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She adjusted the straps of her rather modest bikini and assured herself for the thousandth time that this shift to Spain was the perfect way to rid herself of her old life. A life that involved years of slaving at a humdrum, high-paying job – most of her free time commandeered by the local old-age home she volunteered at and in caring for her brother’s children. With her exotic Indian coloring, she wouldn’t even stand out as a foreigner here – no tiresome blending process.

A final adjustment of her bra strap and she brushed away thoughts that were neither suited nor required for the revelry she planned to indulge in today. With every passing minute of her stay in the little town of Buñol, her customary fretting and fidgeting were evaporating like the sweat on her body on a hot day at her beach-overlooking apartment in Mumbai.

She was ready to start her new life with a splash.

Buñol – beautiful and picturesque and known the world over for the great tomato fight, La Tomatina – yes, that’s where she now lived and what she planned to enjoy year after year for the rest of her life.

She stepped out into a street already mad with anticipation of the large tomato-carting trucks and was immediately engulfed in a crowd swelling and ripe to explode. She reveled in the feel of perspiring bodies brushing against her. Her misgivings fell apart with a rapidity that startled her inhibitions. She bade the latter to relax as she deliberately squeezed closer than was decent by a tanned foreigner, moving away as soon as he instinctively turned.

She quickly moved towards the center and a squeal of tyres heralded the arrival of the trucks. Very soon she was drenched in the first bucket of water and covered head to toe by a rosy hue. She could feel the juice and fleshy chunks slipping into the plunge of her bra, irritating her skin in a not unpleasant way as the fabric chaffed against them. Arousal by a vegetable – take that old life! She thought with glee.

In ten minutes she was enjoying the tomato fight unlike anything she had ever enjoyed – even the school fights over tiffinboxes and play slides seemed hazy and silly in comparison. She was pulled into a canoe-like, high-walled boat filled with rosy-complexioned people (they all looked so carefree and a bit maudlin, that she couldn’t help giggling out loud) and lots of tomato juice and she fell headlong into the squealing, splashing mass – uncaring where her limbs landed or what grazed her breasts.

Someone – it felt like a strong male body – pulled her against his chest so that more people could be squeezed in and accommodated before the boat was steered along a tomato mulch-filled street.

Her heart was thumping with more than mere adrenaline now and she leaned back and let his hands slide and slip as they found a purchase. He was trying to adjust himself as well as prevent unnecessary and slap-worthy physical contact with her and had she turned her head, she would have found his attempts amusing.

When his right thumb accidentally slipped into the waist of her bikini brief, she gasped and goose-flesh rushed to layer her skin with exciting tingles. He didn’t hear her gasp, but apologised profusely in a thick accent for his mistake. She turned to assure him it was alright and clashed eyes with the foreigner she had brushed against earlier. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to recollect it and gave her an embarrassed smile before settling them.

The boat was ready to blast-off, as that was what the people pushing it had planned. A boat race steered by slipping feet on choppy juice-filled streets was part of the festivities this year.

She joined her screams and encouragements to the general confusion and excitement and thought about how nice his arms felt behind her. The situation was ridiculous and the ride was bone-jarringly bumpy. It was so utterly novel that it was difficult to control the urge to surprise the stranger behind her with more physical contact.

To hell with it, she thought and used the clumsy, rocking motion to inch closer into him amidst false apologising. Oh he was as aroused as her after all, the discovery both thrilling and spurring her on.

The shifting tomato juice filled the boat till their waists and it wasn’t hard hiding her questing hands as she tried to feel his legs as an excuse to find the handles in the boat. She kept shifting most invitingly – the way she didn’t when her ex-boyfriend tried to envelop her in his careless caresses.

Playing the seducer was a new experience, like the many first-times she was giving in to these days. Her mind and body, both felt like they belonged to a glittering burlesque dancer – confident and enticing. Right now, even with her skin soaked in the juice of a thousand tomatoes and her black hair dotted with chunks of tomato flesh, she knew she still had the power to charm the swarthy foreigner sitting behind her.

The boat race ended as soon as it has begun and by tacit agreement they both agreed to stay together for the duration of the ‘fight’. What started in the boat soon escalated into a full-blown public foreplay. Hands skimming hips, grabbing each other to get out of someone else’s way, legs and feet brushing each other, mouths accidentally grazing shoulders and all throughout eyes dancing a charged flamenco with each other.

The added contact with bodies other than their own were urging their sexual frenzy further and it was with relief that they spied a shadowed alley. They exchanged a heated look and rushed in to let loose the tension.

Mouths tasted skin through a tang of tomato juice – lapping, sucking, sliding. He pushed the edges of her bikinis aside to slip in a finger, two fingers – lingering, tugging, touching spots that drew out a thick moan. She in turn raked her nails through his hair, the juice dripping in wet fingers down his neck and chest. She bent forward to lick its downward progress.

When she halted the rivulets of juice, her tongue continued downwards till it tasted a different kind of tang. Bent from her waist, she kept sliding her body along his, the drying juice now mingling with sweat to form a glossier sheen. He was shining, chest to swollen tip and pleading her in that strange, delicious accent to frustrate him no further.

She obliged him, and worked her tongue, her lips, her throat around him; her muffled voice coaxing him to give in to the ache. She had no idea how she managed to pleasure him so, having never done it before. Instinct perhaps?

He was close to letting go and before she could claim her victory, he yanked her upright and pinned her against the wall. He thrust into her, with her bikini still on and pleasantly chaffing against her swollen nub. He buried his face into her breasts, drawing out a peal of need and letting go a pulse of desire in the same breathless moment.

She was in a shadowed alley, with a stranger – both of them smeared in tomato juice and the erotic, illicit promise of a large group of people just beyond their bubble of lust. She grabbed him by the hair and arched his neck to nip him on the neck with a kiss that would leave a mark for a another day or two and let go of everything she used to be. Her orgasm ripped through her like new life, an echo to the powerful roar he let out as he emptied out (his very essence it seemed) into her.

Hello new life, she thought. Let’s go find us a bed before we are discovered.

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