A Year Of Sex Fantasy Tales. Juan Salanova
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and women idealized by social media. They'll be more than that. The dream of reason produces monsters... and wonders, and paradises that your heart can feel if the story manages to make you participate as a character.
Tobed (Zaragoza), August, 18, 2018
TALE OF THE VIRTUAL CIVIL SERVANT
Zaragoza (Spain)
October 2015
Once again, the holiday season had arrived, reminding her of the passing of time and the different ups and downs that her insecure life had led her to.
She remembered years of absolute revelry, wanting to cover all the concerts, all the street shows, drinking without rest until she was taken to bed to the inexperienced ephebe of the season, with whom she had a semi-unconscious sexual relationship in which she had to go beyond the limits of ignorance, in a cold orgasm that was compulsory, if not unnecessary. It was a time of hedonic youth, conceived as a race of attack and conquest of the maximum possible of companions in the shortest possible time and with the maximum frequency that she could assume. But that was already over when the new rivals showed her clearly that her body had stopped shining, indicating her march into the adult world.
She also remembered that time when she felt the social pressure of the need for mating and reproduction and how the great Babylon on feast day was transformed into escapes to shelters of intimacy where she could deepen her human relationships, both physical and mental. From those years came the beginning of her monogamous pairing with her now ex-husband. With him she had two daughters who, after going through phases similar to those she had enjoyed before giving birth, lived happily married abroad, concerned about promoting themselves socially through well-paid jobs for both spouses.
But now she was in the third phase. As it had been happening for the past few years, it used to be a getaway into a single, all-female group to some natural refuge where they could kill their anxiety. Always the hiking in the autumn nature, full of the changing colours of leaves that announced the end of the year. In contrast to the permanent green of the holm oaks and pine groves, the range of warm leaf colours ranged from dark cherry red, pinkish red of the virgin vine, shades of green to red in the terebinth, and decadent yellow of the leaves of the walnut, peach and poplar trees. The deciduous vegetation was only waiting for another pink frost to go to sleep for a few months.
- Why am I thinking this? - she said to herself, stopping watching the local holidays program.
She noticed that she had been watching it for a while, without even reading the multitude of shows, divided by icons of different colours that made up the events of the first day. In fact, her mind had been wandering through the past, not being satisfied by any of the options she remembered choosing during her local festivities over the years.
This year must be different - she said decisively.
She was now faced with her new situation: old and lonely, but with enough energy to be able to live with young people who were 30 years younger than her.
She went to look herself in the mirror and saw that her eyes were still full of life. It was some time ago that her tragedies had been watered down, dominated by the instinct for survival. Her face, however, was not lying. Nor the short hair and the multi-coloured strands that favoured her timeless image.
Staying for the holidays like in your younger days? With her girl friends, all singles who spent their time gossiping in closed groups, without daring to assault strangers? Alone? Alone. Was she crazy? In those days of gregarious exhibition, was I going to be alone in the city? Did I want everyone had the same idea in mind: she's crazy! Wasn't she going to feel lonely and rejected by the many groups who were absolutely open to friends and drastically closed to "outsiders"?
She first considered what would be a priority for her. Meet people, talk to people, have fun naively with people? No. No. The latest TV rubbish shows had given her something she had been dreaming about for a long time without being aware that she wanted it so badly: the possession of a young, strong man.
A phone call interrupted her existential wandering. It was Virginia who, as always, couldn't stand her loneliness any longer.
- Eva, how are you!
- Good. Watching the program. It's full of shows.
- But are you planning stay in town for the holidays? With all that turmoil? If one can't even move!
- I'm thinking about what to do.
- I have the solution. We, the singles group are renting a mountain shelter. Now the mountain will be beautiful.
- I imagine you mean "singlas", don't you?
- Well, Fidel's coming too.
- I see.
Fidel was the regular companion of the group of female civil servants. He was platonically in love with one of them, who rejected him with determination. Otherwise he was a small, nondescript man without clearly defined sexuality. His time was divided between his work as a school caretaker and his mission as a companion in the service of the group in his spare time, both to fix a tap for them when they needed or to get their tickets for the cinema premieres in advance, so as to avoid them having to wait in line.
- Well, I'll think about it.
- It's just that we have to book now...!
- Well, you can count me out. I'd rather stay home to rest. I'm tired of so much VAT - she lied, using her job in a tax office as an excuse. - Have a good time. Send pictures.
- I insist. Think about it and tell us tomorrow. We're all leaving. And Fidel.
- I don't feel like travelling this year, Virginia. So stick to your plans. I'm definitely staying in Zaragoza. We'll tell each other how we did on the way back. I'm sure you'll have a great time. The forest will be beautiful.
- Well, if you change your mind, let us know. I don't know. You seem a little strange to me. Is something wrong with you?
- No, no, I'm fine. It must be the years, which are ageing me. Seriously, I'd rather stay. Go ahead with your adventure.
- Okay. Yourself.
I didn't know why, but she’d wanted to hang up earlier. She had not been able to focus on her friend's suggestion. Actually, she’d barely heard it. It was a no from the beginning.
As always when she felt her vital emptiness, she sat down, and immediately lay down on the sofa, and put on her favourite trash television. A group of young and old, busy, and varied people, in branded clothes that fashion stores probably gave them to get free publicity, repeated daily the anodyne, scandalous themes of their celebrity list with no cultural relevance for the country. But it was their voices, their themes, their liberal and reactionary ideologies on a personal and social level that attracted her. Understanding the discourse of celebrities in elegant TV sets demanded a minimum of mental effort. They played being close characters seeming to be below the national average in order to attract all social classes.
That day, for the tenth day in a row, they repeated the imprisonment of a famous imported sportsman, for having evaded from the Treasury everything his whitening lawyer had recommended. The pregnancy, childbirth and subsequent divorce of the daughter of a national singer, who had found a money-spinner vein advertising all her social events, which she had to renew every three months at the latest, to ensure the contents of the gossip magazines that populated the waiting rooms in paid medical consultations, could not be missed either.
The phone rang again. It was her niece from the village.
- Aunt! How are you?
- Hello Belén. All right. What about you?
- Everybody's fine. Surprise! I'm going to go pass Pilar hlidays with you. My parents allow me this year. Good!
It was an unexpected proposition that for a moment made her think that her single friends had been smarter than her.