It actually turned out to be rather easier than I had imagined. As we got to the outlying overgrown village that we both called home I muttered something to Eva about taking the baby home and leaving him there and then I suggested that we met up that day as I was so enjoying the conversation. Actually, all I was enjoying was the sight of her melon-like breasts, but I thought it politic to keep that information to myself. She nodded her head in answer to my suggestion and an hour or so later I arrived in the market town that gives the district its name to find Eva waiting for me in the main square as planned.
She had changed her clothes, which is always a good sign that a woman wants to make an impression. Women use clothing as a kind of confidence booster when they are unsure of a situation, as such they are very different from men who know that a cock that works to order and a well stuffed wallet are basically all a man needs. The fact that Eva had gone to such trouble suggested that the idea of my knob receiving a good polishing was not all that fanciful.
"You look good enough to eat," I told her as I took both her hands in mine and kissed each one in turn. Try not to laugh, chaps, as if you can keep a straight face, tricks like that send a message straight down to to a girl's knickers, and that is what you want of course.
"Do you like it?" The question was asked uncertainly, with that little female gesture of holding out the skirt of her dress so that a fuller inspection could be made.
"Of course I do. I wouldn't have said it, otherwise," I replied. Actually I did like her grey dress, with its three-quarter length sleeves and fitted bodice of a slightly darker hue to the rest. Interestingly enough the skirt section starting quite high up on the thigh had been slitted every two inches or so, to create a quite interesting effect as she walked. I noticed that men were eyeing her up, as I would have myself had I not been with her, even though it was impossible to see anything really interesting because the slits ended rather bit too low for that.
"I made it myself," she said, her face lighting up in shy sort of smile.
"Do you make all your own clothes? That dress looks like one that you buy in Liverpool or Palacio de Hierro," I said, naming the two major department stores in Mexico.
"Nooooo, I can't afford to buy from there, all I can do is go and look around. Do you really think it looks like I bought it in Liverpool or Palacio?"
"Sure," I replied, quite truthfully. Of course I would have said that to her, anyway, but she did look scrumptious in that dress so I could afford to be honest.
At my suggestion we went and sat down on one of the concrete benches that surrounded the plaza. I went and got soft drinks for the two of us and we sat there in the cool of the early evening and smiled at each other as we chatted about our likes and dislikes.
"Why haven't you got a boyfriend?" It was an obvious question, given how drop dead gorgeous she was. I thought that I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from Eva's lips.
"The men, here," she began uncertainly, obviously unsure how much I knew about the country and how much she would have to explain. "They drink a lot... And all they want to do is get a girl pregnant so that they feel like big men, but they don't care for a girl afterwards. Do you understand?" Eva leaned forward to emphasise her point, her hands splayed out in the eternal gesture of resignation.
I nodded my head and gave her a genuinely sympathetic smile. I may be a womaniser, but there are times when it is impossible not to have a degree of sympathy for the women of countries like that. On the other hand, it does increase the availability of pussy for men who are sober and reasonably upright because if a fellow is like that then the women will chase him. Needless to say, to a man like me, this is like being given the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.
"What do you want to do with your life?"
"I want to get out of here," she said, ferociously. "But I don't know how," she wailed.
"Were your parents legally married and was your father really born in Germany? Can you prove that? Say with his birth certificate?
"Yes, of course," Eva replied. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because if you can prove that you are his daughter then you can get your paws on a German passport and go and live there."
"How do I do that? Will you help me, please?" Her eyes were wide open, and as she finished her questions she bit her lower lip gently, as if fearing that the mere act of asking for that help would make me refuse it to her.
I smiled and told her that I would sort the paperwork out for her just so long as she actually had it all. If this sounds incredible to you, then remember just how backward the average third worlder is, especially if they come from a small town and are not particularly well educated. To Eva, getting hold of any official document involved knowing the right person who would either do the work as a favour or because they had been bribed. The idea that a very important foreign diplomat might deign to help her was outside the realm of her wildest fantasies. She began to giggle delightfully at the thought of leaving the third world behind, and we laughed together and talked and then I leaned forward and kissed her and everything was good and as it should be.
"What would you like to do tonight? Eva asked the question quietly, and there was only one answer as we both knew.
"I want to take you to bed."
She nodded her head so I loaded her into a taxi and off we went to a hotel.
To be continued.