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So he had to rely on his peripheral vision to see how she was preparing to challenge his driving ability. He didn’t have to wonder for long, as he felt her hands unzipping his pants. The zipper easily disengaged and out popped his already rock-hard dick. He had an erection like a church steeple. She looked at it and thought it as sensual as a ripe, thick-veined, dark fruit.
Sex to them was a dance, a romantic, aural, and visual interplay. It combined both love and lust. It came easy, without any active or aggressive prodding or solicitation. It was like when a strong wind approached, and to feel it you only had to turn your face. Yes, they lusted after each other. Their needs stuck out, like a porcupine’s needles. At times, his desire for her was almost crippling, as if he’d been solidly smacked in the back of his knees by a baseball bat. When he reached for her she responded with her own level of desire. In describing it to a friend she once said her passion and desire for Miguel “makes me so wild, it’s like all I am is liquid, like mercury.”
After months of going without each other they would finally meet, and both were as ravenous as sea gulls over a fishing boat.
The last time they met it was in the spring in D.C. Carlotta was there attending a conference. Miguel lived in Philadelphia, so it was easy to get to her. But really, what difference did distance make anyway? This relationship had been going on for as long as Carlotta was married. Yes, she was married. Yet they maintained this long-distance love affair for the past decade. But neither the years nor distance could erode the intense passion they shared. This shared passion escaped in a love battle. It was as if they fought each other to see who would provide the other one with the most immediate amount of pleasure.
This time Carlotta would win, as she lowered her face into Miguel’s lap and began to ravage his rigid member. At first she lightly swirled her tongue around the dark swollen head. To Carlotta, it was as tasty as the summer’s first fruit, almost like strawberries that were so sweet they didn’t need additional sugar. It didn’t take long for the intensity of her passion to increase as she began to salivate all over him. At the same time, Miguel was struggling to concentrate on the single-lane road that provided him very little opportunity to lose himself in the pleasure Carlotta was giving him. Yet it was still a thrill.
If he couldn’t spend all his time staring at her gorgeous mouth as it engulfed him, he could enjoy the sounds she made as she nearly swallowed him. She gurgled like a content baby who had locked in on its mother’s breast. She even made little sounds that demonstrated how enjoyable the entire procedure was.
The sun had nearly set, triggering the onset of the cool California night. Invariably, Miguel’s once-sturdy erection began to shrink when the convertible became surrounded by the sudden gusts of ocean-affected air; for some reason water and cool air had that effect on him.
Undaunted, Carlotta increased her sucking as she was determined to bring Miguel to orgasm and fill her mouth with as much cum as she could swallow. So as she increased her attack on him, he began to pump vigorously. His hips strained like a dangerously stretched rubber band as his back became rigid, his stomach knotted up, and he could feel an abrupt rush of semen seeping out, quivering on the head of his cock like a drop of hot wax.
“Umph!” was Carlotta’s response. She knew that within seconds she was going to get what she wanted and that made her even greedier.
But the ride from L.A. to the party wasn’t as far as it took for Miguel to come, and as he saw the silhouette of the barn coming up quickly on his left he had to take a sharp turn off the highway into the parking lot, which made Carlotta jerk up from his lap to see what had happened.
“Damnit!” she cursed, anger spreading up through her like a fever, her mouth still glistening from the lather she’d worked up on Miguel’s dick. “We almost did it! Damn, I hate that! Why did you have to turn so fast?”
Even with darkness setting in, he could see the rage in her eyes. He slowly navigated the sports car to an open space. “Baby, I didn’t mean to. But we were…everything happened so fast, and there was this car on my ass. If I’d kept going, we’d have missed the turn, and—”
“If you’d kept going, you would’ve come. You always could’ve turned around and circled back…shit!”
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She was pissed. He parked the car and began to zip his pants.
“What the hell are you doing? You still owe me and I’m not letting you out of this car until you give it to me.”
“Darling, I’ve got a job to do and it would take as long for me to come as it took us to get here. We can do this later.”
“Fuck that! I hate that. I haven’t seen you for two months. You get me all worked up, thinking I was gonna get some come, and then you pull out on me? It’s your fault, now give it here.”
She lunged at his zipper. When she felt how wet his pants were, she immediately stopped. A sheepish look came over her face.
“I guess we gotta get you cleaned up, huh? It’s a good thing these pants are dark.” She had conceded. Miguel pulled his handkerchief from inside his black suit jacket and handed it to Carlotta. As she attempted to make his pants somewhat presentable, Miguel started the car, closed the top, and ran the heater. It was obvious from the way Carlotta cleaned away at his crotch that she was a little embarrassed.
In the middle of her efforts, Miguel stopped her, took her head in his hands, and brought her face close to his. Her lips were red and slightly swollen, perfect for the kiss Miguel planted on her. It was wet and soft, like velvet. The kiss always elicited a rush of emotion between them and in this instance, made Carlotta relax again.
“Don’t worry about the pants. That’s why they have dry cleaners. You felt great, okay? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I owe you, okay? As soon as we get out of here, we’re going to that hotel up the coast and we can resume this. I apologize, okay?”
This relationship was dependent upon open communication and negotiation. Miguel had just used both of those attributes to diffuse what could’ve been a contentious situation. That’s why she loved him. Even in the heat of passion, he took the time to talk with her and assure her that everything was all right.
They got out of the car and walked toward the barn. Even though neither of them had seen it prior to the renovation, they were both amazed at the sheer magnificence of the structure. What was once a huge shell, empty and desolate, had been transformed into a palace, adorned with wide, glossy, inviting panels of what appeared to be redwood, mixed with great sheath-like glass windows that ran almost the entire length of the three-story building.
Inside, the personality of the structure stood out like the personalities of the people who built it. Like chiffon cakes, it was decorated with soft, pleasant surface colors. The colors, textured furniture, and accompanying artwork of sculptures, paintings and other works were obviously designed to sway the emotions of the attendees. Amid all the modern newness of the decorations was a certain gracefulness the artists had allowed to remain, yet it exuded a peculiar suggestive heaviness, trapping the traditional pride that once housed a family’s past, yet still managing to remain pleasing and graceful.
The first floor was filled with twenty-foot-plus sculptures made of every imaginable type of rock, wood, and even synthetic materials. Each artist was responsible for different sections of each floor. Aaron, the leader and organizer of the group, greeted Carlotta and Miguel as they entered. He was a short, medium-built, tanned man in his late thirties. He was dressed in a cranberry ribbed sweater and black gabardine pants. He wore a black beret over his apparently bald head. “Make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the experience. The food and drinks are on the second floor along with some large screens placed around the floor so you can view some of our animated presentations. The other members of our group are upstairs also. The third floor is strictly paintings by Cameron. It’s not necessarily open to the public; however, should you desire a private tour, either Cameron or Ciao will be happy to take you. All of the works you see here are for sale, including the platforms and stands, as they have also been designed by our group.” With that, Aaron escorted them through the first floor.
Sometimes you can close your eyes, reopen them, and then play “guess what city we’re in.” In many cases, the answer could be any of the major or medium-sized markets around America.
But the people who live and operate in California, especially Los Angeles, have a different look. First of all, the women were all beautiful; outstanding beauties like outstanding gifts. They were dressed in Hollywood clothes. The women wore colors that were as soft as a Mediterranean dawn, or as clear as freshly cut flowers. The clothes fit as if they’d been made for the women who wore them. The men were tailored and frocked like pampered gigolos. And they all looked comfortable, as if they were sleeping on clouds. The animated conversations were basically understated leapfrogging, sparring, and prone to showing off. Yet there was always a smaller number of conversations flowing like cross-winds, and they came like grain spilling from a sack, in bursts of fullness that were shut off in mid-sentence as if someone had closed the sack abruptly and there was more talk inside. Yet the guests moved effortlessly and seemingly unattached.
As Miguel and Carlotta were guided to the bottom of the stairs that led to the second floor, Aaron pointed to a group of two women and three men and said, “Please focus your attention on that lady in the black dress holding court over there. That’s Ciao, our fabric designer and media specialist. You really should speak with her about our projects, because she is the pulse of this creation, if you will. She is the one who convinced us to expand this effort to include America; especially the west coast. She is passionate and full of life and, as you can see, beautiful.”
As they approached Ciao, it was obvious who the dynamo of the group was. Ciao was a peanut-butter-colored lady with short black hair. Like most of the women in attendance, she was also beautiful, actually quite extraordinary, as if she were painted. And as she spoke, people gathered close to hear her. They huddled together like dark grapes clustered on a stalk. Her words tumbled out like coins from a change dispenser and people clung to her every word with rapt attention.
