It had been a terrible weekend, the weather, which was supposed to have been wonderful, had been overcast and really depressing.  It had got really cold, which here in Spain is not normal, even for the end of September.  But more than just the weather, things really hadn’t worked out.  I had planned a sort of fun romantic weekend with Sylvia, a weekend that would have… should have led us to more than the friendship we had been enjoying up till then. 

She had come down from Saragossa, where she studies journalism, to stay the weekend with me.  We had met there when I had attended a conference and coincided with her.  At the conference we had hit it off immediately and had had a lot of fun.  The conference had been a bit of a drag but she had volunteered to show me the fun side of Saragossa.  Now she had come to Barcelona to allow me to return the favour, but the foul weather and other things had really cast a shadow over the whole weekend.  Finally on the Sunday afternoon I had gone with her to Sants station by Metro to put her on the train back home.  We were waiting in the station, both of us quiet and a little down.  There weren’t too many people about and we had about twenty minutes before her train came in.  I remember she was dressed in some dungarees, quite loose on her small frame, with a sweatshirt underneath.  She had a sort of Indian silk scarf wound up in her hair and some nice elaborate drop earrings.  But all of this was hidden under a large, heavy, military type coat, oh yes, she also had big heavy military type black boots.  Her hippy type image belied her slight, delicate body and her beautifully perfect face, but she liked deceiving people that way.  At that time I was also into the same sort of thing and I was wearing a long, deep red, cotton skirt with beadwork and tassels on the bottom hem, together with a cotton shirt and a rough jacket under a long hippy type coat.  My long blonde hair was fastened up with a couple of paintbrushes, I remember.  We were very typical student types. 

Sitting on the bench there in the station wrapped in my jacket and my thoughts, I could feel her next to me, pressing up against me.  Our thighs, arms and shoulders touching.  The platforms at Sants are underground and we only had the harsh neon lights to illuminate the cold darkness.  Time crept on.  Finally on the board it said the train would arrive in five minutes.  I sighed heavily.  She heard me and asked what was wrong; I hardly knew where to begin.  How can you explain that nothing had gone right and nothing about the weekend had lent itself to the plans I had had for seduction and passion?  I said nothing, but sighed again. 

Finally I