Safe Without You (2 page)

              “Lost my job.”             

              “Fired?”

              Amber shook her head, “Nope.  Company went out of business.  Got stiffed on a month of pay too.”

              “Ouch.”  He signaled the bartender, “Another mojito for the lady, too.”  He nodded sympathetically.  “So what were you doing?”

              “Working for an adventure tour company, you know, helping spoiled Americans pretend they were having a jungle adventure.  What’s your story?” 

              “My story?  I’m kind of in between jobs too, but I’m a pilot.”

              “Pilot?  Like a commercial pilot?”  Amber rattled the ice in her glass.

              “Well, I get paid to fly, but my specialty is bush planes.”

              “Like small planes, with propellers?” 

              “Like small planes, with propellers,” he said with a smile.  “I’m Cal, by the way, Calvin Compton.”  He extended his hand.

              Amber shook his hand, “Pleased to meet you Cal Compton.  Amber McShane.”

              He raised his glass, “So, Amber McShane, here’s to out of work Americans hanging around in Panamanian beach bars.”

              She clinked her glass against his, “Sounds sad, doesn’t it?”

              “Only if you think that it is, but I’m thinking, maybe it’s kismet.”

              “Kismet?”  Amber gave Cal a puzzled look.

              “You know, fate, destiny.  Maybe there’s some reason the only empty bar stool when I arrived was next to a beautiful woman.”  He licked his lips unconsciously.

              Amber could see where this was heading.  One mojito was not going to get her into bed with him, no matter how good looking he was.  “I’m taking the bus up to Boquette tomorrow.  I have to get some stuff I left up there at our camp, not knowing that we wouldn’t be going back.  You interested in going?”

              His eyes searched her face, “Yeah, but not on the bus.  I’ll drive you.”

              “You’ve got wheels?”

              Cal nodded, “I’ve got a jeep.  I’d rather fly you, but I won’t have new wings until next week.”

              “Okay, pick me up at Casita del Mer, eight o’clock.  There’s a café where we can have coffee and a roll.”

              “Okay.”

              “Am I paying for the gas?” Amber asked bluntly.             

              Cal shook his head.  “No, gas is on me.  But you’re buying breakfast.”

              “Fair enough.”  She cast an eye at the fresh mojito the bartender had just set down in front of her before sliding off the stool.  “You shouldn’t let that go to waste, but the roads to Boquette are pretty rough, so I wouldn’t be drinking any more than that.”

              “Taken under advisement.  See you at eight at Casita del Mer, Amber McShane.”

              As she walked away from the bar, Amber could feel Cal checking her out.  As his eyes traced her shape, she could feel her confidence coming back.

###

              The next morning, Cal showed up at Casita del Mer right on time.  Amber found him lounging against the fender of the jeep, his arms folded across his chest.  She threw a small duffle bag into the back of the jeep.

              “Come on,” she said with a tilt of her head, “Coffee is this way.”             

              “Café con leche,” Amber ordered.

              “Espresso,” Cal followed.  He noisily stirred a spoonful of sugar into his cup.  Then bolted the tiny cup of java.  “Okay, I’m ready,” he said as he wiped his mouth.  Amber was still blowing at the top of her cup.  She asked for a paper cup, and took her coffee to go.

              An hour later, they were away from the seaside town and heading to higher elevations.  The air was moist, and the light breeze was cooler than down by the water.  Cal was a good driver; it was clear he knew his way around a stick shift and he hummed a little as he drove.  They hadn’t said much to one another, but they had settled into a rhythm.

              “Where are you from anyway?” Cal asked.

              “No place particular.  I’ve been in Europe for the last five years.”

              “Europe?  What were you doing there?”

              “My dad is a colonel with the NATO joint command.”

              “No shit?  So you’re an Army brat?”

              “Air Force.  Once upon a time my dad was a helicopter pilot.  Now he has something to do with strategy.  I’m not really sure.”

              “So did you like being around the military?”  Cal glanced over to watch her expression.

              “It was okay.  It’s not like I’m some big patriot or anything.” Amber gazed out across the little valley they had just climbed out of, “For the last few years I’ve been on my own, traveling around.”

              “How’s that working out for you?”  Cal asked.

              Amber’s face was tight, “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

              “You have a problem with that?”

              “See?  My point exactly,” but Amber started to smile.

              Cal reached over and rested a hand on Amber’s thigh.  There was nothing threatening about his touch, he was, Amber knew, testing the waters.  She liked feeling the weight of his hand on her leg and she covered his hand with hers. 

              “So how did you become a bush pilot?”  Amber asked.

              “Kind of a family business, I guess you could say.” 

              “Here in Panama?”

              “Now look who’s asking all the questions!”  Cal grinned at her.  “In various parts of Central and South America.”

              “So you speak Spanish.”  Amber made it a statement not a question. 

              “Yeah, I speak Spanish, Portuguese too.”

              “That’s cool.”

              Cal’s hand began to gently stroke Amber’s bare leg, and the gentle tracing of his fingers was getting her hot. And she wasn’t the only one—there was a bulge at the crotch of Cal’s jeans. 

              Was this what she wanted? Amber asked herself.  A fling with a good-looking guy wasn’t going to solve her problems, but it could sure take the pain away for the short term.  She could feel her nipples responding to Cal’s touch, stiffening in expectation.  Her whole body was telling her to go full speed ahead, and nothing about her guy radar had given her any cause for alarm.

She slid her hand away from Cal’s, and gently ran it over Cal’s bulge.  Abruptly, he pulled off the side of the road and killed the motor.

              Cal snaked a hand behind Amber’s waist, gently pulling her to him, “Damn girl, I need a kiss.”

              Cal’s kisses were sweet, Amber thought, tentative and searching—so different from what she expected.  He relaxed back a little, opening his body to Amber’s touch as she continued caressing him through his pants.  Hesitantly, he kissed her, his hand touching her face, his fingers exploring the lines and curves.  His eyes were glistening with desire as he tenderly traced Amber’s mouth with the tip of his finger.

              “You’re something else, Amber McShane.”

              Playfully, she caught his finger in her mouth, her tongue giving it a sensuous lap.   Cal closed his eyes as his hands pushed up under her shirt, and she sucked in a breath as ticklish waves of pleasure rippled across her bare skin.  His cock was full and hard under her hand, and Amber knew if she kept up what she was doing much longer, Cal was going to come in his pants.

Slowly, Amber unzipped his pants, and his kisses grew more feverish.  He pulled of her t-shirt and then his own.  Sliding a finger under one bra strap, he pulled it down her shoulder as he whispered, “Tell me what you want, it turns me on.”

              “I think you are already pretty damn turned on,” Amber said in a throaty voice, as her hand closed around his velvety cock. 

              Cal looked at her through half-closed eyes as he pulled at her bra.  Amber’s breasts spilled out, and he teased her by brushing the tips of both nipples with his thumbs.  Amber gasped, her clit throbbing in response.  He kissed her, hard, and then his mouth started working down her body.  He whispered against her breasts, “You’re beautiful…now tell me what you want me to do.”  Clutching at Cal’s arms, she found herself wordless, and he pressed her again, his breath whispering across her throbbing nipples.  “Tell me Amber.  I want you to tell me what you want me to do.”

              Finally, she whispered breathily, “Everything you’ve been doing, I want that.  And I want you.”

              Cal’s loosened the tie on her shorts, his hand slipping in to cup her aching crotch.  “I’m— I’m clean, it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.  We need a rubber—or are you on the pill?”

              Amber broke her rule about condoms for the first time since her original lover, “Yeah, it’s okay, I have an IUD.”  The fact that he was even concerned about protection made Amber even more turned on.  Her fingers stroked across the swell of his pecs, and she could feel her heart beating like a jackhammer.

              Cal tugged at her shorts, “Oh god Amber, get’em off.  I can’t possibly manage.”

              Amber shimmied out of her shorts as Cal pushed his jeans down on his hips, his cock hard and erect.  Pulling Amber astride him, Cal drew in his breath as Amber settled over his shaft.  “Damn Amber, you are
tight
.”  Pushing Amber’s straight brown hair back, he tried to focus on her face.  “I want to know you inside and out—and not just because you have an amazingly tight pussy.”  Amber laughed softly.

              Cal thrust up to meet Amber as she moved above him, their eyes locked together.  He could feel Amber’s entire body tightening as her pleasure built, and pushed up into her as hard as he could.  An instant later, she exploded into rippling waves of pleasure and then, so did Cal.

              Amber felt limp as Cal wrapped his arms tightly around her, his head against her breasts.  She ran her hands through his short, soft hair, and then down the center of his back, feeling for the first time the ridges of scar tissue that crisscrossed his back.  What had caused such terrible wounds? Amber wondered, as her fingers shyly explored the knotty scars.  She stroked his head, as she felt his breath quick and warm against her skin.  Cal might be beat, but he wasn’t broken.

Journal Reflection 2

The first time that I ever had sex, I was fifteen.  The man who got my virginity was a thirty- year old Italian guy, and it happened when we were stationed at the Aviano Air Base.  Like every other family with kids, we had to live off base, and that meant in one of the nearby villages.  I’d desperately wanted to go to Italian school, but the rules said I was too old to enroll as a foreigner.  So Italian school was wasted on the babies, and I had to start high school with a bunch of American creeps, and take Italian classes on the side.  Paulo was my tutor. 

              I remember my mom saying he had excellent references, and she’d gotten his name from some other Air Force mom.  My mom worked as a civilian employee in the base’s human resources office, so someone always hooked her up with whatever she wanted.  Anyway, school was out at three o’clock, and mom didn’t get home from work until almost six.  Paulo was supposed to tutor me on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 3:30 to 5:00.  I guess it never occurred to my mother that Paulo might want to teach me verb tenses with his hand in my panties.

              The problem with Paulo, other than his unusual teaching methods, was that he was charming.  He was very, very, handsome, and cultured, and funny.  He dressed well, and he had good teeth.  There was nothing about Paulo that screamed “skank” or “child molester.”  In fact, he was the opposite.  Paulo was the man you
wanted
to take your virginity. 

              The first few tutoring sessions we had were as one might expect: vocabulary lists, the conjugation of verbs, beginning conversation.  Things didn’t start careening off course until we got to a vocabulary list with parts of the body.  Somehow along with “elbow” and “chin,” Paulo taught me
baciare con la lingua,
tongue kissing, and
pisello,
penis, and
ditalino,
female masturbation.  I made him
arrapato,
horny, and I had a magnificent
culo,
ass, and couldn’t we have a
cosina veloce,
a
quickie, before my mom got home from work.  If you’re planning on seeing an X-rated Italian movie without subtitles, I’m the person you want to have along to translate.

              Before Paulo, I had barely held hands with a boy.  And the only kiss I had ever experienced was from a fourteen year old Turkish boy I had a terrible crush on.  Most of our relationship was spent mooning at each other from a safe distance, and hiding notes for each other to read, since of course it was unseemly for a Muslim boy and an infidel girl to be lollygagging about.  We thought of ourselves as Romeo and Juliet, just without the death and suicide.  When I told him my family was moving to Italy, he dared press his lips to mine for a fraction of a second before running away.  And that was the last I ever saw of Ahmet.

              Paulo started his seduction with the sexy talk, and then gradually, he began touching me.  By the time we got to the past perfect tense, I was touching him, and things went rapidly downhill from there.  He told me I was beautiful and sexy and smart and fantastic, and I thought that meant we were in love.  It’s amazing how stupid you can be when you’re fifteen. 

              It’s a miracle I didn’t end up pregnant.  Paulo refused to wear a condom because it offended his manhood, and I couldn’t get birth control without my mom.  Paulo certainly wasn’t going to be seen taking me to a clinic, and well, Paulo wasn’t going to be seen
anywhere
with me.  My only outings with Paulo involved moving from our kitchen table to my bedroom, so he could screw me more comfortably.  After a while, I basically got fed up with feeling like his on-demand sex slave.  I knew from movies that he should be bringing me presents, and taking me places, and standing up to my parents.  Finally I had to admit that despite giving me my first orgasm, Paulo was a craptastic lover in every other way, a real
bastardo. 
One day I blurted out to my mother that Paulo had tried ‘touching me between my legs’ and that was the end of my language lessons.  I left out the part about learning how to give the little
testa di merda
—shithead—
un pompino
, a blowjob, something I file under the “Past Imperfect.”