[h3]Dakhla, Spanish Western Sahara[/h3]
[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZYA4CwtvvM]Suggested listening[/url][/center]
[b]04:00 hours, Late July[/b]

She was nervous as she and partner took their places and waited for the soft flow of music to begin. It began with a soft touch of piano and drums a short moment later as they took a step forward and bowed. They circled each other, eyes locked. As the beat increased he stepped forward sharply and placed his hand on her back, her hand on his shoulder, and their free hands finally met. Together, they danced to the music, their feet flashing to the beat. As the song progressed she began to relax and allowed a small smile to form on her lips. Her partner was perfect. He wore wore a white spotless shirt, which matched her dress. His eyes, brown as melted chocolate, were deep and irresistible. One thing was for sure, she was enjoying her evening.

He turned elegantly, his body in tune with the quick music. Yet, there was a sort of harshness to him, like he was someone who shouldn’t be underestimated. She didn’t quite care at the moment. Was it because of the lemon cello? The romance associated with the tango? The beautiful African night? The warmth between them grew more powerful by the second. Her heartbeat was growing steadily along with it. The dance was perfect; everything from their breathing to how their feet moved in sync. If, by the end of this dance her breath had been taken away, she would know the exact reason why.

He guided her across the dance floor as if they were in a dream. He kept his eyes on her, yet still, he knew exactly where to take her. Every moment, every angle seemed to be planned in advanced. Nothing felt forced; she felt as if she was floating.

“Señor,” I whispered, “everyone is looking at us.”

He squeezed her hand slightly and smiled. “Really,” he chuckled softly, “I hadn't notice.”

She did not want him to say more. Her heart, her whole being was swept up in the magic of the moment. That was when she decided to let ago. Let her worries, her self-awareness, and her emotions go. Right here, right then, she was living. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore; she allowed him to take her anywhere he pleased on that dance floor. He went right, she went right. He sped up, she sped up. They became one with the song, with the dance, and with each other. He spun her with little effort, her fingers dancing with his as he turned her before pulling her close and quite suddenly dipping her so that his hot breath was on her chest and they came to a halt. Applause filled their ears. She couldn’t help but smile at him. It had been perfect.

They stayed that way for a brief moment and she inhaled his scent, the smell of the desert air, a hint of ocean brine, the starch of his uniform. Then he stood, bringing her with him so that she was pressed against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding like hers, a rhythm only the two of them could feel. She kept her fingers intwined in his as she swept one hand behind her back and guided him toward the nearby patio. Other couples were taking the dance floor now, few showing the same skill her partner had.

The night air felt remarkably cool on her face as the long white curtains dropped closed behind them, hiding them from the view of those inside. He must have felt her shiver for in an instant his coat was over her shoulders and he was behind her, his arms wrapping her in the warmth of his own body. 

Below them the narrow streets of Dakhla teemed with throngs of people on foot and bicycle. Light spilled from dozens of windows and music from as many doorways as the tango clubs did a roaring business. She pressed her hips back against him and felt the bulge of his cock through his pants. He bent, kissing her neck gently so that she reached back to caress the back of his head with her hand.

In the distance she could see the white caps marking the beach where the ocean crashed into the white dunes of the Sahara Desert. The roar of the ocean mixed with the rumble of the crowds below and at that moment, in the arms of a Spanish soldier, she had never felt more alive. 

"Perhaps we can take a walk?" He asked, his breath hot in her ear and she rewarded him with a open smile, her lips slightly apart. His English was accented and she felt her heart skip a beat at the tone. This was a true Spanish accent, nothing like that of her parents house keeper back in California. In answer, she drew his lips to hers. 

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[b]07:00 hours[/b]

Morning came far to soon but he was gone before the sun rose above the Eastern sea of sand dunes. They had never shared their names, but that was why people came to Dakhla, to be whoever they wanted. Here, on the edge of the African continent, it didn't matter who you were or what your background was, you could be anyone, anything. 

She had showered quickly and dressed in a two piece bathing suit called a bikini, the latest in a series of risqué fashions that had begun in Dakhla and spread across Spain, and in some cases the world. Wrapping a loose cloth sarong around herself she had made her way down to the hostel common-room for breakfast. A number of other bleary eyed guests were in attendance and one, a tall stunning blonde from Sweden, waved her over to a table by the window.

"Good morning, Brittany!" The blonde exclaimed as she sank down in the empty chair.

"Morning, Magda." She privately thought it was an ugly name for a woman who looked as if she was from the Amazon legends. "Are you hitting the waves today?"

The blonde headed nodded eagerly and one long leg crossed over the other. "Da, I vas vaiting for you." Magda wore a similar sarong, though it was a deep blue that matched her shrewd eyes as she studied her companion. Brittany pretended not to notice as she poured a strong Ethiopian [i]Negus[/i] coffee popular in these parts

"That's very nice of you." Brittany said non-chelantly.

"Mhm..." Magda eyed her carefully, the blue eyes sparkling. "Did you have a good evening wis your soldier?"

Brittany tried not to look to guilty, but, then it occurred her, it didn't matter. She had come from California to Dakhla to do whatever she wanted and there was no need to feel shame about it.

"I did!" She said with a small smile. "He was very... Vigorous."

"I heard." Laughed Magda without any malice. "I am jealous. I vas not so lucky." She shrugged. "But perhaps I have better luck this evening." She toasted Brittany with her coffee cup and the two drank in silence for a moment.

Outside the sound of the ocean was unabated as it rumbled against the sand. The scream of seagulls was clear and it was evident that they were a minority in being up early. They had come here to surf, and that was what they would do.

Ten minutes later they were running across the long beach, surfboards tucked under their arms, the wood warm against their ribs, bare feet churning up the sand to leave lines of footprints behind them. The sun was slowly cresting the dunes to the East and bathing the beach in rays that were already hot despite the early morning. No one else could be seen on the long sandy stretch as they began to splash into the waves. 

The water here was shallow, stretching out for several hundred yards without gaining more than five feet in depth, it was an ideal surf zone. Brittany gave a loud laugh as she drove her surfboard forward and dove on top of it. Life was good.