Charles Richards - The hot swappers

In the distance, the town of San Mateo rested on the green slopes of gently rolling hills. The whites and pale pinks of the old colonial buildings wavered in the heat. In the center of the buildings, which clung tenaciously to the sides of the gently sloping hills, the great tall spire of the town's principal church pushed its turret upward toward the fluffy clouds which scudded and drifted lazily in the sky.

As Alice Martin handed her heavy bags down to the eager hands waiting on the platform, she looked at the thrusting edifice. It looked like a giant pink prick, hard and ready. She shut out the voice of the man holding her bags for a moment. Turning, she looked at the long olive-green coach that had been her home for two nights. A new way of life had opened for her within its square confines and she regretted having to leave it. With a sigh, and the firm resolve that she would seek out life where she found it, she turned and followed the struggling porter who headed toward one of the parked cabs. She wanted to be an artist, but she knew that she wanted more. She had experienced the thrill of sex and her body was now alive with new feelings. As she walked she knew that she could be whatever she wanted, but first she had to be a woman and find love, the natural extension of sex. She wouldn't turn away from sex, but would embrace it and try to plumb its depths for a greater meaning of her new-found womanhood. She smiled at the driver as she stepped into the taxi and handed the waiting porter a crumpled bill.

Slinging his battered bag into the back of the cab, Fernando's mind was working furiously in colors and textures as he mentally put paint to canvas. It had all come together when he fucked Marie. He felt that he'd found a new direction he could take with his art and so change his fortunes as a painter. It would be a complete change, a switch so radical and real that his gallery would have to take notice. He had been thinking about his orgasm when he recalled what Alice told him about hers. Being an aspiring artist, she could describe the colors and hues of the lights that flashed before her eyes at the point of climax, and now Fernando was mentally putting her description on canvas. It would work, he knew it would work, and he was anxious to get to his studio where he could start. The pretty little pictures of the sleepy Mexican street scene were all behind him. This would be abstract, carried out with big powerful strokes on large canvasses using bold, vivid colors and heavy textures, He had the technique, he had learned that long ago, but everything he had tried had no real meaning. This was real, and he knew that it would be good. Fernando had a warm feeling deep in his belly as the cab pulled away from the station and bumped its way up the dusty, chuck-holed street toward the central plaza and his house on the hill.

Looking out the cab window at the russet-colored facades on the houses lining the street, Sandi Thomas stroked Eric's head. He was sitting next to her on the seat of the cab with his head out the open window, sniffing the new strange smells of San Mateo.

Sandi was entering a new environment and she knew that she would change her life style. Still patting Eric's head, she realized that this period of her life was ended. The big dog would have to look elsewhere for his loving. In the arms of Jim Hayes she had learned that all men weren't crude brutes and she looked forward to expanding her knowledge. If not with Jim – for that was only an adventure of the moment – then with another man, a man she was sure that she would find in San Mateo, possibly at the Instituto, or wherever. Somehow, as the cab rocked back and forth after hitting a deep chuck-hole, she felt good inside, her body was now whole, she could face life without fear. She could talk to men without that old fear gnawing at her guts. Life would indeed be better. The hum of the tires changed as the cab moved onto the cobbles of the street from the dirt of the station road. Sandi looked at the little shops that lined the street. Her eyes moved along the street and then she saw the figure of a man and she smiled to herself. He was tall and bearded and he carried a sketch under his arm. She settled back in the cab and her hand left Eric's head. It would be different now.

With his hand resting on his portable typewriter, Jim Hayes looked at the people walking along the narrow, cobblestoned street and tried to get his first impressions of San Mateo sorted out in his mind. He had enjoyed the view of the town from the station platform, but as the cab moved into the city, he became aware of the human element of the town. He would have to concentrate on this, the human element. He had experience. He needed to get into people's heads and find out the whys of their actions and behavior. If he could do this, then he wasn't worried about the quality of his first novel. He could do it, and he let his mind wander, taking in the sights and sounds of San Mateo.

Jammed together in the back seat of the small cab, Marie looked at her two children. They were old enough to take care of themselves and would sooner or later have to find their own way. She decided that this was the time. In a new and hopefully exciting environment, they could find their own friends, and she would be free to seek her own life, to pick up the pieces and start all over again.

With the benefit of new knowledge, Robert and Suzanne were thinking similar thoughts. It wasn't that they loved their mother less, or that they held her fully responsible for their unorthodox sexual history, but they were in a new place with sights to see, people to meet, and they were looking forward to new freedom – a freedom that would make them better able to relate to those around them. It was a good feeling and they were happy.

The station's platform was empty, the sudden feverish activity ended. The train, its long olive-green coaches dusty, started to move. Slowly the wheels turned and ground their way along the steel rails. The engine's horn sounded its bass note as the train picked up speed. The lonely tones reverberated off the surrounding hills, and the buildings of the small town. It signaled the end of the trip for the travelers, but the start of a new life.