The Little Spaniard from Havanna

The Little Spaniard from Havanna

Foreword

This story recounts the meeting of a young couple in 1990s Budapest, Hungary. The narrative focuses more on the unfolding of romantic love than on explicit sexual content. While a few intimate scenes are included, portraying them was not the author's primary aim. Readers seeking only that kind of content may be disappointed.

The story and its characters are works of imagination, but the author also incorporated many details from his own life experiences. The locations were real--and still exist today.

[All characters are over the age of legal consent.]

Introduction

In Central-East Europe, Hungary, during the 1960s and 1970s, large numbers of people moved from rural areas to rapidly industrializing cities in search of better job opportunities. To address the resulting severe housing shortage, the government planned to build one million new homes. Most of these were constructed in vast housing estates on the outskirts of cities. These estates also included kindergartens, nurseries, elementary schools, supermarkets, doctor's offices, pharmacies, hair salons, community centers, and many other useful services. Design priorities for the apartments emphasized affordability over aesthetics, resulting in prefabricated concrete panel buildings--typically ten stories high--that still evoke mixed feelings in many people. Nevertheless, these apartments made life more livable for many families and fostered a distinctive housing estate lifestyle.

One such housing estate, where our story takes place, is the Havanna Street housing estate--commonly referred to simply as "Havanna"--in Budapest's 18th district. It was named in honor of the 1978 World Festival of Youth and Students, which was held in Havana, Cuba.

***

Prologue

I'm walking slowly along the pavement between tall, gray buildings, through the misty winter park lined with trees stripped of their leaves. In the distance, I see her in her white, fur-lined jacket as her long, brunette hair falls over her shoulders. She approaches with graceful steps, wearing a denim skirt and stylish boots. It's strange--though we're walking toward each other, the distance between us seems to close more slowly than it should. Finally, as we pass each other, her eyes don't meet mine; she just walks by, indifferent. Half-turned, I watch her fading figure in the fog, her hips gently swaying with the rhythm of her steps. Somewhere, a chirping sound grows louder--crickets, perhaps? But in winter? Of course... it's only a dream. Still, a dream rooted in something real.

Part 1.

The chirping sound of the alarm clock finally pierces my fading sleep, and I suddenly wake up. The red digital display reads 6:30--the start of a new day.

"Get up!" my mom calls from the hallway.

I have absolutely no desire for this right now, and I'm lazily stretching out in bed. Nothing motivates me to get up.

Except, one thing. Maybe she'll be on the bus again. Maybe I'll speak to her this time. Maybe I dreamed her for a reason... Or maybe there are just too many maybes.

"Get up right now!" Mom calls again, this time even knocking on my bedroom door.

"Okay, I'm getting up--no need to panic," I mumble to myself.

I wash up, get dressed, grab a ham sandwich at the kitchen table--and I'm already on my way to the bus stop.

The sun-drenched world is already awake around me: rumbling garbage trucks, schoolchildren on their way to school, adults rushing to work, and a torrent of cars and buses streaming toward the inner districts.

This is the Havanna housing estate on the outskirts of Budapest in Hungary. People have mixed opinions about it. Some think the name sounds unpleasant, while others, like me, grew up here and eventually got used to it, even grew fond of it. My parents moved here when I was six, from a demolished, old tenement building (shared toilet at the end of the corridor!) in the 9th district--which is known as Ferencváros--Francis City.

It was in this new neighborhood that I began elementary school. Here, I played with my first friends in the undeveloped lots, imagining we were an Indian tribe roaming the wilderness of dirt mounds. Other times, we played hide-and-seek in the parks between the apartment blocks and in the basements of the buildings. (Happy times--when there were no smartphones yet, only two TV channels to choose from, but there were books, and we read a lot.) When we outgrew these games, we would sit on the benches of the playgrounds in the evenings, listening to the latest hits on our portable cassette players or transistor pocket radios. Meanwhile, we watched planes taking off from the nearby international airport, imagining what it might be like to travel on them. Our first teenage loves also blossomed here--couples strolling hand in hand along the paved paths and asphalt sidewalks.

Nostalgia for housing estate life? Undeniably. Though I haven't lived there in years, the feeling lingers.

The story I'm telling takes place in the early 1990s. I was twenty and had just begun the final semester at technical college. The school was downtown, and I commuted there by bus. My daily ride was lined with monotonous rows of suburban single-story houses, gray warehouses, and more similar housing estates. I stared listlessly out the window as the familiar, dull scenery sped past me, day after day.

However, one morning, something new and exciting happened: I noticed a girl getting on the bus at the same stop as me--someone I hadn't seen on this route before.

Her dark brown--almost black--hair, warm brown eyes, and slender figure instantly caught my attention. For then on, I saw her on the bus regularly. She was always with the same small group, a girl and a boy, maybe friends or classmates--and just from overhearing bits of their conversations, I gathered she was a med student. It made sense, especially since she always got off at Nagyvarad Square, where the medical university was located.

I was really drawn to her--I couldn't help watching her--and it seemed to me that sometimes she glanced at me too, for a moment. From experience, I knew that if a girl on a bus or tram looked at me--and then her gaze drifted back again, even if it seemed like she was just checking the next stop on the display--there was a good chance she found me attractive. Otherwise, it's hopeless--if she's not interested, she won't look at me again.

I was too shy to talk to her in front of others, and we didn't even get off at the same stop--I rode all the way to the Grand Boulevard, so I never had the chance to approach her on the street. However, one day my moment finally came.

Part 2.

One sunny autumn afternoon, on my way home, I noticed her on the bus again--but this time she was alone. I hadn't even noticed where she got on. This was my only chance, I thought--but easier said than done! She was seated further up, in the front half of the bus, absorbed in what looked like a copybook. Honestly, I didn't know what to do. I never thought of myself as particularly shy. Or was I simply afraid of ruining my chance to get to know her? As we reached the housing estate, she stood up and seemed to notice me--giving me a slight nod in greeting. She got off in front, I was at the back, so I walked a few meters behind her, and I still didn't know what to do. I usually had no problem meeting girls, but now the stakes felt too high to risk rejection with a hasty move. However, in the end, the events worked out in my favor. As she was about to put the copybook she was holding into her bag, a ballpen slipped out and fell to the ground. I quickly stepped over, picked it up, and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, taking it. When she noticed I was still standing there, gazing at her, she asked looking at me inquisitively:

"Do you want to say something?"

"I just wanted to say... I know you by sight... and I really like you, if you don't mind," I finally managed to say.

"Girls usually don't mind when boys like them," she replied. "I know you too--I've seen you on the bus in the mornings."

"Do you live here, in the Havanna?"

"Yeah. We moved here with my parents six months ago from Angyalföld"--Angel Land that's the 13th district of Budapest. It used to be more of an industrial area back then.

"Angyalföld? That's all the way on the other side of the city. Don't you mind the move?"

"How should I put it... I grew up there, my friends were there... but you know, a new place can also bring new experiences. Everything's more modern here, and Dad's workplace is much closer. Of course, I'd prefer to live in Rózsadomb," she added with a slightly ironic laugh. (Rózsadomb--Rose Hill--is an expensive and exclusive neighborhood on the Buda side of Budapest.)

"Me too -- but for that, you need this," I said, mimicking the motion of counting money with my fingers.

"Yeah, exactly. And not a small amount, either," she nodded.

"Where exactly do you live? Can I walk you home?"

"If you've got time."

"I do."

As we introduced, I learned that her name was Eva.

"But my friends call me Little Spaniard--because of my dark hair, brown eyes, and slender waist. I don't mind it; it's kind of funny."

"Can I call you that too?"

"If you want to."

Alongside the idealized signs of supposed Spanish heritage, her sun-tanned face also caught my eye.

"Where'd you get such a nice tan?"

"Oh, well, in August, the university organized a two-week camp at a resort on the shores of Lake Balaton for new students. The weather was great, and I spent a lot of time sunbathing. But my skin is naturally a bit darker anyway--kind of Spanish-looking, huh?" she said with a laugh.

It turned out that she was nineteen, one year younger than me. She was an only child just like me, no siblings. We kept talking as we strolled along, until we eventually reached the entrance of the building where she lived. As she took the key from her pocket, she gave me a warm smile.

"Thank you for walking me home," she said.

"Wait a minute! Could we... meet again?"

She turned back and I saw that same curious anticipation on her face.

"Would you like to see me again?"

"Yes... maybe we could catch a movie this weekend? I didn't even ask... do you have a boyfriend?"

"Not at the moment," she replied after a short hesitation.

"A girl as beautiful as you... I can't believe it."

"Wow! Are you flirting with me?" she said with a surprised smile. "Well... alright--let's meet Saturday afternoon, 3:30, in front of the cinema. I must go now; I've got a closed-book exam tomorrow and a ton of studying to do. Bye!"

She waved goodbye, and her figure disappeared into the stairwell.

Part 3.

My heart was pounding as I walked home, thrilled that things had gone so well.

I sat in the living room with my dad--this was his usual time for a pre-dinner aperitif, typically a glass of Unicum, the popular Hungarian herbal liqueur.

He worked for a foreign trade company and often traveled abroad, and he had just returned from a one-week business trip to Egypt. He always brought back some gifts from the duty-free shops at the airport. This time, he got French perfume for my mom and shaving foam along with disposable razors for me. These may not seem special today, but in the past--before we were fully immersed in consumerism--we appreciated every gift more.

"Won't you have a drink?" he asked, his eyes still on the TV news.

I only drink on special occasions--and what day­­ could be more special than today?

Dad used to say he wouldn't eat until after his second glass--and he was stuck to it today. However, I didn't follow his custom even that day.

"Did you travel well?" I asked.

"Well, I can't really complain--except for one nasty bit. On the way from Cairo to Budapest, we had a stopover in Athens. After everyone had boarded, we just sat there on the tarmac for half an hour, no explanation. You know those good old Tupolevs--once they shut the engines down, the air system stops too. Before long, that dreadful smell from the lavatories started creeping through the cabin. The flight attendant sprayed some air freshener, but it didn't do much good. Still, I made it home--and that's what counts."

"Dinner's ready," Mom called from the kitchen.

"Great. Let's not keep her waiting," Dad said, heading into the dining room--which, back then, was not part of every housing estate apartment.

"Wow, paprika potatoes stew with smoked sausage--my all-time favorite," he clicked his tongue in delight. "After all the chewy mutton and lamb pilaws, I had in Egypt, I'm really craving the flavors of home. And this is good Hungarian white wheat bread... To me, it's worth more than any Arabic flatbread. But then again, I didn't grow up with those..." he added and sat down at the dining table.

As he dug in with a good appetite and popped open a beer, gave me a sideways look, and asked,

"So, what's with the good mood, boy? Did you hit finally the lottery?"

"Well... I met someone. A new girlfriend."

He took a sip of his beer.

"Poor girl. Has no idea what she's gotten herself into," he said with an innocent smile.

"Speaking from experience, huh?" Mom chimed in. Back in the day, you broke more than a few hearts yourself."

"And yet you're still standing by me," Dad said with a chuckle, reaching for another pickled cucumber from the jar.

"Tut-tut. As if anyone could have resisted you," Mom said with a meaningful expression, then turned to me:

"Who's the girl?"

"All I know is she lives nearby, her name is Eva, and she's a medical student."

"Is she pretty?"

"She's not just pretty--she's beautiful."

"Then make sure you treat her right, son," Dad said with a nod. "Pass me some more potatoes, would you?" said, turning to Mom, reaching for another slice of bread.

Later in my room, I tried flipping through my school notes, but I wasn't really seeing the formulas--only Little Spaniard's lovely face, drifting through my mind.

Part 4.

The next morning, she wasn't on the bus, and I could hardly focus on class. My thoughts were already on our Saturday date, counting down the days, the hours. At the same time, I had a fear that I might somehow mess things up--so early in something that felt so full of promise.

Anyone who took girls to the movies back then probably knew that watching the film wasn't always the main attraction. In the dim glow of the cinema, other kinds of pleasures were possible--like kissing, or slipping a hand under a blouse or skirt. And the girls? They often accepted it. Some even seemed to expect it.

I didn't want to rush things. I didn't want her to think that physical intimacy was all I cared about, so I simply held her hand as we walked home from the movies. Her palm was warm; her fingers laced with mine. We strolled slowly talking and laughing under the standard lamp's yellow light; I discovered she had a good sense of humor--even appreciated my often dark, morbid jokes.

Our first kiss took place in the dim stairwell. It was intense, and her lips were so sweet that I immediately wanted an encore. She must have felt the same--because during the second kiss, she leaned in even closer, and I felt her tongue gently exploring my lips.

In short, from that point on, we were a couple. A mutual love blossomed between us--regular dates, discotheques, pop concerts, and long walks home together. Kisses in cinemas and shadowy stairways, hand-in-hand strolls, and embraces beneath the starry sky in quiet parks.

In the evenings, after walking to her home, I'd follow her into the building, and we went down to the landing near the basement. There, in the darkness, I discovered her firm breasts beneath her lifted blouse or sweater. Her dark nipples stiffened under my finger and between my lips. As my hand slid under her skirt and panties, I felt the soft, silky pubic hair beneath my palm. I pulled her panties aside and slipped my fingers into the hot, wet opening.

"Don't tempt me--I already want you so badly," she said with a sigh.

But for now, there was neither the place nor the occasion to go any further. At least for a little while longer...

Part 5.

Semmelweis University of Medicine--where Little Spaniard studied--had its main academic campus at Nagyvarad Square, and it still does today. With its 22 floors, the slender tower stood out against the skyline and was visible from many points across the city. At the time, and for many years afterward, it was Budapest's tallest office building. The technical college I attended wasn't too far from there.

Today, we both finished early, so we agreed to meet up on such occasions and head home together. (Of course, this had to be arranged in advance, since we didn't have mobile phones back then.)

It was a quite cold--though bright sunny autumn day, so I decided to walk the just-under-three-kilometer (circa 1.5 mile) route. I made my way through the narrow, alley-like streets of Józsefváros--Joseph City, passing old two- to three-story tenement buildings, where vinegar trees grew in the courtyards, and a cat dozed by the door of the ground-floor caretaker's flat. Among the buildings, quite a few still bore the scars of machine-gun fire--reminders of the 1956 revolution even after all these years.

However, in the area around Üllői Street, modern high-rise blocks now cast long shadows over the narrow streets. Passing by Füvészkert--Botanical Garden, I finally arrived at the campus building. I entered and, while waiting for Little Spaniard in the lobby, admired the large stained-glass artwork. Around me, a cheerful crowd of students flowed by, carrying notes and thick textbooks. I thought to myself: these are the most beautiful years of our lives--while we're still in school.

Soon she arrived, and since it was well past lunchtime, we bought hot dogs and soft drinks from the snack bar at the end of the lobby and sat down at a small corner table.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Pretty well. I attended an interesting lecture on anatomy."

"If you finish medical school, what do you want to specialize in?"

"Oh, that's still a long way off. If I had to choose now, maybe I'd like to become a pediatrician. Research is also an attractive area. But, as I said, it's a long journey ahead... And how do you see your professional future?"

"You know I'm studying electrical engineering--what really interests me is how computers are used in hospitals."

"Great! Then I'll be sure to take advantage of your help when I study those topics."

"Anytime. Just let me know."

I took a small package out of my bag and handed it to her.

"What is this?" she asked, surprised.

"Just a little gift. I asked my father to bring it for you on his trip abroad."

She eagerly unwrapped the package, revealing a bottle of perfume and a box of After Eight mint chocolates. Her eyes lit up with surprise.

"This is fantastic! Thank you, that's really thoughtful of you," she said happily. "But you shouldn't have."

"No problem. The perfume has a citrus scent--I hope you like it."

"That's just perfect. "Aren't we going up to the top floor? The view from there is amazing."

"Of course! I'd follow you all the way to the sky..."

"You're not serious..." she said, laughing and shaking her head.

The busy elevator stopped several times as students and instructors got on and off. When we reached the top floor, a breathtaking panorama of Budapest unfolded before us. Beneath the dazzling blue sky, the Buda Hills stretched out clearly, both nearby and far to the north. From up here, the trams and buses looked like toy models moving far below and the buildings looked almost insignificant--except perhaps for one: the Technical University dormitory on the far side of the Danube, known as Schönherz.

"If only we could take a photo of ourselves with this view behind us..." I thought. But back then, the world didn't yet know the concept of selfies--or the tools to take them.

Still, I felt grateful to live in such a wonderful city--and even more so to have a girl like her by my side. She wasn't just beautiful, but smart too--someone any man would be proud to walk beside, holding her hand.

Little Spaniard took out an After Eight and took a bite.

"I've never tasted this before--the mint flavor and the sweet chocolate are a strange combination, but really good".

"Like life," I chuckled and kissed away a small piece of chocolate from the corner of her lips.

A passenger plane climbing into the sky was banking westward. It wasn't flying too high yet, and the blue Lufthansa logo stood out clearly on its white fuselage.

"I haven't flown on a plane yet," said Little Spaniard. "What about you?"

"Just once--went to Prague with my parents."

"I visited Prague too, last spring--though I went by train. Such a beautiful city. That fairy-tale old town and the bridges over the Moldau..."

"Next holiday, we could fly somewhere together--to the seaside, maybe. What do you think?"

"That wouldn't be bad at all together. I've never even seen the sea--only in the movies.

"Me neither. What would you say to Spain?

We burst out laughing.

We moved to the window on the opposite side and looked out over the other part of the city, where the cranes of the docks and the tall factory chimneys of Csepel Island rose into the sky.

"Could that be the Havanna over there in the far distance?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Let's go take a closer look," she replied, and we headed home.

As we walked toward the subway station, another airplane appeared in the sky, following the path of the previous one with a dull rumble. We watched it dreamily as it disappeared into the distance...

Part 6.

She didn't say much along the way, but the familiar sparkle in her eyes hinted that she was up to something. I must have guessed right, because when we reached her building, she said,

"Come upstairs--I'll show you where I live. No one's home: Dad's working the afternoon shift, and Mom won't be back for a while."

"Shall we learn about computer science?" I teased her.

"You could say that," she replied with a flirtatious smile.

We kissed passionately as the elevator carried us up to the sixth floor. She lived with her parents in a two-bedroom apartment, with one of the rooms being hers. I looked around curiously in her small room: a single bed, a writing desk, a bookshelf filled with books and cassette tapes, posters of pop musicians on the walls--Prince, Duran Duran, Roxette, and the like.

Her love of music was nothing new to me--while walking, she would often hum or sing something in her pleasant voice. She once mentioned that she had taken piano lessons a few years earlier, though she had since stopped.

"Do you like this kind of music?" I asked, pointing to the posters.

"Yes--and lots of other kinds too. Even classical, like Beethoven. Would you want to go to a concert like that sometime?"

"Sure. I listen to classical music sometimes too. Some pieces even bring tears to my eyes. I'm that kind of sentimental guy."

"Then we're a good match. Tears help cleanse the eyes. Wait here, I'll be right back." And with that, she stepped outside.

I sat on the bed, listening to the shower from the bathroom. A few minutes later, she returned, wearing a purple dressing gown.

Since we didn't have much time, I unfasted her robe, revealing her naked body--what I had only glimpsed before in the dim glow of the streetlamps filtering into the basement stairwell was now fully revealed. In daylight, I could admire her beautiful body; the familiar curve of her breasts, the dark nipples, her smooth, taut stomach, hips and buttocks, her navel, and below it, the dark patch of her pubic hair. (Those were happier times--when pubic hair was left natural, not shaved to look like that of a prepubescent girl.)

She leaned back on the bed, and at last, I had full freedom to explore with my hands and mouth the parts of her body. I began with her breasts, kissing and licking them as she sighed with pleasure, gently guiding her dark, firming nipples into my mouth. As I started to caress her thighs, she slowly spread them apart, giving me free access to the hidden body parts that I had not been able to access while standing in the stairwell. Now, I could freely wander with my tongue in the moistening gap. She sighed more and more lustfully and moved her hips rhythmically. Her sighs deepened into moans as my tongue found her most sensitive spot, and I quickened the rhythm.

"Oh, more, more" she gasped, her voice trembling as she parted her thighs even wider.

She began to massage her stiff nipples groaning; and as I grabbed her filled, firm buttocks hardly, her hips and thighs began to tremble--heralding her approaching orgasm. Suddenly, pulling my head close to her, she reached her climax with a joyous shriek and convulsive hip movements, while her copious juices practically splashed my face.

In my wild longing, I yearned to continue making love, but she stopped me:

"Wait a minute--I want to say something. Thank you for the pleasure you've given me; I've never felt anything like this before. I know you might want more--and honestly, I do too--but for now, I'd like us to pause here."

"I haven't been with a man before, and I want our first time to be calm, special, and memorable. My mom will be home soon, so this isn't the right moment. I promise--when the time is right, I'll be yours, willingly. It's not easy for me to hold back either, but I don't want us to rush. Can you understand that?"

I loved her so deeply that, despite my fervent desire, I respected her request. Looking back, and seeing it from Little Spaniard's perspective, I wholeheartedly agreed with her. I came to realize that she wasn't like the relatively easy girls I'd had casual encounters with before. Still, I couldn't help but hope that the right moment wouldn't be too far off.

Part 7.

The following Saturday afternoon, Little Spaniard made a request: she wanted to introduce me to her parents.

"Do I have to?" I asked, slightly alarmed.

"No, you don't have to," she said. "Mom's been wondering who this guy is that I keep coming home from dates with in such a good mood. I think she figured something out the day before yesterday when we were together in the apartment. She knows me well. But she's very tactful, so she didn't ask, she just said: 'You're in love, my girl. Don't you want to introduce the boy to us? He could come over on Saturday and meet us. Of course, only if he wants to.'"

"So, you'll come? They're waiting for us," she said, looking at me with those warm brown eyes--a gaze I couldn't resist.

"Alright, just for you--if I get a kiss first," I said with a mock - resigned sigh.

"I'll give you two!" she beamed and delivered on her promise right then and there. A van drove by, the driver giving a cheerful honk and a knowing nod.

We set off, but I suddenly stopped.

"Wait--I should buy some flowers for your mom. There's a flower shop next to the supermarket, maybe it's still open.

Fortunately, it was open, so I was able to buy three stems of pink carnations. As it was a tradition to bring cookies when visiting, I made a quick stop at the nearby pastry shop and bought some minyon--small, filled pastries cubes typically made with a light sponge cake, filled with cream, and covered in icing--a popular sweet at the time.

Upon entering the apartment, I handed the flowers and pastry to Little Spaniard's mother. We introduced ourselves, and went into the living room, where I was offered a seat in one of the armchairs, while her parents sat on the sofa. Little Spaniard sat on the floor in front of me, her back resting against my leg. It felt good to see her so openly show her affection for me in front of her parents. I was a little nervous, but her physical closeness reassured me. The room was furnished with modern pieces that reflected good taste--a striking contrast to the typical interiors of the time, which often prioritized function over style.

It seemed I knew Little Spaniard's parents from sight. I easily recognized her mother--she was a nurse's assistant at the housing estate medical clinic. However, I could not tell where I had seen her father before. I pondered this while he retrieved a bottle from the bar cabinet and poured schnapps into small, polished glass tumblers.

He raised his glass.

"Cheers--and welcome to our home."

It was apricot schnapps--surprisingly delicious.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, clicking my tongue in admiration.

"My brother lives in the countryside, he makes it just for himself and for me. Guess what, he handpicks and select the fruit one by one."

"He's certainly talented. This drink is practically medicine," I said.

While we chatted casually, he shared a few things about himself. I learned that he's a foreman at the nearby machine factory, having moved to the capital from the countryside when he was eighteen. He started out as a welder but later completed a technical college course in the evenings, which helped him move up in his career. Back then, his wife worked for the same company, in the factory doctor's office. They first met at a May 1st Labor Day picnic held in Városliget--City Park. Suddenly, I realized where I'd seen him before. I worked at that factory for a month last summer to earn some pocket money. He hadn't had any dealings with me, but I often saw him coming and going--always wearing his distinctive flat cap and a small caliper tucked into the top pocket of his blue work coat. I'd also spotted him in the factory cafeteria, having lunch with his colleagues.

"You know, I've never forgotten my blue-collar background. Everything I've achieved in my profession, I've earned through my own effort, for the sake of my family," he said.

He went on to say that his core values were honesty and trustworthiness, both in work and in personal life. Somehow, I got the sense that he was gently but deliberately signaling that he expected the same from me--especially when it came to his beloved daughter.

In Little Spaniard's mother, I saw her daughter entirely. The same brown eyes, the same dark hair, the same smile. Her figure, though somewhat fuller with age, still reflected everything I found so appealing in her daughter. She was really a kind woman, and what I appreciated most was how, while her husband spoke with me, she never interrupted or tried to steer the conversation. That quality, too, Little Spaniard had inherited--she always listened me with quiet patience.

The women went into the kitchen and little bit later returned with a tray of toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, along with beer and soft drinks.

As we ate, my initial tension gradually faded. The reddish rays of the setting autumn sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow that shimmered on Little Spaniard's dark hair. It wasn't just the apricot schnapps--something about her family's warmth gave me a sense of harmony I hadn't expected. They formed such a harmonious unit that I couldn't help imagining myself as their fourth member. I had never really thought about my life in the long term before, but now, all at once, I wanted to belong to their world through Little Spaniard--and to do everything I could for their daughter, so they would see me as worthy of it.

Finally, Little Spaniard's mom brewed some coffee, and as we sipped the strong, aromatic espresso, we sampled the pastries I had brought. On my way home, I had the feeling that, after our introductions, they now saw me as someone they could confidently entrust their daughter to.

Part 8.

On a late November Saturday, Little Spaniard went to the university hospital for her clinical practice. We agreed to meet in the city center after she finished in the afternoon. I waited for her at Ferenciek tere--Square of Franciscans. The setting sun cast a reddish glow across the clouds above the Gellert Hills, while a flood of cars poured over Elisabeth Bridge. As I stood in front of the then-existing University Café, my face lit up when I saw her emerging from the subway station, wearing her new boots and elegant winter coat.

She hugged and kissed me, and we walked hand in hand down Rákóczi Street towards the Astoria.

"Did anything interesting happen today?" I asked.

"Well, we had practical training in the internal medicine department, and I visited the ward where terminal patients are cared for. It was a deeply moving experience. It felt as though they had been forgotten--those whom medicine had already given up on, since everything possible had been done for them. You could see the resignation in their eyes, the quiet awareness that this was their final stop, and from here, the path led to only one place... And don't think it was just elderly patients in those beds. One of them asked me to pour him a glass of water, and when the others saw that someone cared, they began asking for things too--like opening the window beside them and similar small requests. Moments like these make me question whether I'll ever be able to maintain emotional detachment as a doctor. But then again, places like this--and the fates you witness there--are a sobering reminder that life isn't all sunshine. They also remind you to live fully, while you still can..."

I quietly reflected on her words as we strolled along, until we reached Astoria.

At the time, there was a grill bar below the hotel--one of many once-great places that have since become McDonald's.

"Aren't you hungry? Let's go inside and get something to eat," I suggested.

"Well, I'm quite hungry. I only had a sandwich at noon in the hospital cafeteria," she replied, and we entered the small restaurant.

I figured this wasn't the moment to hold back, so I ordered steak with steamed vegetables and French fries. While the waitress prepared our meals on the large grill in front of the guests, we sat on high bar stools at the counter and chatted.

"To change the subject to something more pleasant, I have a surprise for you," she said her eyes sparkling, placing her palm on the back of my hand. "My parents left at noon to visit relatives in the countryside, and they won't be back until tomorrow."

I understood immediately what that meant--no explanation was needed.

"So, I'm not going home tonight?" I asked, tracing her peach-painted nails with my thumb.

"I hope so," she replied smiling.

Her parents were open-minded enough to accept that she'd be staying alone in the apartment until morning--and that she might even invite me over. Luckily, her mother trusted that her med student daughter was mature enough to manage on her own and felt that motherly advice was no longer necessary.

While we were eating, a question kept running through my mind. I wasn't sure if it might upset Little Spaniard, but in the end, I asked anyway.

"You're 19 and you haven't had a sexual relationship with anyone yet. Why? I suppose it's not because no one wanted to, is it?"

She looked thoughtfully at her plate before responding.

"I know some girls start thinking about sex pretty early. There's nothing wrong with that--a mentally healthy person naturally begins to feel desire at a certain age. It was the same for me--I wasn't exactly planning to become a nun. Fortunately, my mom--who works in healthcare--is very well-informed about these things. She explained everything to me in due time--what to watch out for and how to protect myself from unwanted pregnancy. And since it seemed we might end up doing more than just going to the movies, she even had the doctor prescribe me birth control pills.

Like I told you earlier, I didn't want to rush things. I've never wanted to lose my virginity in the drunken haze of a house party or in a tent at some holiday camp. Sure, I had a boyfriend I could've done it with. I never told you this, but he cheated on me--so that was the end of it. And... as you probably know, only the best applicants make it into medical school. That's why, instead of boyfriends, my biology textbook became my best friend... Pass the ketchup, will you?"

After that confession, I felt like nothing could ever come between us. Yet I stayed silent for a while, because no words could truly express what I felt for her. Finally, I simply said, "I love you very much."

"I do too," she replied.

A tear seemed to flicker in the corner of her eye--or perhaps it was just the reflection of the ceiling lights. I couldn't be sure.

As we finished our dinner, we strolled along Museum Boulevard towards Calvin Square. The busy evening pavement was lit up with neon signs, and I now noticed just how many second-hand bookstores lined this stretch, offering rarities in their shop windows. Across the road, the illuminated triangular façade of the National Museum rose majestically among the trees of the autumnal Museum Garden. Standing amidst the hustle and bustle of Calvin Square, we paused for a minute to watch the never-ending stream of cars, trams, and buses flowing along Üllői Street and the Small Boulevard towards Liberty Bridge.

Why didn't we want to rush? Maybe we just wanted to savor the pleasant excitement before the night that awaited us... Eventually, we made our way to the subway station. We huddled together during the long ride, her fingers laced with mine all the way to the final stop, where we had to transfer to a bus.

Part 9.

When we reached the Havanna, the wind, whipping through the tall buildings with a hint of approaching winter, flushed our faces. As she walked beside me, her arm linked to mine, more excitement overwhelmed us. Upon entering the apartment, we went to her room again--but now, the scene was different: the curtain was drawn and a few colorful candles stood on the desk.

Little Spaniard lit the candles.

"How do you like it?"

"It's really cozy."

She went out to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of chilled champagne and two champagne flutes.

"Just a minute, I'll be right back. Until then, please open the bottle," she said, and left the room.

I heard the shower again from the bathroom as I opened the champagne and poured it for both of us. Then I quickly called home to say not to worry if I'm late getting back.

When she entered the room again, my eyes widened--she was wearing nothing but a sheer, black babydoll that barely reached mid-thigh. Through the sheer fabric, her full breasts were subtly visible--an image intoxicating and mesmerizing.

"Wow! This is perfect!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands. "Don't tell me this is your nightgown."

"No way. I bought it just for this occasion. Do you like it?" she asked, spinning around on her naked feet.

Do I like it? I was practically going out of my mind, aching to hold her, to hug her, to kiss every inch of her.

"Wait. First, let's drink some champagne," she said.

"Okay. To our love. Cheers!" I raised my glass and drank the sparkling champagne down, and she did the same.

I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her. The candlelight glinted in her deep brown eyes. Her lips parted slightly, and we melted into a long, passionate kiss. My hands glided down the curve of her hips to her firm, shapely buttocks and I gently eased her panties down to her knees. A subtle shift of her legs, and the panties slipped to the floor, and she gracefully stepped out of them.

"That's not fair," she said, pretending to be pouting. "You're still in your pants. Wait, I'll help you get rid of it."

With that, she unfastened my belt, and my trousers also landed on the floor. Then she unbuttoned my shirt. Her fingers, followed by her tongue, began to sensually stimulate my nipples. She freed my erect manhood from my underwear and stroked it several times. Then she sat down on the bed, leaned back, and I lay down beside her. I pulled the babydoll up over her body, exposing her gorgeous breasts. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her honey-colored naked skin. I wanted to make love, not just have wild sex. This evening belonged to Little Spaniard; I knew her soul was yearning for emotional tenderness on this once-in-a-lifetime, unrepeatable occasion.

As I began to kiss her dark, stiff nipples, she rested with her eyes closed, a soft, contented smile playing on her lips.

I knelt between her spread thighs, and she reached out to my manhood, slowly guided it between her spread legs.

"Come; put it into me, I'm yours," she whispers, spreading her thighs wider.

Raising her hips slightly, she inserted the tip of my manhood into the narrow entrance. A gentle push, a quiet scream--and I was inside her.

"Ooh, my love..." she sighs, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Push it all the way in," she whispered, pulling me closer to her. I moved slowly at first, her body arching beneath me in response. Then I gradually penetrated her more deeply and began to move rhythmically in the warm, wet place.

As our rhythm deepened, the small room filled with the sound of our mingled breaths and soft sighs. Our bodies melted together; time almost stopped for us. After a while, when she felt that I was near climax, she wrapped her legs around my waist. In this position, I was able to penetrate her even deeper, and her moans grew into little screams. Gripping my buttocks tightly she exclaimed lustfully:

"More, more... Cum into me!"

In the next second, with an inarticulate scream, I filled her squeezing vagina with my copious ejaculation. She wrapped her arms around me, muffled her passionate moans with a deep kiss.

When my flaccid penis slowly slipped out of her, I gently kissed her closed eyes while a subtle smile touched her lips. I'd heard that girls rarely reach orgasm the first time--it takes practice, self-discovery, and a partner who's willing to learn what truly brings them pleasure. But what really mattered was that it was our first time--and it took our love to a higher place.

We lay side by side, on my back, Little Spaniard on her stomach, resting her head on her elbow.

"Today, you opened a door in me that had been closed until now," she said thoughtfully, running her fingers through my hair.

I kissed her naked shoulder.

"Then let me keep walking through that door in and out--until closing time."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she said softly. "By then, you won't even remember me."

She was wrong about that.

Many years have passed since then, and I still remember her vividly. In fact, with each passing day, she becomes even more unforgettable--the girl I once met in the Havanna Street housing estate, known as Little Spaniard.

Because she is still my wife to this day.

Epilogue

I'm walking slowly along the pavement between tall, gray buildings, through a misty winter park lined with trees stripped of their leaves. In the distance, I see her--wearing a white, fur-lined jacket, her long brunette hair falling over her shoulders. She approaches with graceful steps, dressed in a denim skirt and stylish boots.

But wait a minute! Where am I? I've dreamed this before--long ago, decades ago. Have I gone back in time? Yes, there's no doubt... this is the Havanna, and I'm twenty again, full of hope. Oh, what a feeling...

We slowly draw closer to each other, and for a moment, I think she'll just pass me by again, indifferent. But no--this time, she looks at me, a smile lighting up her face. She opens her arms, and we embrace...