she studied marketing at the Graduate School of Management in the city, but now she focuses only on playing tennis.

When it is her turn to speak, Lucy isn't sure what to say, nothing about her life has ever felt that interesting. She lives with her mum and dad in a small village in Oxfordshire. Nothing exciting happens there, well apart from Angus. An only-child with a spoiled adolescence filled with ponies and music lessons, she has earned a place to study music at the University of Bristol after the summer holidays. Lucy plays the cello and piano. Never one of the popular girls, excitement has seemingly passed her by, and she is determined to change that.

"Is this your first time in Ibiza?" Katya asks, holding on to her hat in the strong breeze.

Lucy nods. She doesn't tell Katya that this is her first time anywhere abroad without her parents. That's just lame.

"I come here, a few times a year, because, sometimes, I need to be me and no one else."

"I'm not sure I really know who I am."

That

came out of nowhere.

"Did you come on holiday with your boyfriend?" Katya brushes the hair from Lucy's eyes.

"Yes." Lucy was never a good liar. "His name is Angus."

She had known him for a long time, the boy from the other side of the tracks, albeit in a small rural village in Oxfordshire. When she needed a catalyst for change, he seemed the obvious choice. The last six months together had been fun.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, I think so... I do. Of course, I do." It is obvious to anyone that her answer lacks conviction.

"Well then, this will be our little secret," Katya says with a knowing smile. "You will decide if, and what you tell him about your new girlfriend. Come now, let's climb down to the sea."

A steep track descends to a rocky cove with a narrow strip of sandy beach. Katya finds a spot between two large boulders that offers privacy from any curious on-lookers. She takes off her hat and sunglasses, revealing her narrow elegant face, sharply defined by high cheek bones. In the bright daylight, her pale blue eyes are shards of ice, stabbing at the heart whenever the Russian looks Lucy's way.

"Do you swim?" Katya pulls off her dress, tossing it away to reveal a green and white floral bralette and bikini pants. She reminds Lucy of a glamorous movie star from the 50s or 60s. Tall and slim, the Russian is strong and athletic, her tanned skin smooth and unblemished. She looks incredible.

"Yes," Lucy croaks, unable to stop staring at her.

"We shall swim out to those rocks." Katya points to a dark pillar rising a short distance offshore.

"Isn't it cold?"

"This is the Med, my little myshka, not the Baltic," Her soft laughter sounds like a songbird. "You will get used to it."

Lucy slowly realises that to swim in the bay also requires her to partially undress. This is a problem because the person she wants to impress is right in front of her and there are many things about her own appearance that she simply doesn't like. Lucy describes herself as a beanpole, tall and skinny like a matchstick. Her long and gangly limbs seem to lack any feminine grace, and her skin is pale and freckled. What could this movie star ever see in her?

Katya once more rides to the rescue. Moving swiftly behind her, she slips her arms around Lucy, unfastening her blouse from top to bottom with nimble finger work and easing it off her narrow shoulders. The Russian returns, tracing the floral patterns in the swimsuit with her fingertips. She seems to appreciate the intricacy of every petal, the subtle swell of the bosom, the flat of the stomach. Unbuttoning the cropped denim shorts, Katya guides them to the ground. Her touch lingers on the way back up, finally settling around Lucy's trembling waist.

"You look incredible," the Russian whispers in her ear. "You should not hide away."

Lucy feels light-headed. Is this what desire should feel like? It fills her with a wild and dangerous excitement.

She follows Katya into the water. It is freezing cold at first, but since the Russian is already pulling ahead, she doesn't stop to complain. The tide is coming in, so the swim is hard work. Katya helps her out of the water on to the rocky platform. The lower reaches are covered in barnacles, but higher up the black stone is smooth and hot from soaking up the sunshine.

"You have scratched yourself," Katya says sympathetically, looking at her leg.

There are three jagged lines; two white, one crimson. "Must have been the barnacles."

"Does it hurt?" Her finger follows each scratch, smearing the blood away.

"No." Lucy notes that Katya's hand stays on top of her thigh.

They settle down next to each other, watching a steady procession of yachts and fishing boats moving slowly along the coast. Several sailors try their luck, but Katya dismisses their cat calls with a friendly, but firm, disdain. The sun dries them off, while also bringing them to the boil. Katya moves closer, turning Lucy's mouth towards hers. They kiss; their bodies gracefully entwine. It is perfect.

Katya retrieves a small plastic bag of pills from her bikini bottoms. "Do you want one? My coach says that the best Es in the world are made in Holland."

"Shouldn't we wait until after we swim back?" That's sensible Lucy talking, the boring version shunned by the popular girls at school for all those years.

"If we go now, we'll be back at the beach before it kicks in. We have so little time left, my little myshka."

"My father is Dutch," Lucy says, taking one from the palm of her hand. "He came to England twenty years ago, met my mum in Dumfries, a small town in Scotland, and stayed. I think it is so romantic." And dull.

* * *

Lucy crawls from the sea and lies down on the beach. It is happening. Her skin is electrified, tingling everywhere it touches. Happiness is blossoming, growing stronger and stronger. She couldn't stop now even if she wanted to, but why would she want to anyway? She feels the warmth from every ray of sunlight, the tiny prick of every grain of sand, and every gentle caress of the sea breeze. She is connected to her, to Mother Earth, and the Goddess loves her. Lucy spreads out her arms, making snow angels in the sand. She does it again and again because it feels so good.

"Do you feel it?" Katya kneels beside her, catching the tiny molecules of air, twisting and turning them between her fingers before letting them go on their way. "I feel... wonderful."

Lucy watches each wave lapping on the shore, shimmering in the sunshine. Each one is connected to the next, sharing its beautiful moment with the vastness of the ocean.

"Come with me." Katya holds out her hand. "I will take good care of you."

The Russian leads her to a secluded spot. They collapse on top of each other, giggling, kissing, and cuddling. Lucy clings on to her, afraid to let go.

"I want you," Lucy says, dreamily. "I want all of you."

They sit cross-legged, facing each other, only a short distance apart. Katya unties her bralette and drops it in the sand. Her tanned skin glows in the setting sun, beads of water glistening like diamonds. Her breasts are artistic perfection, firm and round. She lifts the straps of Lucy's swimsuit from the shoulders, pulling it down to the waist. The tight, clingy fabric pops away from her skin, the playful air tickling her nipples. Her fingers brush against Lucy's cheek.

"Don't be afraid," the Russian whispers.

They gaze admiringly at each other, losing all sense of time. Katya touches her, tracing the outline of the curves with her fingers and then her mouth. Lucy reciprocates, captivated by the familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar, the cushion of her bosom, the salty taste of her skin, and the subtle musk that permeates every pore. These actions are neither urgent nor sexual, not yet, but a curious and gentle veneration of the feminine form. Lucy draws circles around the dark aureoles with her fingertips, spiralling slowly inwards to the centre. Leaning forward, she takes a nipple between her lips, enjoying the way it swells and hardens. Katya gasps, squeezing her. They fall back on the ground, locked in a sensual embrace.

Katya is underneath Lucy, smiling, her eyes brimming with love. She kisses her passionately, hungrily, her fingers running wildly through Lucy's untamed fiery flames. There are so many new and wonderful sensations, too many for Lucy to clearly define. The Russian's gravity is pulling her down into her. Lucy has never felt such a yearning for anything or anyone. They are soul mates; they belong as one. Katya opens her thighs, guiding Lucy's slender hips into the valley between her legs. Placing her hands on Lucy's buttocks, the Russian lightly rocks their hips back and forth. Bodies discover a gentle, sustained rhythm all their own, sliding together in perfect harmony. Every shape dovetails beautifully from the swell of their breasts to the firm cushion of their loins. She feels the corded edge of Katya's bikini against her swimsuit, like a rolling pin, kneading the flesh towards her feet again and back again. There is no rush, no sense of urgency, but desire is growing, nonetheless. She feels the warmth spreading from her centre, the waves of pleasure intensifying as the pressure builds. The Russian turns her attention inward, her breathing short and shallow. Katya raises her knees, planting her feet in the ground. As the new angle intensifies the friction, she urges Lucy to drive her body into the sand. Lucy hears Katya cry out her name, polished claws digging into her flesh. She feels the shudder begin in her own pelvis, a syrupy contentment filling her, a rising tide of wonderful sensations.

They lay side by side for some indeterminate length of time, catching their breath. Stars have appeared in the twilight sky. Katya leans over and kisses her, no more than a gentle brush of the lips. It seems like a silent thank you. They smile happily at each other, cocooned in an intimate bubble. Lucy feels purged.

The Russian reluctantly checks her Rolex. "It is late. We better get back."

Lucy rests her chin on her elbows, legs crossed at the ankles. "I want to stay here forever."

"You will not feel like that in an hour. Trust me, you come down hard." Katya is on her feet, gathering her belongings from the ground. "What about your boyfriend? He will be worried."

Lucy feels a twinge of guilt. "I doubt he noticed I was gone."

"That is good, is it not? You will not have to explain why you were gone so long," Katya says, rather matter-of-factly. "Now hurry and put your clothes on. You will miss the last bus."

They walk together back to the village but decide to separate behind the church. Katya insists that Lucy takes money for a taxi and then she is gone. Although many had already left to go back to their holiday apartments, it is still busy. Lucy finds Angus still dozing in his chair.

"Hi," she says, kissing him lightly on the forehead. "I'm back."

"I missed you," he says, sleepily. "Did you have a nice walk?"

"Yes, I did." Lucy still loves him, of course she does, or is that the drug talking? "Let's go home."

* * *

Lucy and Angus sleep most of the following day, rising only at the first pangs of hunger. Lucy throws on a tee shirt and pads barefoot to the kitchenette in search of food. A few minutes later, the couple are sitting in the sunshine with the scavenged leftovers on a fold-out bistro table. She gathers her wispy red hair in a ponytail, securing it tightly with a bobble. If she really wants to tame it, she will need a new conditioner.

"You look great with it tied back." Lucy is surprised that he noticed.

"I do, don't I?" She picks up the carton of yogurt and starts eating it with a plastic teaspoon.

Her phone vibrates with a flurry of new messages.

"Who's that?" He asks, peeling open one of the individual pots of jam. She scowls as he licks it straight off the knife.

Lucy knows the messages are from Katya, who else would it be? Nevertheless, her heart skips a beat as she looks down at her phone.