Tony Dawson

FF

Spain in the 1950s was an odd place.
Under the thumb of the Generalissimo
and the Catholic Church, freedom
was limited, especially for women,
which meant that relations between
the sexes were carefully monitored.
Women were chaperoned, usually
by a male member of her family.
Only the official ‘novio’ was allowed
to hold hands or be discreetly kissed.

It was my lot to suffer this sexual
wasteland in two very Francoist cities:
Salamanca and El Ferrol (del Caudillo),
his headquarters in the Civil War 
and the place where he was born.
I was living in Salamanca and spent
the Christmas holidays in El Ferrol
where I got to know the stationmaster’s 
daughter, which made me think of jokes
like “She was only a wrangler’s daughter
but she knew how to handle a longhorn.”

Back in Salamanca, the 21-year-old me
continued to be frustrated by the regime
in my pursuit of a normal modern sex life.

In those days, young men were expected
to satisfy their sexual needs in a brothel,
a sort of rite of passage sponsored by friends.
In the chilly month of March, a visiting
Professor Vivaldi from Granada University
was well-known in the city’s Chinatown
and its casas de citas. “The road to sin city” 
was fittingly named Broad Street.

What struck me as we entered that seedy area
were the flat roofs with clothes lines hung
with small strips of towelling like bunting.
He took me with him to show me around
one of his favourite haunts, introduced me
to the girls who weren’t occupied with clients
and recommended I get to know Dulce Corazón.
She was young, slender, pale and quite pretty.

The Madame quoted me a price for a “while”,
in other words for as long as the sex act took.
Alternatively, the all-night fee was 250 pesetas.
I remember thinking, “That’s the price of a shirt”.
In for a penny, in for a pound, I opted for all night.
Being eager and thrifty, I thought if I could manage it
five times, it would work out at 50 pesetas a fuck.

In the end I did manage five; oh, those were the days!
After each event, D.C. slipped out of bed,
douched herself in the bidet, and dried herself off
with a scrap of towelling like those on the flat roofs.
The following morning, I was offered a deal:
if I paid a retainer I could have her as often as I liked. 

Looking back, I suppose what comes to mind
is a comparison with Frequent Flyers:
Frequent Fuckers.