Chapter Seven

The Spanish like their fiesta and they know how to party. Pulsating music and cheerful laughs accompany us as we wander hand-in-hand through the dark streets of the Old Town. The scents of food, beer, and cigarette smoke permeate the air.

It's such a good feeling, to be with someone. I've had a few fleeting relationships after my divorce, but nothing involving romance. Loneliness is a treacherous friend, and in my case, it conspires with my nemesis the liquor. Not tonight, though. Tonight, my soul is singing.

We walk by stone buildings from medieval times, ghostly shadows in the night, their arches and spires silhouetting against a star-sprinkled canvas of blackness and eternity. I could feel at home here and anywhere in the world so long as I'm with someone able to make my pulse beat a wild cadence in my veins.

I'm acutely aware of Robin's presence by my side, my body sizzling and on edge. I don't know what the rest of the night has in store for us, but from his lighthearted enthusiasm and easy gait, he's not about to abandon me anytime soon.

"I'll show you where we were supposed to perform this evening," he says, as if reading my mind. "It's an old theater. About this way, I think." He tugs on my hand and leads me through a narrow, unlit alley. Our footfalls echo between walls. At the bottom, a dome appears before us, wide as a circus tent and a bit alone in the dark. The moon rises over the city, slowly casting white light into the maze of streets and revealing the theater entrance: a double door framed by two Greek pillars underneath a banner. "Shall we have a look?"

I ask, "It must be closed, no?"

"I've still got the keys to a side door." He turns to me with a grin, the moonlight complimenting his handsome features. His angular chin, strong nose and cheekbones, generous lips, and in place of eyes, deep-green glass marbles mirroring his soul.

My heart skips a beat. He's so special, how can I possibly deserve him? And what if his interest in me fades after he learns to know the new me, the burnt me, a different person from the young rock star wannabe he crushed on twenty years ago?

"Don't worry so much," he whispers, reaching up to caress my cheek. "We're going to be all right. Take a day at a time."

"Yeah." I let out a nervous chuckle.

He leans forward and kisses me, lips soft and oh-so-gentle. His fragrance of musk and cologne fills my space. Before I can respond to the kiss, a ding from my phone says I've received a text. I want to ignore the interruption, but Robin says, "It's okay, answer it."

"Pfft. It can only be Mira-Me." I pull the phone out of my pocket and thumb it open. Sure enough, she's sent me a selfie of her cheek-to-cheek with the charming Antonio Banderas lookalike and the words, Don't wait for me. I show it to Robin with a laugh.

"He-he, I guess this means we have the night to ourselves. But first, can I show you something?" He gestures for me to hand him the phone, taps the YouTube app open, and types "Robin and Lola" in the search section.

A long list of videos appears on the screen. He picks one where the two harlequins are bathed in purple light against a black backdrop. It must be filmed during one of their acrobatic shows, where they do a great number of acts you'd never imagine were humanly possible, he lying on his back and she using his extended arms and legs in the air for support to do extreme contortionist splits and dances. "What we do there is called an adagio."

"Wow." I gape. I am baffled by the way their movements are clocked and synchronized to perfection like machinery, having probably been rehearsed a thousand times, and how the duo relies on each other's physical abilities and balance. The video continues, now Lola lifting Robin the same way he did, and he standing upside down using solely her up-reached hands for support. I blink, this is so crazy. "That girl's strength is insane!"

"I told you she could carry my weight."

"And your balance is just..." I can't find the right word to express my admiration.

He laughs and returns the phone. "Now, let me show you where we had planned to do this."

He goes to the side of the theater, unlocks a steel door, and slips inside. I follow him into what looks like a small hall, the door clicking shut behind me. He fumbles in the dark before finding a switch. Light floods our constricted space, blinding us. "This way." The hall ends with a heavy red curtain. He pushes it aside. "Ta-daa!"

His voice echoes in a vast, round room towered by a domed ceiling. The lights are off, but moonlight pierces through a window revealing row after row of red-cushioned seats, balconies, and in front, a wooden stage. I recognize the smell from our hotel in Aranda de Duero—century-old lacquer and musty carpets, and maybe also a hint of candlelight. There is an oppressive quiet in here, as if ghosts from the past are watching us from the shadows.

Before I can say anything, Robin takes his shirt off, folds it over a seat, and removes his shoes—then hops up on the stage. What is he up to?

Eyes closed, he lifts a leg and spins around on the tip of his toe. Once, twice, in a slow then quickened rhythm as if following the leads of some classical music in his head. The low light filtering from the ceiling puts on display every single muscle of his torso and floating arms as he dances across the stage, swirling, jumping, gliding with utter grace.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, in awe. "A show? For me?"

I lean against a low, wooden fence separating the stage from the audience seats and hold my breath, his dance is so beautiful. I understand, now, that performance is his world, his life. The wooden stage floor creaks under his weight, but he seems so at home in this magical universe of the theater, like a crucial keystone the old building needs to feel alive, too. Where will I fit in?

Slowly, he melts down to the floor and lies there for a moment, arms spread, chest heaving for air and pelvis lifting in tune with a melody only he can hear. In profile, his body is a masterpiece of sculpted forms and proportions. Whoever created man must have had sex on his mind, for this man's gorgeousness sends me spiraling into a haze of lust and need. My body tenses, straining against my clothes as if they've become too small.

Seems as though Robin is feeling the same thing, for he arches his back like a bow, unbuttons his pants, pushes them down his legs, and kicks them off one foot after the other, giving me ample time to view the outline of his cock in his briefs. He must be aroused, how else can it be so long and thick? Surely, the low light isn't playing tricks on me. As if he's heard my thoughts, he turns to me with a dazzling grin and runs a hand over his erection.

Fuck, he's bad. Fierce arousal slams into me, my cock growing rock hard and tenting my jeans. I return the grin and tell him with my eyes, Go on!

He nods a silent, Okay , and gets up with the fluency and ease of an acrobat. Then goes to the side of the stage, grabs a rope hanging from the ceiling, and pulls it toward the center. The rope must be about twenty-five feet high, but he crosses his legs around it and climbs fast as an ape before stopping mid-height and suddenly spreading his arms, letting himself fall backward.

No! I gasp and plunge forward to catch him, colliding with the raised platform of the stage. But he's okay, his legs are locked around the rope, and he swirls round and round, head upside down, looking like an angel whose wings have given up a flight.

My heart hammers in my chest as I lean against the stage and suck in a deep breath. And calm enough to reckon he's got the most impressive human body I've seen, natural muscles bulging and not an ounce of fat. In addition to an innate sense of coordination, weight, space, and balance. Stupendous. Oh, yeah, and that hard rod in his briefs is still very visible, its veined profile enhanced by the moonlight, a supplement of maleness that has me salivate and lick my lips.

As quickly as I jumped to his rescue, I'm back into sex mode. My stiff cock presses against the wooden platform, the pulse in its veins pounding. I squeeze it to ease the pressure then rearrange it in my pants.

He straightens, glides down the rope, and at the bottom forms a limbless human ball rolling on the floor a couple times until he reaches the edge of the stage. Stopping inches from me, he spreads his long limbs again in a seductive position, dark gaze fixed on me, muscles trembling, his broad chest going up and down with each breath. Heat oozes from him. A thin coat of sweat covers his skin, which glows a dark bronze in the low light. Irresistible.

My turn to play. The show's over, and the performer must be thanked accordingly.

I grab his chin and pull him to me a little rough-handedly before covering his mouth with mine in a hard kiss then diving in, roaming, exploring. His gasps for air only urge me on. I curl my tongue around his in a teasing dance and lick the wet inside of his mouth, his tongue again, his teeth. Everything is mine. He breathes heavily through his nose, moaning in my mouth.

I release his swollen lips to give him some air. "Don't let anyone else kiss you like that," I warn, my voice hoarse and deep in my throat.

Cheeks flushed, he pants as he lifts his pelvis and reaches for the waistband of his tented briefs.

I put a hand over his and order, "Let me."

His eyes shine with such intensity, my breath hitches. They tell me he wants to come hard, he wants to shout out, but he also wants to be loved and not be let down. Like me, he's a lost soul struggling to stay afloat, a spirit broken again and again and now silently looking for a meaning to simply exist.

My heart bleeds for this man, but it's also full of a love I have not known in a long time. Love I can share if he's the right one.

Wanting to show him my attraction is not all about sex, I move my hand to his taut pectorals, stroking them with a finger following the deep lines between them. Fuck, he's such perfection, I need to have a taste. I lean down and tease a nipple with the tip of my tongue, then the other, gently nibbling the erect bud and sucking it in. His skin tastes salty, the ensnaring scent of male filling my nostrils.

He shudders, ragged puffs of air escaping his parted lips.

I run my hand down to the tight, warm muscles of his glistening stomach and draw the contour of each washboard ridge. Then hook a finger into the waistband of his briefs and pull them down over his hips, uncovering a furious boner. Thick, firm, and so needy it's jerking. My fucking God, what a sight.

I press my raging hard-on against the stage in an attempt to soothe the pain. Then lean down to place a gentle kiss on the mushroom-shaped head of his cock before going in for an assault—not in a mean way, but a little rough, because I want him to be swept over the top like a roller-coaster wagon shooting into the air.

I close one hand around the base of his hard rod and grab his sac with the other. I stroke the full length of the firm, velvety shaft up to its bulbous head and down, milking and pulling his foreskin back and forth, all the while massaging his balls. The sounds of pleasure erupting from his throat encourage me to bend down again and let my tongue glide back and forth along the veined underside. I lick up to the tip and swirl it around in small circles like a slow dance, each stroke leaving a wet trace on his stretched skin. I tease and toy with the tip, curling my tongue around and dipping into its wet slit. Salivating for more, I take him into my mouth and suck him in and out, then form a tight ring with my closed lips before letting it glide out again. I pump up and down the shaft before taking the tip into my mouth again and swallow as far as my throat can take, adjusting the angle of my neck so I can take him in deeper. The thick cockhead bumps the back of my throat.

To increase his pleasure, I move a finger to the small, puckered hole in the slit of his ass, circle the hole and apply light pressure. When I think he's gotten used to the intrusion, I dip my knuckle past his ring muscle into his tight, hot depth. He tenses against my finger, but I work the ring with slow moves until he's relaxed enough for me to push deeper, curling my finger upward and stroking the flesh inside.

There! He bucks and groans, his pelvis lifting in the air. His pulsating cock fills my mouth with warm, creamy semen.

I swallow mouthful after mouthful, his cum thick and salty on my tongue. So fucking erotic. His orgasm has heat rushing through my hard dick and warm pre-cum leaking into my briefs. Fuck, too soon. My balls are so full I'm about to burst, but I want to wait. I hold my breath and savor the amazing feeling, though, leaking more. Heart pounding a wild beat, I let his cock slip out of my mouth and straighten.

Sweat rolls down my body. My shirt sticks to my clammy skin, so I lift my arms to take it off, damp heat drifting from my armpits.

"Fuck, that was hot," he groans, panting. Sweat pebbling on his face, his gaze roams over my naked torso, followed by a wicked grin that says he likes my looks. Guess I don't need to be beefy as hell to please him. I work out just enough to look natural.

"Are you ready for the main course?" I unbuckle my belt, unzip my jeans, and show him my cock in my fist, twitching with excitement. Drops of pre-cum drip from the tip. "I'll let you have the honors." I find a rubber pack in a pocket and hand it to him, before letting my jeans and boxers drop to my feet.

"You're amazing. So, so hot." Voice husky, he laughs and licks his lips with a glowing stare. That's all I want, for him to feel great. Better than great, I'm going to devote the rest of my life to make him a happy man.

Dick still hard, he scoots over to the edge of the platform, jumps down, and kisses me. Our lips melt together, his tongue meeting mine and curling around it.

With a happy chuckle, he rolls the condom on his cock, gathers drops of cum from mine, and smears it on the rubber before pushing me to lean against the stage. Jesus, this is unreal. Just at the thought of his cock penetrating me, my ring muscle contracts.

Trembling with need, I stretch one arm ahead of me on the stage floor and wrap the other around my burning length.

The firm tip of his cock pokes at my hole. I brace for the invasion, but he eases into me inch by inch, stretching me with care. When the hard head passes my ring, my nerve endings come alive, a sting of pain shooting outward. He waits for me to relax before he lets his slick shaft glide further in. Halfway in, he grabs my hips and shoves deeper, burying his cock completely.

I let out a gasp, my inner muscles clamping around his shaft, enhancing our friction, and heightening my arousal. Feels so good with my ass stretched. He fills me so nicely, giving me an incredible sensation. I'm tense and full at the same time, can't believe how well we fit. My core tingles with need. To come even harder, I rub my cock base-to-tip with long, urgent strokes in the same rhythm, on and on.

He rides me with such ease, pulling in and out with slow, calculated moves and almost slipping out before thrusting in again. He groans and pushes deeper, faster, and I relish the feel of his thick cock gliding in and out of me at a quick, rhythmic pace, pumping me over and over. Sweat slicks our linked bodies, each rough movement making his balls slap my butt cheeks and slamming me against the stage. It doesn't stop me from giving myself a major jack-off. That, combined with the friction against my ring muscle and the gliding sensation of fullness in my ass, is going to make me come so hard. I'm going to be blown away like crazy.

His rapid breaths fill my ears. He's chasing a new orgasm. I couldn't be happier for him, I want him to experience this again and again.

My body trembles. My balls ache. The more he increases the speed and friction inside my ass, the harder I'm going to explode. I gulp air, bracing. Then climb higher and higher until I have to spray all of that burning cum out of my cock.

Oh, it's happening! Heat shoots through me, and I blow up with a cry. Arching my back, squeezing him with my ass, I release all the searing hotness from inside my balls and shoot long spurts onto the stage wall.

He convulses at the same time, growling to the fucking silence around us.

It takes me a long moment to come to. And when I do, I laugh, leaning back against my lover's large, heaving chest and looking up to the domed ceiling of the theater where he was supposed to perform for an ecstatic audience tonight.

The cheeky harlequin did perform all right—he seduced me to the moon and back with his act—but the truth is, he is now mine, all mine.

The End