We ventured out of our tiny servant-quarters flat early Sunday afternoon, and there it was, one of the most beautiful sights these eyes have ever seen. The streets were overflowing with people, the courtyard across the way was filled to the brim. Sundays were the day that El Rastro took place, an enormous outdoor bazaar in the city center. After everyone finished up their shopping, they headed to La Latina for an afternoon of fun and debauchery. Everyone was drinking, rolling spliffs, laughing, kissing, dancing, and fighting. And there were men, hot men, I mean super-hotmen everywhere.
I was 22 at the time and most of my sexual experiences up to that point were with the skinny earthy liberal patchouli-reeking weenies I met in college. They had nothing on these fine-looking matadors, and I was a raging bull seeing red. This day was to be the dawn of my sexual awakening.
On any given day you would find us gringas drinking wine on a terrazaat the top of the Cava Baja, a street lined with bars and restaurants in the La Latina barrio. We quickly learned that you don’t really need the language to communicate with men. Body language was enough, and Spaniards are a very physically animated people.
Ignacio was one of my first Spanish lovers who didn’t speak a word of English. I met him at my favorite hangout, Lamiak.I saw him out of the corner of my eye because he had been staring at me intently from the second I walked in. He came up to me and the usual broken banter began. “Si, soy de Estados Unidos. Soy una profesora de Ingles.” That’s pretty much all I knew how to say then. It really didn’t matter, because talking was not the point of the conversation. My girlfriends had already paired off with their own Spaniards and after a few glasses of wine, Ignacio and I were kissing and out the door.
The first time I made love to a foreigner was incredibly exciting. I felt like I was caught up in a steamy Antonio Banderas movie. He was gorgeous with long curly hair and deep dark eyes. Part of the allure of making love with a foreigner is obviously the language itself, Spanish is incredibly sexy, especially when it’s being whispered into your ear by a dark handsome stranger as he is undoing your bra. For the most part, I had no idea what Ignacio was saying to me while we were having sex, but my god, I loved it. It was amazing … until it was over. That’s when the language barrier made me want to scratch my skin off.
He didn’t seem to fully understand that I didn’t understand a word he was saying. Perhaps he thought I was just being coy and pretending I didn’t know Spanish. He started going on and on, pointing at things around his room. I laid there, trying to read his face so I knew whether I should say “si”or “no,” or just smile awkwardly. He eventually got that I wasn’t getting it, and we lay there in silence. He seemed totally okay with it, but the neurotic Russian Jew in me was squirming with anxiety.