The hard road to Xativa

Having already spent three weeks away from his wife, Joel was overwhelmed with excitement at the trip to come. His wife, Mim, a bubbly blonde-haired go-getter, had been in Spain, recruiting new clients for her online marketing firm. They had fallen in love five years prior, and those years, for Joel at least, had rendered his life unpredictable and exhilarating.

Although Mim had a somewhat naive aspect, she was about as sharp as they came. The joy she derived from having situations completely under her control was translated into a sharp business hand. For Joel however, life seemed to him as something designed to be enjoyed. He had no need for rocking the boat, especially when he could just ride off the back of the waves his wife’s cut-throat lifestyle had created for him.

Joel and Mim had agreed to meet once Mim had everything wrapped up in Alicante. From what he had heard, she’d had to make some tough negotiations, but was hopeful that these would come to fruit in the long run. A plush hotel was already booked and awaiting them in Xativa, a town not so far from Alicante, and it was there they would enjoy the stifling heat, midnight wine and mediterranean cuisine.

There was also one other reason for excitement. As Joel had come to learn, Mim’s sexual tastes were far from what he had ever experienced in any of his previous relationships. She was someone who liked to play, Joel often being her plaything of choice. It was not uncommon for him to submit her sexual charades, having already agreed a life-long safe word on their wedding night. Being completely enamored, Joel would have done anything for her; it was what he considered a vital ingredient of their marriage. He had been bound up shibari style, dressed obscenely, eaten a 3 course meal off of various appendages and fucked in public places. He was, naturally, happy to concede to her desires and considered them a never-ending personal challenge, and they only seemed to be getting bigger.

Joel woke the morning of his flight with a blind sense of excitement in his loin. He had packed the essentials and arrived at the airport with a carry-on sized backpack over his shoulder and a book in his hand. The three-hour flight passed quickly, as he lost himself in the cheap supermarket fiction. Passing through passport control and customs, he felt the puff of hot air gulp through the sliding doors at the arrivals entrance. His eyes darted around the sea of impatient friends and relatives, unable to hold back his excitement at grabbing his wife. But thirty seconds had passed and his anxious glee began to sober into doubt; she wasn’t there. He paced around the group, searching for her within the density, but still came up short. It was no use. Throwing his eyes upon every face, he caught a glimpse of his name sprawled across a whiteboard, being held by a disinterested taxi driver, limply holding a sign with his name on it. Feeling slightly consoled, he approached the half-sweated man with a smile and slowly vocalized his greeting in English. With a grunt of acknowledgement and shake of the hand, the taxi driver passed him a letter, clearly written in Mim’s handwriting.

Joel, here is your motel for tonight, you will have further instructions on arrival, be ready, Love Mim. –