The Foreigner I Met Reading in the Park

Living with flatmates with whom I barely share anything makes my weekends, more often than not, a wasteland. During the week I don’t notice it because I work Monday through Friday, but Saturdays and Sundays can turn into a torture if I stay cooped up at home. I’m the kind of person who can’t sit still: I need to move, go out, feel like the day is going somewhere.

That’s why, depending on my mood, I go to the beach, head out for a run or, as on the occasion that gave rise to this story, sit in a park to read. I had never tried the latter before, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions of that summer.

It was a Sunday in July, one of those days when the heat weighs on your shoulders from first thing in the morning. I’d already spent the morning at the beach, where I carefully observed dozens of tits: alone, in pairs, in groups of three or four. Sometimes I think that looking at so much skin together reconfigures something in my brain, that it causes an irreversible change in my neural connections. The problem was that I hadn’t spoken to a single woman all morning, so I was left with my adrenaline stuck on the tip of my tongue.

I decided then to go to a park to read. I thought that, with luck, I might get a second chance. Talking to women is my main hobby, my favorite sport. I love their femininity, the way they laugh, that way they have of letting their guard down when a conversation hooks them. I never pass up the chance to talk to a stranger if the situation allows it.

I chose Viveros Park, in Valencia, because it was only a short walk from home. I brought a book, because I’m also one of those people who enjoy the classics, and a bottle of water so I wouldn’t have to go back early from dehydration. When I arrived, I went through the main gate and took the path on the right, almost without thinking.

And then I saw her.

A beautiful woman who, in the middle of summer, was wearing a garment only a little longer than a top and a tiny pair of shorts. She was sitting on a blanket spread out on the grass, reading a book, or so it seemed to me. Even from afar you could tell she was tall and had spectacular legs: white, thick, firm. Maybe she saw me too. I looked at her, held her gaze a second too long, and kept walking.

This woman is unbelievably hot, I thought. But how accessible can someone like that really be?

I decided to keep walking to see whether I could find another woman capable of competing with her. As I went on, I was calculating the extremely high odds of rejection I would be facing in a few minutes. I didn’t find anyone else who caught my attention. For me to decide to approach, certain requirements usually have to be met: she has to be alone, she has to look feminine, and she has to have an open body posture, the kind that doesn’t throw up a wall right away.

So I doubled back and sat about twenty meters from her. She was in the shade; I was under the midday sun. I let her see me, let her know I was there, and with a couple of calm but determined glances I made her understand that at any moment I might get up and come talk to her.

She didn’t leave or seem uncomfortable. She didn’t gather her things or change posture. I took that as an invitation and wasted no more time. I walked over with the book in my hand and said the first thing that came to mind.

—You picked the best spot for reading —I said, nodding toward the shade covering her.

I jokingly explained that it was impossible to concentrate under that sun and that she, on the other hand, had been blessed by luck. She smiled. She was unexpectedly kind, in a good way, so I took advantage of the momentum.

—Do you mind if I sit for a moment?

She said yes. I gathered my things and settled down beside her.

***

Nadia was a very sensual woman, with blue eyes and a round face. The top she was wearing left her stomach visible, reddened by sunburn, and the tiny shorts opened up before me those thick, white thighs I had admired from afar. I was already rock hard. Will she notice? I wondered, trying to keep the conversation afloat.

While we talked, I couldn’t stop looking at her legs, her breasts, her shaved armpits, and that tongue that from time to time showed between her lips. I told her I lived nearby and that it was the first time I had gone to that park to read. She, on the other hand, didn’t live in the area: she had gone because she worked at a plant nursery, loved plants, and liked exploring new parks, although that one in particular had disappointed her and she didn’t plan to go back.

Despite her almost perfect Spanish, I immediately noticed she wasn’t from here.

—Are you Russian? —I asked her.

—No, I’m from… —she said a country that, honestly, I’ve completely forgotten. If I had to bet, I’d say she was Latvian—. But I’ve been working here, at the nursery, for a few years.

The conversation flowed on its own, effortlessly, like those strange conversations that seem to come from far away. At one point I asked her why she had gone to the park alone.

—I wanted to do something different from being with my boyfriend —she confessed to me—. He went to the beach and I came here, to get a little rest from each other.

The boyfriend, also foreign and from a country even farther away than hers, was pathologically jealous. He wouldn’t even let her own brother text her. He checked her phone, deleted the conversations of anyone who contacted her, and removed them from her contacts.

In my head the confirmations piled up: one, she wasn’t going to give me her number; two, she wasn’t going back to the park; and three, she wasn’t going to get out of that relationship any time soon because they already shared a flat. I didn’t say any of that, of course. I just tried to cheer her up and make her laugh, even though she was already a very cheerful person by nature.

She asked me if I used dating apps. I told her yes, but that on none of them had I seen a woman as beautiful as her. She smiled, accepting the fact that there was no escaping her beauty, that any man who approached her would do so with at least romantic intentions.

***

The conversation went on in the most pleasant way until, without meaning to, it was time to say goodbye. When she stood up, she put on a long, open garment that covered her from the shoulders to mid-thigh, and we started walking together toward the upper part of the park.

On the way we passed a group of girls sunbathing topless on the grass. That park, being a tourist spot, has some wooden huts whose purpose I still haven’t been able to decipher, in addition to a few children’s playgrounds and some bathrooms at the other end. The exit we chose went right past those huts, and since it was Sunday at lunchtime, there was no one around.

When we said goodbye, both of us were crystal clear that we would not see or speak to each other again. Maybe that’s why she decided to leave me a mark, something to remember. We faced each other and, when I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, she passed her right arm over my left shoulder, took me by the neck and pressed herself against me.

At that instant I felt what I had been stealing glances at all along: her right breast bumped against mine as she kissed me on the cheek. My erection was immediate, but even quicker was my reflex of placing both hands on her bare waist and squeezing hard. I felt as though neither of us was breathing. As she turned her face for the second kiss, I pulled her waist toward me so we were even tighter together.

I noticed she froze for a second, but something in my head told me she was just as turned on as I was. I took her by the hand and led her toward one of the empty huts. We kissed clumsily at first, hungrily afterward, while I pressed my cock against her. Every time she paused, she repeated a phrase that by then had lost all its weight.

—I have a boyfriend —she murmured, without conviction.

I cared very little. I slid my hands under her top and caressed her pink nipples, pinching them between my fingers. I bit them gently and made her let out a soft moan, holding it back for fear someone might hear her. I took her hand and placed it over my pants, at the level of my cock, and I didn’t let her pull it away.

—I’ll just suck it —she told me, looking into my eyes—. I can’t do more.

I agreed. Together we opened my pants. She loved seeing it. I told her I’d had that erection since the exact moment we started talking on the grass. She crouched down and knelt on the floor, because there are no seats or anything like that in those huts.

She started sucking me off, looking at me with those round blue eyes that seemed to ask permission and grant it at the same time. I held her by the hair and moved my hips, already with no control at all. I grabbed her breasts while she shook her head. She played with her tongue, taking it in and out, and then would come up to kiss me while holding onto my legs so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

A few moments after putting it back in her mouth, her conscience came back all at once.

—I can’t go on —she said, getting up.

I accepted my fate, resigned. I pulled up my pants and she fixed her bra, her top, her hair and, incidentally, her whole life.

***

We left the hut and, back on the path and in full view of everyone, said goodbye again with two kisses. She leaned her breast against me once more and I again held her firmly by the waist, knowing I was sending her back to her boyfriend heated up and loaded with guilt. There was something cruel and sweet in that goodbye, in knowing I was sending her back with a secret he would never know.

Months have passed and I haven’t seen Nadia again. Sometimes, when I walk past that park, I find myself looking toward the path on the right, just in case. I hope that the day I run into her again, she won’t still be with that jealous boyfriend and we can finish what we started in that hut. She knows where I live. I’m still waiting.