Series Introduction

Once upon a time, there was a family of five who lived in Madrid. In the Lopez family, there was Paco, the father, and Carolina, the mother. The oldest child of the three was called Biel. And Biel had twin sisters called Jordina and Elia. In the summer that these stories take place, Elia and Jordina turned eighteen and Biel was twenty-one.

Carolina’s mother, Pilar, was very elderly and in rapidly failing health. The Lopez family decided that they should spend the summer in Tarragona, where Pilar lived. They would take care of Pilar in her last days, say their goodbyes to her, and enjoy the Mediterranean coast for a spell.

Now, Tarragona is a very old and strange place, deeply steeped in history and myth, and legend. There are many tales of the fantastic, and dragons actually do march through the streets at their annual festivals. It was the capital of Roman Spain and has seen many occupiers come and go over the centuries. There are those who consider it occupied territory even today, and that it should by rights be a part of the free state of Catalonia. It is a town with many ghosts if ever there were one.

And so, it was not wholly surprising that, while they were in such a place, each of the Lopezes had an extraordinary (not to mention sexual) adventure, which will be related in turn in this series.

First comes Pilar’s tale. I hope you enjoy the stories!                                                                                       

Pilar’s Tale

My name is Paco. It’s Francisco, really, but everyone knows me as Paco. We came to Tarragona because my mother-in-law was eighty that year and at the end of her life. Pilar, my wife’s mum, was not a wicked mother-in-law. We were never friends, exactly, but there was none of the poison and bad blood that can come from a mother who disapproves of her daughter’s partner. We rubbed along ok.

Sitting with Pilar, Carolina and I made small talk. But this story really begins when my wife was called away by a phone call. When she was out of earshot, Pilar sat bolt upright and grabbed my hand.

“I need to tell you something before I die. Come and see me one evening. Just you. I’ll be awake.”

This was totally unlike her. Pilar had been married for fifty years, until her husband, Jorge, had passed away. What on earth could she have to disclose?

I decided not to share her request with my wife. At least, not until I knew what she was going to tell me. This, it transpired, was a wise decision.

Luckily, an opportunity soon presented itself to get away for a few hours.

“Biel and the girls are going to the water park for the day. I’m going shopping,” said my wife. 

I knew that this was my chance to see Pilar. I sent her a message to expect me on Tuesday afternoon.

                                                                                                *

It was five o’clock when I arrived at Pilar’s bedside. She smiled at me warmly.

“Good evening, Paco,” she said. I returned the greeting and enquired about her health.

“I am well enough, thank you. Now, I imagine you are curious as to why I have asked you to come alone.”

“I am,” I said.

“Paco, there is something about your wife I have never told a living soul. I must tell someone before I pass on. If you want to tell her, it is up to you. But, please, not while I’m alive. You won’t have long to wait, I’m sure.”

I said nothing to this, but I inclined my head to signify agreement to her request. Pilar smiled appreciatively, then she began her story.

“I was a young woman, just nineteen years old. It was during the civil war, and I was active in helping the Catalan independence movement and protecting people from the air raids Franco’s forces conducted across Tarragona. One night, my friend Dolores and I had to hide in the air raid shelter that our organization had built. We sat on the floor listening to the shells and the bombs go off, hoping everyone we knew was safe.

Now, we were safe down there, so we looked about the shelter a bit. Hidden behind some boxes, we discovered a small door in the shelter. It was locked, but the lock was very old and broke with a little pushing and tugging. The door was quite low, so we had to stoop to pass through it. And it opened into a tunnel. The tunnel was dark, but we weren’t cowards, so we picked up candles and made our way down it. It felt like we were the first people in a very long time to walk down there.

You know the layout of the city. There is the cathedral at the top of the hill, then the ruins of the Roman Forum and, below that, the ruins of the charioteers’ circus. In those days it wasn’t nearly as well excavated as it is today, but we realized we were walking into where the old circus had been. And, to our amazement, we heard human voices. Who on earth could be down here?

Dolores and I heard talk and laughter as if there was a bar open. We were a bit afraid now, but we carried on. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and we followed it, cautiously.

“We can just look in on them. If they’re Fascists, we can run back before they see us,” I whispered to Dolores, and she nodded. If we were caught eavesdropping on a Fascist organization meeting, we would have been arrested.

The light grew brighter, and we inched slowly forward on tiptoes toward it. The noise was coming from around the corner. Hesitantly, I looked around the corner.

There was a cavernous room lit by flaming torches. There was a bar. About twenty men were there and serving girls were bustling about pouring drinks and flirting with the men. But the extraordinary thing was that they were dressed in leather tunics and boots. They were all dressed in the style and fashion of ancient Tarraco.

I took them to be actors, or maybe history buffs. Eccentric people having fun dressing up in Roman clothes, even if that was an extraordinary thing to do when the war was on. But then I began to listen to what they were saying.

“Let’s have a song! I’m going into the arena tomorrow; this could be my last night!”

“Nonsense, Marius. You’ll get through. You always do!”

“Everyone’s luck runs out eventually.”

“Don’t tempt the Gods!”

“Hey, we’ve got some visitors!”

Someone had seen me. A man marched over and pulled me by the arm into the room. He was a bit rough, but not unfriendly.

“Hello, what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Lola…I’m Lola.”

In those days of war, you were more cautious about giving your name out. Lola was simply the first thing that came to my head.

“Well, Lola, there’s room on my lap and a goblet of wine for you!”

The man sat down and motioned that I should sit across his knees.

He was big, strong, and powerful. I was a little afraid of him but also, I admit, attracted to him. He had a big beard and a loud, commanding voice. He was not a man who would take no for an answer.

“Is your friend going to keep my brother Marius company?” he asked.

“That’s up to her, I guess.”

Dolores entered the room, hesitantly.

“Over here!” cried Marius.

Dolores went over and sat on his lap. The wine was thrust into our hands.

“Now where did you come from, all dressed up in that weird stuff?”

He was referring to our clothes. I had a plain brown dress on, and Lola was in navy blue. There was nothing outlandish about how we were dressed. At least not to people of the nineteen thirties.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“Ha! Secretive, are you? Never mind. Now, Lola, I may well die tomorrow in the arena, and I would love for you to keep me company tonight.”

At this point, I just assumed he was an actor, and I should simply…play along. It wouldn’t do any harm. It was fun, in a weird sort of way.

“Here, take some wine.”

I did. I had drunk very little alcohol up to that point in my life, so it didn’t take long for the wine to make me tipsy. And the man, whose name I learned was Justus, was engaging company. He told me wild tales of life on the seas and his exploits at work in the slave mines of Nubia. He certainly had his lines down pat, I thought!

After half an hour, I looked over. Marius had been charming Dolores just as Justus had been charming me, and he leaned in and gave her a kiss. Taking that as a cue, Justus kissed me on the lips. Just a peck. I let him. He did it again. And again. And then we threw ourselves into it and kissed passionately. I had only kissed one man up to that point, but this was completely different. When Justus kissed me, it was as if all my repressed sexuality burst out of wherever I had kept it and I was wild with desire.

“Lola…,” he said, kissing me, “I happen to know there is a room with a bed just through there.”

I was not a virgin. I had been with my fiancée. That was Jorge, your father-in-law, who I later married. But he had been away, fighting in the war. I hadn’t seen him for six months and I only got a letter once a week. I had been faithful, but I was also very frustrated. I knew that Jorge was, probably, visiting brothels with his army pals. And I didn’t really mind, as long as he was careful about venereal disease. It was just accepted in wartime. But I had needs too.

And Justus seemed like the type who would be skilled at making love. Under the influence of the wine and my growing sexual desire, I nodded.

We got up and walked hand in hand together. Once in the room, we closed the door. I turned around so he could unzip my dress. He was nonplussed. It was like he had no idea what to do with it.

“Haven’t you ever seen a zip before?” I asked.

“No. Where did you get this stuff?”

I told him how to unzip the dress and I got it off. He unbuttoned his tunic and pulled down his shorts. I saw that he had no underwear on. His penis was very well-sized. I took off my bra. He fell on my upper torso, kissing my neck and my breasts, and my arousal grew ever greater. His lips were warm and moist on my body. His hands caressed my buttocks through my knickers and then he pulled them down. He slipped his fingers into me…we were still standing at this point. He expertly found the right spots to pleasure a woman.”

My mother-in-law had closed her eyes, but she continued to tell her tale. I listened intently.

“Justus strummed my insides as if he were plucking a harp or operating a bow. Oh, it felt good! He was firm and manly, and he skillfully built up my pleasure. I asked him to take his fingers out…I wanted his manhood inside me.

His penis was erect now, and he needed no second asking. Through the wall, I might add, I heard Dolores beginning to squeal as Marius pleasured her.

I lay on my back on the bed, and he joined me, lowering himself down above me, and then I felt his penis nudge the entrance to my vagina. It was very hard, and I knew he would satisfy me. Justus pressed in and I was penetrated by my second man. Or, so I thought,” Pilar stopped. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“Pilar? What happened?”

“Justus made love to me beautifully, Paco. It must be hard to imagine an old woman like me experiencing such passion and desire, but it happened once. He made love to me in every position we could contort our bodies into, and I had wonderful, blissful orgasms. Three of them. I would have married him that very night if he had asked. But…”

I leaned forward.

“But, naturally, at last, he reached orgasm. I felt him come with real ferocity inside me. And as he orgasmed, his form began to melt away. I swear to you on my life. The body of this extraordinary man faded before my eyes. And not only my eyes, but his touch, on my naked body, lightened gradually as his form dissolved into thin air. In thirty seconds, the man Justus had disappeared into the air, or, as I now believe, returned to the realm of the dead from where he had come. Paco, he was a ghost. I swear to you, Paco, this story is true. I’ve kept it my whole life and never told another living soul.”

I was unsure if I believed her or not. It was a crazy story, but Pilar spoke with genuine passion and the tears that cascaded down her cheeks were real enough.

“Not even your husband?”

“No…especially not him. Because, when he came back from the war, nine months later…”

“Carolina!”

Now, emotion overwhelmed Pilar and she nodded. Each word of the next sentence she uttered was punctuated by great sobs and gasps of air.    

“She wasn’t Jorge’s, Paco. I’m sorry. She was Justus’s daughter. And Jorge never suspected a thing.”

I watched my mother-in-law weeping, scarcely able to believe my ears. It was a preposterous story. Had the old dear’s mind gone as her body prepared to shut down for the last time? I thought that I should speak to the doctor about the possibility that she was no longer of sound mind. And yet, despite the implausibility of her tale, she was wholly coherent and genuinely emotional…

I left Pilar in the hospital when she was a bit calmer and able to sleep. I didn’t go straight back to the family. I went to Jorge’s grave. I stood there and told him what she had told me. He was not a credulous man and would never have countenanced the possibility of a ghost impregnating his fiancée. He would have found the whole idea juvenile.

But later, in bed, I thought of Pilar’s evident distress and looked over at my wife’s sleeping face. She didn’t look much like Jorge… So, my wife had been conceived by a ghost?

I decided to take the possibility seriously. I would look at the evidence, weigh it up and make my own determination.

Well, Biel was a big lad, built as if he could have gladiator blood in him. Elia and Jordina are at least tall, if not butch. Jorge, in life, had been a slight, wiry man. I am of a very average build. That was all I had to go on so far. 

That night, in my dreams, it was as if every grave in Spain had opened and the dead swarmed around me and clamored for my attention, and foremost among them was a huge gladiator, bearded and strong and laughing at having got away with cuckolding a man born centuries after his own brief sojourn on this mortal coil.