I have always been jealous of Lucia; with her long ebony hair with soft curls falling down to her waistline. Full breasts that make her voluptuous, a whistle bait figure making her more attractive. She has small dimples on her cheeks that indent when she moves her full lips to speak; and her enviable lovely and shiny bronze skin that glows under the sunlight. Lucia had always been the crowd favorite, my Papa’s “muy hermosa hija”, the life (if not the main attraction) of the party. She has a laugh that is infectious yet subtly seductive.
I am not an inch like her at all. I have mousy brown hair with unruly curls that have a mind of their own. I find myself too thin, with little fleshy parts except for a huge back side that has become more of a bother than an asset. I really look more like my father, my shoulders are too broad. My skin is too dark, layers of tan for loving the sea too much. My Mama used to tell me, “Ana, when you have children of your own, you breastfeed them so they will be healthy and strong”. I look at my breasts and every night I prayed to God to make them big and that I will have nipples when I grow up, hoping that someday these tits will be useful for something. That’s the least of my pain.
Lucia, the “love child”, the first born, the one who got everything she desired, while I on the other hand lived with “seconds.” I love Lucia. I love and adore her. I insanely worship her. Honestly, I think she loves me too, but she loves herself more, than her lesser blessed sibling. On her 18th birthday she wished for a pony, and Papa gave her a Palomino. On my 18th birthday, I got this very beautiful and sexy white dress I was drooling with happiness. Not until my nanny told me it was a dress Lucia bought in Cataluña that she didn’t like so she tossed it away. I did not think my Mother was evil for wrapping it up and handing it to me. At the very least, I appreciated that she remembered because my father completely forgot.
Now that I am almost 21, I have long accepted this fact of life and have forgiven even our old town’s cult mob for Lucia. These days all I think about is being this old and I have yet to be with a man. I have pretended with my friends long enough that I know about all these things because they expect me to; being the only sister of the town’s sweetheart. But these days I feel they have tired of my crappy and imagined romances. The closest thing that I have experienced was one night when I caught Lucia with Gabriel, her ex-boyfriend, in the dark corners of our garden, right before the clearance to the vineyard. I heard whispers and some laughter and I peeped through the leaves. There I saw the two of them. The light was coming from the moon and it cast shadows everywhere. My sister was biting her clenched hand and Gabriel was under her skirt. I was 16 then and Lucia must have been almost 19 years old. I couldn’t see Gabriel, but I could see Lucia’s face. She was looking up and she was so sweaty. Gabriel’s right hand was on one of her breasts and she was pushing Gabriel’s head inside her. She was moaning quietly and something stirred inside me. I didn’t know what it was but I left right away, afraid that if I got caught, it would be me that would be punished for watching. Lucia never angered anyone. She always had her ways.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what I saw. I went for the tub and soaked myself. Strangely, my mind kept going back to that scene, my sister’s face in orgasmic ecstasy. I started touching myself and it felt good. I did not know how to react to this awakening of my senses, I was feeling hot all over and the warm water and soap suds were making my entire body shake. I trembled and shook and stifled a scream. I was imagining Antonio doing these crazy things with me. It was the start of many nights of my extended tub baths. There were nights I imagined Gabriel and I felt so guilty afterwards I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror. I felt so dirty, and hungry, and lustful. I must be a sinner.
Antonio. My childhood best friend and the boy I told myself will be my husband when I grow up. He is such a good friend that I often think he considers me to be a boy. O Dios mio, if he finds out the things I think about doing with him he will probably never talk to me again.
But today I don’t feel like talking to Antonio. Like everyone else in town giddy about my sister’s homecoming. Lucia has been away for five years. Five good years for me that I did not have to live like a shadow. Today will be different, she will be coming home and my sick father appears to have been rejuvenated. But Antonio? Even he wasn’t spared of my sister’s charm. He was gushing as he spoke.
“Ana, what time will she be here?” He was panting as he spoke.
I flatly said, “Maybe before supper. I don’t know exactly what time.”
As a force of habit, he touched my arms and I squirmed. “What is wrong Ana? Are you feeling sick? You don’t look very well.”
I quickly decided it was a good excuse, so I said I was and turned around to go back inside our house.
Antonio runs after me, “Hey, where are you going?”
“I am not feeling too well Antonio. Maybe I am coming down with the flu. If you want to see Lucia, you are welcome to stay for supper. She will be happy to see you.” I said trying my best to hide whatever angst I felt swelling up inside me. I run back inside our house and went straight to my room to lie in bed. I might as well be dead. Even the plants get more love and attention than I do. I was close to dozing when I heard a soft tapping at my door.
“Yes, who is it?’ I asked.
“Hija, su Mama. It’s me Ana.” I gasped, my mother.
I quietly walk over to the door and opened it a bit, “I am alright Mama. I just felt a little dizzy earlier. Is Lucia here yet?”
My mother, feisty in her age of 60, pushed the door open to have a better clearing and said in that tone that every daughter knew meant business.
“Ana, don’t think that I do not know how you feel about your sister. I have watched it all my life and you have been most unkind only to yourself. Que tonta. Now, get dressed. Your sister has some friends with her and I don’t want you looking like you just came out of a grape harvest. I have asked Talia to assist in fixing you up and I don’t want you looking like a “vieja” when the guests arrive. Look at you, you are so pretty but you don’t want people to see it. Talia, ven aqui, I want you to help Ana choose her dress and try to fix her hair, entiendes?”
Before I could say anything my mother had already gone back to where she came from. Talia and I gave each other one look and giggled. Ah, Talia - my loyal nanny, and probably besides my mother, the only other human being who thinks highly of me.
By 6:30 that evening, the house was brimming with lights, a full banquet and people. I quietly tried to get into the dining area unnoticed when Lucia saw me.
“Ana! Ana, look at you. Oh my, you look so beautiful and all woman! How long was I gone, Papa? You have kept my lovely sister in her little chamber up there; do people know how beautiful she has grown? I missed you so much Ana!” Lucia runs to me and hugs me tightly.
I tried to stop myself from crying because I genuinely missed her however different we were, she was the only I got. I hugged her back tightly.
She pulled me away and gave me another glance-over, “Jesus Maria, Ana! You are so pretty! Come, I would love my friends from America to meet you!” She gushed with an accent that was no longer familiar to my ears. I do not have the slightest idea what she was saying. I always saw myself to be a pathetic ugly duckling. Except for Talia, my mother, and sometimes Antonio, they say I look pretty. I never took that seriously. I don’t look at the mirror often enough to see what they were saying. Perhaps because Talia fixed my hair and we both decided that I should wear this yellow cotton summer dress that she said made me glow. I swear I could have worn my customary jeans and tees, and it wouldn’t matter. I have to go thank Talia after this.
As my sister dragged me to her friends circle, I stole a glance to my father seated on his wheelchair at the end of the long banquet table where he always sat. He was looking back at me with a small smile on his face. I decided to look away.
I could not remember all of Lucia’s friends’ names. Except for this one guy who was quite quiet compared to the rest. When I offered my hand for a handshake, he took my hand and kissed it. Everybody laughed and teased us. They called him Mark. They said Mark had always been shy and they all got surprised when he suddenly kissed my hand. I caught a bit of that teasing but I was too busy trying to act unflustered because I felt some kind of electric shock from that kiss that went straight to my spine and down to my legs and knees I almost wobbled. He had the deepest blue eyes I have ever seen.
The evening passed like a blur. I did not even notice Antonio was there all along. They asked me to sit beside Mark and we were too busy talking about most anything. I find out he also loved to read and we have read almost the same books, listened to the same music. We had an animated disagreement about certain movies and songs. But I knew that so far this was the best night I have ever had in nearly two decades. He stared at me the whole time I could barely swallow the food I was eating; he didn’t even seem to see that everybody else was watching us. My father had his customary scowl but I didn’t care. My mother was smiling. Lucia was very happy and was busy showering attention to her new fiancé, who happened to be mark’s cousin Richard, which explains Mark’s presence with us that night.
We have 25 rooms in our house. Enough for everyone to sleep with some spare. People decided to drink without any care in the world. The storytelling became too loud. The laughter vibrated in the halls for a few minutes I thought the vibrations would break the glasses. Even Mark and I had a few too many. At least I thought we did, because our heads were too close when we talked. He would whisper his questions in my ear so I will hear, and I will whisper back on his ear. Our thighs were touching under the table. I know about the stirring it sent to my soul, I was getting excited and even restless. My dress sleeves have fallen down on my right arm but I did not even bother putting it back. I felt particularly hot that night. Lustful even, but I didn’t care. There was something in my gut that sent me signals that I was feeling sexy, too sexy.
While everyone else was having more liquor and wine and mouthfuls of dessert, Mark asked if I can take him for a walk to see the vineyard. I obliged and we asked to be excused. With the exception of my father who had particularly noticed me that night, we left the banquet with people who were drunk with food and alcohol.
We walked slowly and because my steps were rather unsure, (I was giddy and excited), Mark put his arms around my shoulders to stabilize me, and we both laughed.
“I think I may have drank too much tonight.” I said.
He looked at me and smiled, “It doesn’t matter, you still look as fresh as spring. You are a very beautiful lady, Ana, and the fact that you don’t know you are, makes you even more beautiful.”
I knew I was blushing so badly because the heat rushed to my face and I was so grateful for the dark that he didn’t have to see it.
I tentatively said, “Maybe I should really say thank you for the compliment, and you are not just saying that because we are hosting the banquet.”
We both laughed. A quiet laugh though. Then he suddenly stopped and turned my shoulders to look at him.
“I would very much like to kiss you.” He said.
I did not say anything. I tiptoed and lifted my face towards him and kissed him instead, a light peck on the lips and then I pulled back. He pulled me back up and this time our bodies connected and I felt sparks flying all around me like there was some kind of electric field that enveloped us. His lips were soft and sweet and I returned all his advances, he pulled my back towards his body and I rubbed my body on him. I felt something move between us and it scared me and thrilled me at the same time. His other hand was now down to my butt, squeezing it and I felt trickles coming out of me. I shivered.
He stopped and looked at me. It was only the moon’s light above us, pretty much like the night I saw Lucia with Gabriel. It was cool and a light wind was blowing and whipping my stubborn hair out of place. I saw his soul in those deep blue eyes, a beautiful soul, a desirable soul, a soul I wanted to be with.
Without saying anything, I let my dress drop on the ground exposing my body and I slowly moved his hands on my breast, for the first time, again, in my life, my nipples popped out from their caves, fully erect. He cupped my breast gently and slowly moved his fingers across my nipples and I tried to stifle my body from shaking. He went down to kiss one breast and then the other, all the time I was holding my breath and trying to soak in all that was happening. I felt gloriously excited and stimulated.
I raised his head to meet my eyes, and told him with my eyes that this was going to be my first. However strange it was, without words he knew what I was saying. So he pulled my dress up again. I was so close to crying but when he looked at me again, he said; “Let me escort you back to your room.”
We passed through the back side of the house where there was a spiral staircase that led up to the girl’s rooms. Lucia had the east wing and I had the west wing. We made it to the hallway of our room’s floor in less than two minutes. We were flying I guess. I opened my door and walked in; I can feel Mark’s body heat intensifying behind me. I turned around to lock the door and I was going to put some lights on but from behind me Mark started kissing my back and pulled down my dress. I recklessly undressed him too. Too fast. Too eager. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to feel loved.
We fell to the floor, our clothes thrown all over the place and Mark did the one thing that had mystified me since that night in the garden that I saw Lucia. He went down on me and gave me the pleasure that I yearned and ached for all these years. I floated into a dimension that only my soul knew I could reach, I reached a climax so powerful there were tears in my eyes. By the time I felt that, Mark was ready to give me something more that night; I was ready to take him. I took it all. I basked in the feeling of orgasm and ecstasy. We didn’t stop making love to each other not until the sun began to peek out of the horizon.
When I opened my eyes, there was a man, not a boy, a man, lying on my breasts, snoring softly. His whole body was relaxed, peaceful; his light brown hair touching my breasts reminded me of the resplendent evening that has passed. I felt different. I felt sexy. I felt loved. I felt and believed I am beautiful. I smiled.