lust

It was winter in Vienna. He asked me to tea and then as we sat drinking it wondered if I'd be offended if he invited me to his house.  I was not, which is why they gravitate towards the gringas in the first place, of course.  His apartment was far, farther out of the center of the city than I'd ever been, all the way at the end of the tram line.  I was a bit nervous, but only a bit.  He served me fried eggs and we looked at a book of Hundertwasser paintings.  It never occurred to me that he was trying to seduce me, which is why they gravitate towards the gringas in the first place, of course.

"I will teach you to dance salsa," he told me.  I smiled and agreed.  He held me close, and guided my hips with his hands.  He whispered in my ear.  Around and around we went. Later, in bed, he kept saying "Oui, oui" and then apologizing, the French a remnant of an ex- or perhaps a current girlfriend.  I didn't care, which is why they gravitate towards the gringas in the first place, of course.

I remember all of these things, but I don't remember the way he smelled or the feel of his skin against mine.  Just his breath in my ear as we danced.

In the morning it was bright and cold and I rode the tram back to the center of town by myself, trying to understand the German of the stop announcements.