In 1961, serving in a small unit of Russian linguists in Germany, three of us took a leave to Benidorm, Spain. Construction was going on everywhere, the future Spanish Riviera, but the few hotels were deserted, and we owned the beach.
Then a remarkable thing happened: two middle-aged women picked up L. (future Hollywood editor) and I up on the beach, took us to their beach house, and gave us the erotic adventure of our lives for several days while our poor third companion drank himself to oblivion over the bad luck of having gone out for cigs when the ladies made their score. We didn't speak Spanish, they didn't speak English, and this made it more fun. I remember trying to learn all her anatomy in Spanish by pointing.
This was a hell of a lot more fun than we had with the prostitutes we partied with in Barcelona. The ladies also had a great collection of flamenco records, I recall. They were great cooks. We were in our young 20s (I was 22) and nothing like this had happened to us, ever. Play things for middle-aged, wealthy, bored and horny wives on vacation from Madrid! What an adventure.
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