Cubbyhole (Part I)

The door of the cubbyhole was swiftly closed. I tried to convince myself that there was actually a separation line between the wild hunting ground of the Hammam and the flimsy intimacy of my cubbyhole.
After brushing my body against various kinds of flesh and looking into the eyes of a multitude of males then mentally scanning potential images of shagging, my choice finally landed on a tall man who was persistently staring at me.
He was confidently guarding his den. His large body was almost entirely blocking the cubbyhole’s entrance. I approached him hesitantly discovering gradually his features in the dim light. He pulled me towards him in an elegant move worthy of a dancer. For a second, I thought I heard tango rhythms fluffing up the air. I even saw myself carrying a rose in my mouth. My blood pressure dropped down smoothly when I learned that my prefect stranger was Spanish. It was like being transported from this perfectly functional room where every detail was conceived for the best time-efficient basic sexual encounter into my Spanish classroom. I started patching up sentences in Spanish to talk about the weather, my country, my job then slowly slipped into another darker territory. I asked him to talk dirty in Spanish. I looked at my sweaty face in the mirror as he embraced me and poured his tongue into my ears. We lied down and made out. Every time we moved, our sweaty bodies made squeaky sounds as they interacted with the cheap leather mattress. I felt like a porn star watching myself in the mirrors placed on every wall and the ceiling of the cubbyhole. Javier had this amazing talent of having the generic one night stand while showering his partner with fatherly affection. He was my perfect sugar daddy. I never saw Javier again. The last mental image I have of him is one by the lockers of the Hammam. He was saying goodbye like a sailor embracing his mistress before disappearing into the sea. He took my phone number as he wore his Speedo. I turned my back to him and went to look for my friends. With every step I made I hesitated for half a second. A question kept flashing in my head: Shall I make plans with Javier? But I never turned back and Javier never eventually called. © El Matador