Hermes

Hermes
Five Years Ago

I parked the motorcycle on the sidewalk and sent a message to Nanda’s phone, letting her know I was already at her door.
It didn’t take long for her to come out of the gate, wearing a tight pair of low-heeled boots that reached just below her knees, over blue jeans.
Already used to our motorcycle rides, she didn’t skip the leather jacket, which this time was black with gold details and matched her white T-shirt, outlining her figure. Her hair was tied back and she wore subtle makeup.
She carried a modest backpack on her back and her own helmet.
"Good morning, handsome," she greeted me with a kiss after holding my face in her hands.
"Good morning, princess." — Not exactly what I said, but her tone showed I was happy.
The day was dawning beautifully, and I was going to travel with the woman I loved to my parents’ house on the São Paulo coast, where we would spend the weekend together.
I strapped her backpack along with mine on the luggage rack, and we mounted the motorcycle, feeling Nanda hugging me tightly around the waist. With her, I’d go anywhere, any way, and I did what I loved most when I felt her clinging to me — I accelerated, leaving her street, this time heading toward the highway that would take us to the northern coast.
The trip was pleasant; we stopped once at a roadside restaurant, where we had a snack, enjoying the mountains of the mountain range we were about to descend.
Nanda seemed excited but I noticed she sometimes let slip signs of anxiety because she was going to meet my parents.
"They’ll love you, don’t worry," I reassured her with a kiss before we returned to the road.
Near ten o’clock, we arrived at the city and I drove slowly along the avenue that crossed the waterfront so we could better enjoy the blue sea, while tourists relaxed on the sand sunbathing or enjoying the sea bath.
A few kilometers ahead, we entered a gated community on the left side of the road, and after being announced, our entrance was authorized. I followed the internal streets I knew well until stopping in front of a two-story house near the wall that bordered the avenue we had crossed.
My parents waited for us at the front door with happy smiles — it wasn’t often I got a two-day break to visit them.
"Dad, Mom, this is Nanda," I introduced my girlfriend after we got off the motorcycle and took off our helmets.
"It’s a pleasure!" said my mother in that warm voice — "Hermes always talks about you when he calls us," she said with undeniable satisfaction, hugging Nanda.
"Mom!" I scolded, embarrassed; she always did that to me.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you," my father was a bit more formal, extending his hand with that quiet manner of his, very much like mine. But Nanda was unique — open, radiant with charisma, and she dared to offer a hug after the handshake.
"The pleasure is all mine to meet you both," the worried look had already left her face, and she seemed more comfortable with my family.
"Come in, you must be tired, Hermes’ room is ready. I guess you already sleep together, huh? But if you prefer, we have a guest room." My mother had no filter — whatever sympathy she showed, she matched with indiscretion.
"Mom!" I scolded again, laughing — what could I do?
"We do," Nanda didn’t seem embarrassed; on the contrary, she always handled this kind of topic well.
My father had the big task of preparing the barbecue in the backyard, and my mother went to help him while I showed my girlfriend the house. It was a simple two-story house but tastefully furnished with typically beach-style furniture. It had an open-concept living room and kitchen and a half bath downstairs. The kitchen gave access to the backyard, which was the leisure area, composed not only of a barbecue grill but also a small pool.
Upstairs, there were three suites — two with windows facing east where you could see the sea from the balcony and a third bedroom with a window facing the back.
I entered the right bedroom and placed our backpacks on a single bed after putting the gun in a small safe inside the wardrobe. The furniture was simple — a small dresser, the bed, and two nightstands. Two paintings hung on the wall, copies of Pablo Picasso’s works, the most famous being Guernica.
"Hmm, I guess we’ll have to sleep cuddled," she joked with a sly smile, sitting on the bed and testing the softness of the mattress.
Then she lightly patted the bedspread with her palm, calling me. I answered her call and laid her down on the bed, positioning myself over her as she wrapped her arms around my neck.
"I’m happy you came," I confessed, knowing she had probably had a fierce argument with her father, who from the start opposed our relationship.
"And I’m happy to be here," she murmured, pulling me into a long kiss. I caressed her body while kissing her, feeling myself getting aroused, as always happened. That was the effect this woman had on me.
"Hermes, you better stop," she sighed, gently pushing my chest — "imagine what your parents would say if they caught us?"
"Don’t worry, they usually knock before entering the room," I replied laughing and kissing her again.
"You’re crazy!" she continued, pushing me again, escaping temptation by standing up — "Come on, let’s change clothes."
I chose shorts and a tank top, slipping on a pair of flip-flops. Nanda, after letting her hair down, wore a black bikini that seemed tailor-made for her, then put on very short shorts with a white tank top that shaped her curves.
We went down to the garden, and while Nanda talked to my mother, helping set the lunch table, I approached my father who was at the barbecue turning the meat.
I grabbed two long-neck beers from an aluminum bucket full of ice, and after opening them, handed one to my father who clinked his with mine in a toast. The beer was deliciously cold, and I looked at the almost cloudless blue sky — everything seemed perfect.
"I’m glad you came, son," my father began with the same old talk, every time I visited — "How’s college and work going?"
"Fine, finals are next week, and work, you know how it is — we’re just scraping by," I answered, taking another sip, referring to the relentless crime-fighting work that never ended.
"She seems like a good girl, I was surprised when you said you’d bring her. You never brought anyone for us to meet. It must be serious," he ventured while slicing a piece of sirloin on a wooden cutting board.
"And it is, I’m in love with her," I confessed, embarrassed — it wasn’t usual for us to open up about our feelings.
"Police work toughens people!" he said when I told him I wanted to follow his example before joining the police.
"That’s good, in our profession we have to have support at home. Your mother’s happy, she only talks about it and makes plans for your wedding and grandchildren," he said, amused by the situation.
"Dad! I think it’s still a bit early to talk about marriage, let alone grandchildren," I teased, glancing at Nanda who placed a dish of vegetables on the table. She looked so natural and, noticing my discreet glances, waved smiling.
Marriage? Kids? Why not? I had discovered I loved her and planned to say so during a walk I was organizing for the evening. I had even bought a gold heart-shaped pendant engraved with our names. Cheesy? Maybe! But I always nurtured that romantic vein inside me.
"Come on, boys, the table’s set and we’re hungry," my mother called, hugging Nanda.
We sat at the wooden table and served ourselves. It was a joyful lunch; my parents did everything to make Nanda feel welcome, even sharing funny stories from when I was a kid, which embarrassed me.
My girlfriend, meanwhile, seemed very comfortable and charmed them, especially when she agreed with my mother that my profession was dangerous and that she hoped I would start practicing law after passing the bar exam.
After lunch, she helped my mother clear the table, and then we lay down in a hammock, dozing with its gentle sway, while my parents stayed in the living room watching TV, clearly giving us privacy.
When we woke up, we walked to the beach — we just had to cross the beachfront avenue and were already feeling the soft sand under our feet. Nanda wore a white, transparent beach cover-up, and I wore swim trunks under my shorts. We carried towels inside a woven straw bag borrowed from my mother.
We found a good spot and laid out the towels on the sand while she stayed only in her bikini. I couldn’t help but notice her curvy body; surely Nanda would attract many looks, I thought, looking around with a tough expression.
I saw I hadn’t gone unnoticed and she laughed, pulling me by the hand after I took off my shorts, and together we ran into the sea for a swim. When we emerged, she splashed water, throwing it in my face.