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Damn, what’s coming over me?
Whatever it is, I think she likes it, for her face resembles an erotic explosion.
“Ay, Papi,” she coos. Then, as a gesture of further appreciation, she pinches my ass.
Finishing the song, Alicia and I share another dance; this time it’s a slow waltz to No puedo dejar de amar te, Michael Jackson’s Spanish version of “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You.”
Moving her hands from my triceps, up and down my slender frame, Alicia holds me tight through this song, as well the ballad playing now, “Heroe,” by Enrique Iglesias.
Feeling the heat of her core as we move together, her pointed nipples against my slim chest are driving me crazy. My lust for her now undisguised, my dick is granite-hard, and wants to take a dip in her pool of ecstasy.
She notices. Pressing those luscious petals to my neck, she licks my earlobe with her lovely, Latin lizard, thoroughly enjoying the taste of sweat and cologne.
“Estoy tan mojada,” she purrs. “Estoy tan mojada.”
Damn, is your kitty that wet? Can I taste it, right here, right now? I bet a river of your juices will escape you, and drench my chin. I bet you are sweet, like pears. Can I search for your G-spot with my fingers while humming on your clit with my mouth? Can I trace the length of me along your lustfully lubricated labia, then slip and slide in a succulent, sensational, sweetly saturated sex sauce?
Guillermo wants to be your love slave, Alicia; so fucking bad.
I never experienced a Latina before, and would love for you to be my first, and only. Is it any different, honey? I hear that you spoil your men in el dormitorio. Can you treat me like a king, if only for a moment in lust? Will you sing marvelous, melodious moans if I ease open those legs, lick, then love your clit right with the fluent flutter of my oral flute? Will my manhood feel like it’s in heaven when it plays hide-and-seek inside your Spanish garden? Te deseo; if only for a night.
If my mouth admits this now, the animal stirring in both of us would be unleashed. Can you picture us being arrested for screwing in front of a midtown audience? As much as our bilingual libidos roared, a mutual dam was constructed, stunting the natural flow of our soulful connection.
Someday would not be tonight.
“Where do you live, Alicia?” I ask as we leave the floor.
“In Upper Manhattan, William…”
Damn, she even says William sexy.
“In the Inwood section. Right off of Two Hundred Seventh Street.”
Hmm. That’s within walking distance from me.
“When can I see you again for more salsa lessons?”
“You don’t need any more, Guillermo.”
Disappointed that our association seems momentary, my eyes search the carpet below for consolation.
“But if you insist, Papi…”
In a millisecond, I make the transformation. I’m no longer the luckless “agony of defeat” skier of ABC’s Wide World of Sports fame. Once again, I am faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap…
You get the picture.
She continues.
“Come to my place tomorrow, and bring a bottle of Licor 43. Be there by nine, and I promise I’ll give you a lesson I’m sure you’ll never forget.”
Giggling, she kisses my cheek, then fades into the crowd of dancers on the floor.
Gee, I wonder what she meant by that?
Here I am, still in a stupor, almost twenty hours later. Reliving the cosmic chemistry shared with Alicia had my groin tingling with anticipation all night. Shit, I even placed a pillow between my legs, so that I could hump on it. Masturbation was an option for release, but I wanted to save my scalding seed for tonight. Just in case.
One by one my boys have been blowing up my phone, giving me pointers on how to deal with an exotic princess like Alicia. Though none of them dared ask, I know they all wanted to know if I’ll be inside of her wet, watery resting place. A true gentleman never tells.
