My Husband Left Me with the Souk Vendor

The brochure on the travel agency table showed photos of the Koutoubia and the Menara gardens, but while the girl was describing the seven-night package to us, my mind was already far from any tourist route. I was looking at Andrés and thinking that Marrakech was not going to be just a cultural trip. It was going to be something else, something we had been circling for months without naming.

—Direct flights, a riad right in the medina, dinner with a show in the square —the girl rattled off, completely unaware of what was passing between us under the air conditioning.

We signed the booking and went back home. That very night, while he had me inside him, Andrés spoke into my ear with that low voice of his that undoes me.

—Seven days in a city where nobody knows you, Marina. Seven nights for you to let out the woman you hide out of shame. There, if a man looks at you and I like the way he looks at you, I’m not going to stop you. I’m going to push you.

I blushed. A mix of modesty and something hotter that I didn’t know how, or want, to hold back. I nodded almost without moving my head, and that was enough.

***

The flight felt short despite the hours. I rested my head on his shoulder without sleeping, feeling my breathing speed up every time his hand “accidentally” slid up my thigh or he whispered some idea about what could happen in Marrakech.

When we landed, the night air hit us with humidity and strange smells: spices, dust, charcoal. An old taxi took us along nearly empty avenues while the silhouettes of the minarets stood out against a very dark blue sky. In the dimness of the back seat, Andrés put his hand on my knee and slowly started moving it up under my skirt.

—Tomorrow, when we walk through the souk, I don’t want you wearing anything under the dress —he told me in a very low voice—. I want you to feel the air and the looks of those men knowing you’re naked under the fabric. I want you to feel like a gift I’m willing to open in front of whoever I choose.

I didn’t stop him. I looked ahead, checking that the driver wasn’t turning around, and let his hand reach where it wanted.

The riad was in a narrow cobbled alley near the mosque. An older man opened a carved wooden gate for us and handed us an iron key. Going up the stairs that creaked, I stopped on the landing. I looked at him with an insecurity that burned inside me.

—Andrés... could you really see me with someone else and not feel jealous? I’m afraid that when the time comes, you’ll regret it and I won’t be able to stop anymore.

He pressed me against the hallway wall. He felt how I was trembling.

—That would be exactly what I want, Marina. For you not to want to stop. And for me to be by your side, enjoying every second of your surrender.

***

The next morning, while I showered, he laid out my clothes on the bed: a blue linen dress that clung to my body like a second skin, and a pair of sandals. Nothing else. When I came out wrapped in a towel, my hair wet, I saw there was no underwear on the bedspread. I bit my lip.

—Andrés... I can’t go out like this. The souk is full of people, the men here are very direct... I’m going to feel naked.

—That’s the plan, sweetheart —he said as he took off my towel—. I want every time a man looks at you, you know that between his gaze and your pussy there’s nothing but a thin layer of fabric.

We left the riad and the noise swallowed us up. The smell of leather, mint tea and sweat was almost dizzying. I walked stiffly at first, but the linen brushing against my nipples and crotch changed my pace, made it slower, more aware. I could feel the men turning to look. My fair skin stood out in the crowd, and I, knowing what I was hiding under the dress, must have projected something that drove them wild.

We got lost in the souk’s maze until we came upon a small shop packed with jackets and jeans hanging from the ceiling. Leaning on the counter was him. A guy about twenty-five, jet-black hair and strong brown arms that showed through a tight white T-shirt. His name was Karim. His eyes fixed on my chest, ignoring Andrés for several eternal seconds.

—Welcome to my shop, my name Karim —he said in clumsy but understandable Spanish—. You looking for quality, friends? I have the best jeans in Marrakech for pretty woman like you.

I looked at Andrés, searching for his signal. He gave me a complicit smile in return.

—My wife is looking for jeans —he said, taking a step and resting his hand on my shoulder—. But not just any jeans. Something that fits her like a second skin, that shows off her curves. Very tight, you understand?

Karim nodded slowly, his smile widening. His eyes slid shamelessly over my hips, tracing the silhouette the linen drew in the fan breeze.

—I understand perfectly, friend. For woman with this body, I have something special in the back. First, measure well. Here size is different.

He took down a tailor’s tape measure hanging from a hook. I kept looking at Andrés with every step, searching for a sign of regret, but all I found was approval and desire.

—Stand there, in front of the mirror —he told me in a soft but firm voice—. Let the guy do his job.

I obeyed. Karim came closer. He smelled of sweet tobacco and something spicy. He didn’t use the tape right away; first, brazenly, he wrapped his large hands around my waist to “feel out” the measurement.

—Slim waist... but good hips —he murmured, his voice even rougher—. Madam, you are very beautiful.

I let out a sigh when his fingers brushed the fabric, right at the point where I knew there was nothing but my skin. Andrés watched from a pillar, enjoying the way the boy was taking liberties. Karim crouched down to measure the contour of my thighs, and his face ended up level with my ass. Then he stopped, the tape taut between his hands, and looked up at my husband.

—Sir... your wife is too beautiful for open shop —he said, with a glint of mischief—. If you want, I lower the shutter a little. Then she can try clothes in peace. Lots of men pass by, see beautiful woman, come in just to look at her.

Andrés looked at me. I was burning up, my cheeks on fire.

—That sounds like an excellent idea, Karim. We don’t want nosy onlookers.

The bolt turned and the metal shutter came down halfway with a crash. The three of us were left in a warm half-light, illuminated only by yellow spotlights, surrounded by jeans and by an agreement that went far beyond buying a pair of pants.

***

Karim took out a pair of intensely blue jeans, in a fabric that was almost elastic, and placed them directly in my hands, brushing my fingers with deliberate slowness.

—These first. Very tight. Soft like lady skin —he whispered, not taking his dark eyes off mine.

I made no move to look for a fitting room. I looked at Andrés, with a mix of challenge and surrender. That locked shutter was the signal I needed to break my last barrier.

—Try them on right here, Marina —he said in a tone that brooked no argument—. There’s no one here but us.

I swallowed, nodded, and took my hands to the hem of the dress. Karim stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, but his gaze stayed fixed on my reflection. I started lifting the fabric slowly. First my thighs, tense with excitement. The boy’s breathing turned audible, a heavy rhythm filling the silence. When the dress reached my hips, what Andrés already knew was revealed: the absolute absence of underwear.

Karim froze. I finished pulling the dress over my head and let it fall, standing there with only the sandals on and completely exposed before that stranger.

—Sir... —he stammered, glancing for a second at my husband—... I didn’t know lady came like this... she is more than beautiful.

—Would you like to touch her, Karim? —Andrés replied, enjoying his astonishment—. What are you waiting for? Help her put the pants on. You don’t want her to lose her balance.

The boy knelt at my feet to hold the pant legs, trembling, his face just inches from my pussy. But he didn’t move the jeans. His thumbs began to slide slowly up my calves.

—Silk skin... —he whispered, voice breaking.

Far from pulling away, I parted my legs a little, offering him a better angle. I rested my hand on his shoulder so I wouldn’t fall.

—She’s all yours for a while, Karim. He has my permission —Andrés let out, arms crossed—. Do you want to be with her?

—Really, sir? I don’t want problem.

—If she lets you, there’s no problem. Neither for her, nor for me.

Karim didn’t need to hear it twice. He let go of the jeans and slid his hands up my thighs until the backs of his fingers brushed my pubic hair. I let out a muffled moan and threw my head back.

—She’s very hot, sir... and very wet —he said, looking at Andrés with adoration—. You really letting me?

—I told you, if she doesn’t push you away, you can keep going.

With a gentleness that surprised me, he slid two fingers into me while his other hand squeezed one of my ass cheeks. I jerked, grabbing hard onto his black hair. Andrés positioned himself behind me, took my breasts in both hands to clear the way for him, and I felt his whole body as an anchor.

I reacted with an intensity I had never felt at home. Being in an unfamiliar place, behind a closed door, under the gaze of a boy who wanted me with that much force, shattered all my barriers. My body arched on its own.

—Andrés!... —I moaned, searching for his gaze in the mirror.

—She doesn’t need me to say anything, Marina —he whispered in my ear, letting me feel his erection against my back—. Look at what he’s doing to you. He’s made you his in five minutes and he still hasn’t even started the best part.

I pulled his fingers out myself, brought them to my mouth for an instant without taking my eyes off Karim, and slid downward until I was kneeling in front of him. I opened his pants and took him in one hand, feeling the heat and thickness before closing my lips over him. Karim gave a guttural groan and grabbed my hair. Andrés did not miss a detail, standing off to one side, controlling the scene with every word.

—Look at me while you do it —he ordered, and I lifted my eyes to him without letting go of the boy.

When Karim finished, he did so with a tremor that ran through his legs, and Andrés held my face between his hands so I wouldn’t move, setting my rhythm until the end.

—Don’t clean yourself —he told me afterward, panting almost as hard as I was—. I want you to remember this with every step on the way back.

***

Karim straightened up, breathing heavily, his chest shining with sweat. Without a word, he picked up that intense blue pair of jeans from the floor, shook them out, and handed them to me.

—A gift —he said hoarsely—. So madam remember Karim’s shop.

Andrés accepted the pants with a nod and patted him on the shoulder.

—Thank you for everything, Karim. For the clothes... and for the rest.

We left in a hurry. The hot souk air hit my skin, which still held the dampness of both of them. We walked through the alleyways dodging carts and tourists. I was wearing the blue dress clinging to my body, with nothing underneath, feeling how each step reminded me of what had just happened behind that shutter. I kept my eyes forward, but my hands were shaking, and every time a man stared at me, I quickened my pace, sure that anyone could figure it out.

We climbed the riad stairs at almost a run. The wood creaked as if it were shouting our urgency. When we reached the room, Andrés threw the bolt.

—Look at you, Marina —he told me in the ear, holding me by the waist in front of the carved wooden mirror—. You won’t forget this day.

He made me put first one leg and then the other into the gifted jeans. The hard fabric, that unforgiving denim, climbed roughly over my still-wet skin. When he zipped them up, the extremely tight pants compressed me completely, and I let out a gasp.

—It’s rubbing... I can feel the fabric stuck to me —I stammered, my face hot again.

He put a thin blouse over me, with nothing underneath, and it left my nipples obvious. I walked normally, but each step toward the door was a physical reminder of the morning. Andrés watched me in the mirror with a smile that said everything.

—Let’s go to dinner, sweetheart —he said, hugging me from behind—. And I want you, while we eat in the square, not to forget even for a second what happened today. And to know that I’m here, by your side, completely crazy about you.

We went back out into the street. Marrakech’s air hit us again, heavy with spices and night, and I walked beside him knowing I was no longer the same woman who had stepped off the plane.