Summer showers

Summer is fading fast, we are now at that time of year when here in Spain you often get temperatures over thirty with glorious sun at midday and then storms and quite a chilly evening. Last week I went out on my bike as I have often done over recent weeks, trying to do some exercise in the now cooler evening air. Over the summer I have had to go to the gym and exercise inside, where they at least had air conditioning, but now at last I can get out. I was home early from work, instead of driving back to my flat in Barcelona I had taken my car to work with the express intention of driving out of the city to my village and my house there. I got there at around six in the afternoon, perfect timing. I parked the car in the road and let myself into the garden. My garden is small and perhaps a little overgrown, trees around the edges and well grown bushes, still I like it like that as no one can see in and it affords me privacy. I opened the front door dropped my document case and computer and happily ran up the stairs to my room. There I stripped off my working clothes and pulled out my cycling stuff. I have a lovely outfit a friend gave to me of red cycling shorts with a matching sleeveless white and red top. They go with my cycling helmet and also with my bike. I have even bought myself some red and white glasses! The whole things looks pretty good, I know that it is for doing exercise but it doesn?t take much to coordinate these things, some male readers I know are scratching their head at this, but for me looking good is important. I put on my shoes and clomped down to the garage, the pedal fastenings on the bottom making a racket on my wooden parquet floors. In the garage my bike hangs on a hook on the wall, I heaved it down and hit the remote for the garage door. Brilliant sunshine spilled into the garage leaving me momentarily blind. Then I put my glasses on and my eyes adjusted to it, I wheeled the bike out. Another click on the remote and the door silently closed behind me. My garage is at the back of the house so I got on my bike, clicked my foot into the pedal and hit the button for the gate at the end of the drive. By the time I had ridden down there it was already open. By gate I mean a large high aluminum door that shuts off the end of my drive. When the gate is open my garden is exposed, it is weird having the gate open sometimes as normally I always park outside. When I do the garden feels odd. As I rode out I hit the button again causing the gate to slowly close behind me, the remote went into the pocket on the back of my shirt and I was off. I had decided to head out of the village along a path past the cemetery and then to follow a track I know that heads up into the hills then loops around before returning by the same road past the cemetery. It is a long ride but I was feeling strong and optimisic that it wouldn?t leave me too exhausted. A lot of my female friends from Barcelona, and even some from the village, have told me that they wouldn?t feel safe cycling alone in the hills but I have to say I have never had reason to worry about it and I love all the scenery. Most of the route is made up of tracks between olive groves, these are normally very stony wheel tracks with a high part in the middle and low stone walls on either side. After about twenty minutes or so I got to the highest part of the ride where the road up into the mountains starts. I was hot and sweaty and my legs were burning nicely. I had pulled down the zip on my cycling shirt, I could feel the lycra sticking to my back and how the sides and straps of my cotton exercise bra were soaked. I paused briefly, drank some water and then happily launched myself down the next track. This one is a long downhill run over stones along a dry river bed which is Kartal Escort really exhilirating. You have to watch out for the larger rocks as if you hit them you can come off with nasty consequences. I bounced and shuddered down the track and as I neared my village I could see dark storm clouds rolling in, you couldn?t miss how much darker it was getting. I got to the turn off towards the village and the first drops of rain started to splatter down wetly. Where I live rain is not a terribly frequent thing, however when it does rain it often does so with great vehemence. This was one of these occasions as suddenly the heavens opened and a real downpour started. The rain soaked me instantly, dripping off the end of my nose and running into my mouth when I opened it, it was hard to see but what there was to see was obscured by the downpour. The track I was following would soon meet the cemetery road but in the meantime the quantity of rain falling was turning it into a small river rather that a negotiable track. I then saw just in front of me a big oak, spanish oak that is, different from the UK ones, but big nonetheless. I headed for it, it was just off the track, and took grateful refuge under its branches. I have to say I wasn?t really annoyed about the rain, I wasn?t cold or anything, in fact I left my bike there and stood out under it for a while enjoying the feeling of the big heavy drops impacting on my skin. I was dressed all in lycra and I knew that when it stopped I would be able to cycle home with no problems. Then I saw another person appear, heading for the tree like I had, from the same direction I had come from. She too was on a bike but unlike me hers was a typical old fashioned type thing with a basket on the front. Also unlike me she wasn?t dressed for the rain. She had on a sort of white hippy cotton top, sleeveless with bits of lace around the edges and the shoulders. This went with her long hippy skirt, right down to her ankles, that was made out of a multicoloured, tie died cotton material. She had on small cute flip flops with seashells on the straps. I could see them easily as she had the skirt up round her knees as she tried to push her bicycle through the torrent towards the shelter of the tree. In the basket on the front of the bicycle she had a large type of cotton sack woven out of a rafia type material. Like me she was totally sodden but unlike me her clothes stuck to her and made walking difficult for her. The Bicycle obviously weighed a ton and was getting stuck in the growing mud. Her blonde hair hung down around her face in rat tails plastered to her shoulders and back. I had never seen her before but from the look of her I took her to be one of the new British colony that has been slowly installing itself in the hills around my village over the last few years. I could see that she was petite, her skirt was plastered to slim legs, and that she had a very small waist. Her soaked blouse showed me that firstly she wore no bra, and secondly she had small breasts like a schoolgirl. From what I could see of her face she had white skin with the typical flush of colour over her cheeks, exagerrated in that moment from the effort of pushing the bike through the torrent. I couldn?t see her eyes but I bet to myself they would be grey or blue. All of this I took in in a single glance because the next instant I was boldly splashing into the tumbling water to help her. She seemed startled when I grabbed hold of the handlebars, ?you push I?ll pull, ? I said to her, ?come on!? She brightened a little and flashed me a smile as with a heave we got the bike moving again. By now the water was over my ankles and it had quite a force to it. We struggled and heaved and pushed and eventually Kartal Escort Bayan the bike rode up the slight rise that was the roots of the oak. I helped her prop it against the trunk of the tree and she collapsed onto the ground next to me. She was muttering something and seemed to be swearing and cursing. I sat down next to her pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. Finally, once she had vented her frustration, she turned to me, ?Moltes graciès,? she said in atrocious Catalan. I smiled back at her, I had lost my bet, her eyes were in fact green. A delicate light green that would probably seem to be a different colour depending on the light. Her skin was indeed white, obviously a recent arrival as she had no tan at all and this is the end of the summer. ?Hey that?s ok, ? I answered, ?are you new around here?? A lovely smile split her face, ?you speak English!? She must have totally missed that I had already spoken in English to her. With a smile on her face she was really lovely, delicate and youthful with those lovely eyes that seemed to draw my gaze deep into them. ?Of course, ? I said, ?a lot of the locals do.? ?Not many of the ones I have spoken to, ? she replied ruefully. We chatted, about the locals, about the weather, obviously, and how awful it was at that moment. She explained that she wanted to go to the next town over from my village, not too far by bicycle, and I said that the rain would probably peter out soon. The way it was pelting down made that seem unlikely but I knew that these summer storms never lasted too long. As I told her this the rain did indeed start to slack off. We stood up. I looked across at her, her blouse was now practically see through and it was plastered to her chest outlining her small breasts and a pair of very hard nipples perfectly. Her dress was also clinging to her thighs and legs and dripped water pathetically. The bottom half of it was brown and plastered with mud. She lifted one foot, ?I seem to have lost something,? she said as she showed me one bare foot. Her sandal would by now be long gone in the flood and there was no way she could cycle along the main road looking as she did, she would have been accosted at best or arrested at worst. ?I tell you what, ? I said brightly, ?why don?t you come home with me for now, you can get dry and I have some other sandals you can have. I only live about five minutes from here and, honestly, I don?t think you are going to be able to carry on as you are.? She smiled at me again and said happily, ?really? Oh that?s great, thanks a lot.? We waited a few minutes more chatting happily about innocent things. She told me her name was Emma, I asked her if she was English and she told me that in fact she was Irish. She had come over with her parents and was trying to learn the language and then find a job. She had been at university in the Uk but had left as she had discovered she didn?t like it. Her hippy like appearance fitted with what she told me about wanting to be an artist or to work in the theatre. I reckoned she was about nineteen, maybe early twenties. She was impressed when I told her about me managing the family company but quickly made it clear that my type of highly stressed business life would be something she wouldn?t be able to stand. Finally the rain fell off to the point where we both felt we could try to make the village. We got up and I suggested that she pull her skirt up through her legs and tuck it into the waistband. She liked this idea and said it made her feel she had been working in rice fields or something. She was bubbly and seemed very happy despite the rude shock our weather had given her. We pushed our bicycles down what was left of the track till we came to the Escort Kartal cemetery road proper. That one is surfaced with cement so we got on our bikes and headed down towards the village. We wheeled in past the first houses and soon arrived at my gate. I fished out the remote control and was delighted to see that it worked despite having been absolutely soaked. The gate slid open and Emma exclaimed, ?wow,? when she saw the garden and the house. ?This is really lovely,? she said as she pushed her bike in through the gate. I hit the button again and the gate trundled closed again behind us. As I have said at the start my garden is actually really cute, a riot of plants and trees that makes it look luxuriant and intimate. There are not many open spaces but it is really attractive. We left the bikes on the drive and walked across the grass to my front door. The key I always keep inside a false stone in the flowerbed in front of the door so I soon had the door open. Emma paused, looked in through the door at my polished parquet and said, ?I can?t go in there.? She sounded quite despondent. ?Don?t worry,? I said, ?I?ll go in and open up, you go round the back and I?ll meet you at the back door. She set off round the house and I quickly went in and grabbed a couple of towels from the downstairs shower. At the back door I opened up and ushered her into the kitchen, ?I have a shower here downstairs, you can clean off there, here, take a towel.? ?Hang on,? she replied and then to my amazement, and delight, she quickly unhitched her skirt and let it drop down her legs until it was a muddy pile on the floor, then she stripped off her white top pulling it up and off over her head. Her total lack of inhibitions gave me quite a buzz. Her body, as I have said was very slim, nymph like if you know what I mean. Almost boyish apart from her small breasts and the minute bright red tanga she was wearing. She took the towel out of my hands, I had totally forgotten that I was going to hand it to her, and stood there looking at me. It was only a couple of seconds but it took me that long to click, ?oh yes, the shower is the second on the right, ok?? ?Great,? she said with a bright smile and she picked her way down the corridor being careful not to touch anything with her muddy legs. Behind her she left a trail of small delicate wet footprints. When I heard the water start I snapped out of my idiot state and quickly grabbed her clothes, the skirt I put straight on to wash and the blouse I left soaking. Then I hastily headed upstairs to my bathroom and stripped off all my cycling gear. I jumped into my own shower and as the water cascaded down over me my mind was running at a thousand miles an hour. Was she? Could she really want...? Why had she stripped off like that? I shampooed my hair and soaped myself all over, the water felt great but I didn?t take my time as I wanted to get downstairs as soon as possible. Out of the shower and dry I left my hair damp hanging down my back and wondered what I should wear. Emma would only have her towel so I got hold of a cotton top and shorts of mine for her and then I put on a top and some shorts for me. I thought about underwear but then thought she probably wouldn?t want any of mine, as an afterthought I didn?t put any on either. Then I went back down the stairs. The door to the shower was open and Emma wasn?t in the bathroom, I peeked round the door of the sitting room and there she was. She had wrapped the towel around her just under her arms and was walking around looking at my pictures and photos. Her hair, like mine, hung down her back still damp. The towel just covered her bottom but left her lovely slim legs bare. I walked in boldly and as she turned I offered her the clothes. She made no move to take them but immediately asked me, ?is this you is this photo?? The photo she was referring to is one of me taken on a beach by an old boyfriend of mine, it is almost sunset and the light is illuminating my body in lovely tones of gold and yellow as I am lying on the beach just where the waves are breaking.