And yet another moral occurs to me now: Make love when you can. It’s good for you.
“Fuuuuuck.” She’d finally managed to stop laughing and was giving me a look that suggested she might burst once more if she didn’t devote her utmost concentration to self-control.
Lisa was naked from the waist down, sitting in the chair next to the table opposite me. I had less modesty, and sat completely naked with my leg propped on my knee, my hand holding an empty shot glass on the table and her holding the bottle of top shelf tequila. She looked much different in real life than in the pictures she’d sent, a bit more weight, definitely didn’t notice the tattoos before, or the tongue ring, and she wore quite a bit of make-up, and had big fake eye lashes. But, she was the late twenties latina who’d advertised herself as needing a mate for her bachelorette weekend, and here we were.
“I know, at least you can’t say the service wasn’t prompt,” I smiled.
She burst into raucous laughter again.
I’d met her at a cafe a block away, and we’d walked back to her hotel room. I was getting the sense that she was uncomfortable with the whole arrangement. Once we were alone, she looked at me expectantly. She admitted she’d never cheated before, and while she wanted to go through with it, she felt a good bit nervous, like she was in “high school again”. Finally, I coaxed her to come sit with me on the bed, I put my arm around her, and she finally turned to me, determined to warm up a bit, and we kissed, but as it progressed to tongue she pulled away.
“Uh, uh, I’m going to need a drink for this,” she said, walking to her bag and producing a couple of shot glasses and the bottle of tequila. I told her to pour me just one since I needed to be heading back to work at some point, she poured herself two. We tried again, kissing, second base, but she fled again.
“Look, clearly you aren’t comfortable with this, I should be going,” I said finally.
“No, no, it’s not you, I’m not sure why I’m being like this.”
This time she was determined, she turned down the bed and turned back to me. We kissed and I got on top of her on the bed, she immediately pulled off her pants and lacy black undies, and I pulled off my pants, and we went for it.
“Ohhhh, god.” She gasped as I penetrated her.
We started fucking hard, she was pushing herself against me, digging her long nails into my chest (she left marks, I need to keep my shirt on at home). I don’t know what it was, perhaps it was that I hadn’t had sex in weeks, perhaps it was the lack of foreplay, but I came after less than three minutes. I guess there is a first time for everything, if anything, I generally have a problem cumming at all. Well, that was embarrassing, she clearly wanted more, I wanted more, but I needed a chance to recover. She was so skittish, she was uncomfortable with me giving her head or getting her off with my fingers (yeah, I don’t get it either, she could have my penis inside her, but this other stuff was just too intimate?), so I did the next best thing: made her laugh. So, we sat there, and shared a couple of shots and laughed together at the absurdity.
“So, do you do this much?” She asked.
“What? Promise girls that I’m a sex god then get my rocks off and leave them hangin’? All the time.”
“Haha, no silly, you know, have sex with girls other than your wife.” She poured another shot for us and we clinked glasses and drank.
“Not often, but there have been a few.”
“Yeah? Everyone does it where I’m from. All the married guys.” She said it so casually, I was certain she was joking.
“You’re fuckin’ with me.”
“No, I’m not, all of ‘em, and everyone knows it.”
She gave me some minor details. She came from a fairly impoverished area, a place everyone hated and wanted to leave, nothing like the affluence here. I was the only white guy she’d ever had sex with, or seen naked in person. I’d heard latin communities were rampant with adultery, but, I never imagined it would be like as she described: a little talked about, but a well known fixture of daily life.
“Ready for round two?” She asked.
We got back in bed and got to it.
“Your lips are so fuckin’ small, I can’t get over it.” She laughed.
I always thought my lips were a bit large for a white guy (I mean, I’m no Steven Tyler, but still), but I guess not compared to what she was used to.
In any case, we had a good time, apart from a rocky start and a freak-plumbing mishap on my part. By the end, she was comfortable with me, still I was disappointed with my sexual performance (even round two was a bit lackluster), but luckily she seemed to appreciate what charm I had to offer. She sent me a nice email later, thanking me for a good time and all the laughs, it was sweet. One line stuck out:
“You have a way with your words, I don’t know what it is but it’s sexy as fuck! Lucky wife you have.”
That’s nice to hear, but I doubt my wife would see it that way. I sent back: “that’s just how my tiny lips work.”