Sensuality (8 page)

Andreas gave her an affectionate peck on her rosy cheek.

“Thank you, baby,” she said. “Can you take the pie into the kitchen? You are staying for dinner, right?”

He smiled and nodded.

María took my hand and led me inside. Her home was spectacular. The courtyard was filled with misbehaving vines going wherever the hell they pleased while more cautious plant life was contained in pots and flower beds. The riotous colors attracted a host of insects and drew me to the plants’ unique beauty. As an avid gardener, I immediately felt at peace among some of nature’s most beautiful creations.

“This is so peaceful,” I commented.

María sat down on a wooden bench and patted the space beside her. I dropped my bag and sat next to her.

“Is that what you came here to find, peace?” she asked softly.

I looked over at her in surprise. There was no way I could tell a lie under her intense scrutiny. “Yes,” I admitted.

She gave me a kind smile. “I suspect this has something to do with Andreas. He was different after his trip to your country. Whatever you two didn’t do, then I hope that you have the courage to do it now.”

“I hope so, too,” I said quietly.

The smell of food drew us inside the cool confines of the
large home decorated with Spanish Colonial furniture, vibrant paintings, and delicate-looking books. I heard laughter coming from the same direction as the smell. There were five people in the large kitchen/dining room.

“Everybody, I want you all to meet Solo Jakes from the Bahamas. This is my daughter, Jennifer.”

The beautiful young woman watching over the steaming pot smiled at me shyly.

A woman, with skin the color of midnight, came over from the dining area and embraced me. “I am Lourdes,” she said.

“Lourdes and I have been best friends since we were girls,” María explained.

We sat around a beautiful old dining table. There were also three men in the room. Two, like me, were foreign guests. The other, like Andreas and María, was part of a Cuban newspaper I soon learned often published pieces that got one of them arrested.

“Castro was good for Cuba,” María stated. “Before Castro, Afro-Cubans did not have as many opportunities as white Cubans. The rich had everything and all others were like dogs under their tables. What Castro did was put all of us on the same level.”

Andreas picked up her thread. “But that was only the beginning. Our people are hurting and it is time to bring Cuba out of her communist past and into the democratic future of the world.”

His eyes and voice were filled with passion. He’d talked about his ideas for a new Cuba when we first met but I didn’t appreciate it then. I could feel myself falling deeper into those eyes. Our discussions lasted well into the night.

“I’d like to show you my studio tomorrow and a little more of Cuba,” he said to me just before he left.

“I’d like that very much,” I said as I walked him outside. As we stood under the light of a full moon, I brought up that fateful day. “I’m sorry that I never came to meet you,” I told him. “I was just too afraid to trust what we felt could be real.”

“I came to your house. You had disappeared. Even though I came back home angry, I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

My heart flooded with joy. “So where do we go from here?” I asked.

“That depends on you. What do you want, Solo?”

Images flashed across the canvas of my mind. I saw myself waking up alone too many times, losing my grandfather, the only man that I’d ever allowed myself to truly love. I saw my mother, beating cancer and still enjoying life. In a year, I’d experienced enough to know that life was too short to live it in fear.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” I whispered as my eyes filled with tears. “I want this enough to trust it.”

He opened his arms and I went into them. I was shaking so badly for him to kiss me that when his mouth finally touched mine, I wanted to sob. He tasted like heaven. Boldly, I pressed my body into his. He moaned and grabbed my ass as my tongue slipped into his hungry mouth. He backed me up against the wall. I could feel the heat from his hard cock through the fabric of my dress and my desire soaking my lace panties. It would only take one push for me to explode. That push was his hand slipping down my dress and caressing one rock-hard, dark nipple.

My pussy started a twitch that soon ricocheted through my entire body. I held on to him and growled in a voice I didn’t even recognize as my own. I didn’t care about the faces I made as I came, especially as his mouth replaced his hands. As his wet tongue flicked over my nipples, I threw back my head and howled at the moon like the animal that I’d become in his arms. He held me for a long time after the tremors stopped. Then he carried me upstairs and placed me in my bed.

“Rest now,” he said. “Your loving has only just begun.”

When his pickup pulled out of the driveway, I floated into a blissful sleep.

The next day he took me to old Havana, home to the Plaza de la Catedral, a beautiful square featuring magnificent examples of baroque architecture, and El Templete, a small neoclassical temple established in the sixteenth century. After a long day, Andreas took me to his favorite restaurant for dinner. After three hours we dragged ourselves from the restaurant to a crowded bar where people spilled out into the streets. Women in brightly colored dresses, their hips sensual and proud, danced on air while supported by strong, masculine arms. They were so free, more so than I’d ever been. I realized that I’d been my own Vidal, a dictator trying to control every area of my life. On an impulse, I grabbed Andreas’s hand and pulled him into the midst of the dancers. I didn’t care that I had two left feet. I wanted to be free. I wanted to explore the feeling coursing through my veins.

Always keeping my emotions in check had become so unbearable that I’d often felt like I would explode. I wanted
to explode in Andreas’s arms. I laughed out loud as he swung me around. Along with the music, a quote from Omar Khayyám kept the beat in my head. “Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.” This was my life, I thought. It was time to stop putting it on hold for self-preservation.

Andreas’s home and studio reflected his creative personality. They were both adorned with his paintings and sculptures. But I was more interested in the sculpture of his body. He lifted me in his arms and carried me to his bedroom. As we stood there, staring at each other and breathing heavily, Andreas started to strip off his clothes. The desire in my body intensified as each piece of his body was revealed to me. He made my mouth water. His face was strong, with a wide mouth that I knew would look wicked, even during the innocence of sleep. His broad shoulders and well-defined hairy chest tapered down to a slim waist and muscular legs. But it was the region that had yet to be unveiled that held my attention the longest. His erection was clearly defined through his shorts. I wanted to yank them down, to touch and taste the power between his legs. He put his fingers under the waistband but left the shorts in place.

“Don’t tease me,” I pleaded.

“Then come and get it,” he told me.

By the time I was kneeling in front of him, I already had a way to turn the tables on him. Instead of removing his shorts like he wanted me to, I started to caress him through the fabric. He seemed surprised that simple cotton could feel so good against his heated flesh. I lifted the fabric slightly between my fingers and pulled it back and forth over his shaft. Andreas groaned, the sound coming from deep inside of him.

I tortured him sweetly for a while, then replaced my hands with my very wet mouth. I sucked him through the cloth.

“Holy Mother of God!” he cried out.

I nipped at him with my teeth, secure that his sensitive area was protected by his briefs. When his legs began to buckle, I pulled away from him. An instant later, he took his shorts off. His intention was to shove his naked cock into my mouth but I had other ideas. I stood up and backed away from him.

“Lie on the bed,” I instructed. He stretched out on the bed. I leaned over him and tied his hands to the iron bed railings with my head scarf. His eyes registered shock that quickly turned to excitement. He allowed himself to be totally at my mercy. I walked to the foot of the bed and started to strip, my body sexy and graceful. One leg glided out in front, highlighting a well-defined calf and thick thighs. Slowly and mercilessly, I teased him, revealing my treasures to him for a few seconds before covering them up again. I closed my eyes and became lost in the fantasy of what I thought our loving would be like. I ran my hands over my breasts before undoing the center clasp of my bra. They spilled out. I could feel his hungry gaze on them. I lifted each to my mouth. I opened my eyes and, while looking directly into his, licked the large, dark areolas.

“Do you want to taste me?”

I gave him a wicked smile.

“You know I do. Stop torturing me.”

I slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them before turning around and bending low, affording Andreas a spectacular view of my assets. When his moans grew un
bearable, I stepped up on the bed and placed a foot on either side of his head. I started dancing again. He stared up at my pussy. I bent low, until I was mere inches from his face. He inhaled me deeply into his lungs.

I played with him, lowering my body to his face, then standing up again and taking away the object of his desire. When he started to curse and beg for it, I sat on his face, finally giving him what he craved. His greedy mouth assaulted me. He lapped at my body. He rolled his tongue in at the sides and burrowed it deep into me.

“I want to taste you, too,” I whispered.

I turned around and slid down his body and buried my fingers in his chest hairs. I grabbed one of his nipples between my teeth and pulled gently.

“Baby, that feels so good,” he said. Spurred on by his pleasure, I slid further down and grabbed his mammoth penis.

He was already starting to cream. I licked up the salty liquid with the tip of my tongue. I cupped his heavy balls in one hand while I gorged myself on him. When my mouth grew tired, I caressed him with my breasts and hands. I ran his large head around one stiff nipple before placing both into my mouth. I feasted on him and myself until I felt the first tingle of release. Andreas cried out with pleasure when I finally untied his hands.

I grabbed his penis and straddled him. With his strong muscles, he pushed up into me. I moaned as my body started to tremble. Our lovemaking was raw and savage. It was animalistic, with bared teeth and Neanderthal grunts. Andreas let out a loud roar as his body finally exploded. I felt more than his semen gushing into my body. All of his strength, his
life essence, flowed out of his body into mine. In that instant, I knew a part of his soul would always belong to me.

I bucked as if I was riding a wild horse. I cried out his name as I came. His warmth flooded my body, filling me with pleasure and love. In our release I found the strength to tell him that I loved him. When he whispered the same words to me, I started kissing him softly. Our bodies responded. Our loving was filled with promises.

The new dawn brought a new outlook on life. I could look to the future with a love I could trust. I still find it poetic that in a beautiful but scared country like Cuba, I’ve finally found freedom and true love.

“Please don’t tell me you’re seriously considering doing this. Lyd. Lyd, do you hear me?” Pilar’s words fell on deaf ears as her best friend continued rummaging through her clothes, looking for the right outfit to wear.

“She’s a grown woman, Pilar. Let her be, if that’s what she wants to do,” Simon added, ignoring Pilar’s rants for sanity.

The trio had been best friends since childhood and had recently become roommates, as well as business partners, since opening the Smokescreen, an urban coffeehouse. When they were in agreement there was harmony, but when they disagreed the sounds of their high-pitched voices shrieked like an angry wind.

“Listen, Mr. Thang, I’m not trying to stop her. She’s just not thinking straight,” Pilar snapped back, her blood starting to boil.

The Latina was nothing if not fiery, and when it came to her friends, she often smothered them with being overpro
tective. Although Simon, who struggled with his bisexuality, found Pilar attractive, she was too aggressive for his own taste. He ignored her snide remarks about his lifestyle, but knew she meant well. The two of them warred constantly—a dark-skinned gay man and a Hispanic freak. Lydia always said their sexual desire for each other drove them to the brink of heated words.

“Passion is the underside of hate,” she would always tell them. But this time, their argument wasn’t centered on them, but their friend’s unwarranted intentions.

Lydia Freeman, at thirty-five, felt attractive, sexy, and desirable. At least, she had felt those things until her latest main squeeze, Jarvis, had dumped her for another man, of all people. Simon tried to warn her that he was down with the club, but an angry Lydia had surprisingly told him to mind his own business. Ever since then, he never interfered in her life unless asked. While the breakup didn’t hurt her badly, her self-esteem had taken a huge blow.

Women, by nature, gain power from their beauty. It’s been that way since the days of Cleopatra. What’s a woman to think when a seemingly straight man doesn’t want to be with a woman who’s beautiful, but with a man he thinks is more beautiful? Like most women, Lydia didn’t understand the difference between the mind-set of a straight man and a gay man. She only assumed that Jarvis’s lack of interest had more to do with her shortcomings. So, like most women, she wanted to do something to stroke her ego.

Most women would have found some boy toy and rode his dick for an hour or two until that feeling of domination came back, but not Ms. Lydia. Her quest for egotism went a step further. Ms. Freeman intended on taking some profes
sional nude photographs to remind herself that she was still sexy. Not that there’s anything wrong with doing that, many women do it. But Lydia was conservative. She didn’t own a skirt that went above her knees. Men stared at her, but more for the mystery. Behind those dark-framed eyeglasses, cashmere sweaters, and long skirts, they knew dwelt a tiger. She just didn’t know it.

So between the three friends, Pilar was the aggressive go-getter, Simon was the chic, bisexual man, and Lydia was the inexperienced tight-lip who seemed clueless about the real world.

“You shouldn’t do this because of Jarvis. He’s not worth it. I’ll snap a Polaroid, if you’re that desperate to see yourself au naturel. Why would you use Juan Cortez’s services anyway? He is a professional photographer.”

“You just answered your own question, Pilar. That’s exactly why I want to use him and, yes, this has less and less to do with Jarvis the more I think about it.”

It had taken Lydia one entire night and a bottle of their best champagne to come to that conclusion. Their sex life was lacking, to say the least, and getting his dick to stay hard had become more like a miracle that wasn’t worth the effort.

“Don’t you ever see those shows like
America’s Next Top Model
when those supermodels are being photographed? The photographers set the mood by telling those women how beautiful they are to get the perfect shot. It’s like the whole world stops for them. Every woman wants to be that picture perfect.”

“I think you need a therapist,” was the only response Pilar could muster as Lydia threw more of her lingerie on the
floor. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Juan Cortez is soooo damn fine?”

Lydia dropped her clothes on the floor, and sat down on her bed to think about that. That was an understatement. Juan Cortez was a sexual god, or at least looked that way. He was a six-foot-two Latin stud with smooth almond skin and dimples, and a body to match. His muscles made women want to dig their fingernails into him. Not to mention that smile that could drive women wild. And then there was that Ricky Martin accent. Every word sounded so sexy. It wasn’t a wonder he was one of the most requested erotic photographers around.

Since his studio was a block away, he was a regular customer of the Smokescreen and their famous café latte. On top of that, he was best friends with Simon’s brother and his appearance alone brought in a lot of customers. While she was attracted to him as well, she knew it was pure fantasy.

“It’s strictly professional, Pilar. Nothing else.”

“Really? Then why did you tell him the pictures were for your boyfriend, Jarvis, who is now your ex-boyfriend? Surely it wouldn’t matter if it was professional.”

Lydia was busted on that one. Sure, she liked him and saw this as an unorthodox way of getting some alone time, but Juan was a private man who rarely committed himself. Women threw themselves at him all the time. Surely, a man that fine never noticed her. Besides, he was adamant about his work and said that photographing naked women was simply his job and not a turn-on.

With Simon’s insistence, Pilar let the argument drop for the time being. Knowing that Lydia could be just as headstrong as Pilar, the last thing he wanted to do was get in the
middle of an argument between two feisty best friends. Besides, despite her desires, Lydia was a wallflower and he knew that. Taking her clothes off in front of a perfect stranger was a feat she would never be able to overcome, even if it was Juan Cortez.

Lydia barged into the guestroom, looking for inspiration. Pilar followed, wanting to talk some sense into her friend. It wasn’t that she thought Juan would take advantage of her. One, he was too professional for that and, two, Simon would kick his ass if he did. Although he was only five eight, their gentle roommate could slug it out with the best of them. While Lydia plopped down on her armchair in frustration over the lack of sexwear, Simon entered with a bag from an area boutique, much to the girls’ amazement. “I know you’re not into freakwear, so I picked up a few items for you.”

Pilar couldn’t resist digging into them. “Where did you get them? Your closet?”

“Actually, no. Your momma loaned them to me,” he fired back.

“Oh, would you two fuck already and get it over with! DAMN!” Lydia yelled as she went into the bathroom to try on her freakwear while Pilar and Simon glared at each other. She came out ten minutes later, fully dressed, with a bewildered look.

“What’s wrong, honey? Didn’t they fit?”

“They do. It’s just that they’re so revealing.”

“That’s the whole point, darling. You’re hanging with the big girls now, you know, the whole supermodel experience you were talking about.”

Simon shot a smile at Pilar, who suddenly realized Simon’s plan of using reverse psychology. He’d surmised that
Lydia would show up at Juan’s studio and chicken out. At least, he hoped that she would.

The moment of truth had arrived. Lydia was standing inside of Juan’s studio, waiting for their six o’clock appointment to begin. His assistant, Josette, began doing Lydia’s makeup and hair. The whole point of the session was to give the customer a new experience and that often meant a new look. It got the female customers in the mood and it gave his baby-making sister something to do besides bring babies home to his retired mother. Eyeing Lydia from a distance intrigued him even more. From a distance, she looked like a schoolteacher, but there was definitely more to her than met the eye. Beneath those glasses, her shy smile, and long, straight hair stood a sensuous woman.

When Simon told him she wanted pictures made, he couldn’t believe it. He had had his eye on her for months and, truthfully, that was the main reason he remained a loyal customer to the Smokescreen. While Simon was a cool cat, he kept in contact with him at the request of his brother, who happened to be Juan’s best friend. Juan didn’t understand bisexuality, but he didn’t stand in the way of it either. It was Simon who asked him not to approach Lydia while she was still dating Jarvis, and last he had heard their relationship was still on and popping.

“Lucky fucker,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t matter. For at least this evening, the señorita is all mine.”

Juan was amazed how different Lydia looked. She was still beautiful, but now she had a glow. For the first time, Lydia felt beautiful.

“Well, well, Lydia, you have some beautiful brown eyes hidden behind those glasses.”

Before she had a chance to blush, he directed her to the changing room so the session could begin. Luckily, he didn’t have any more clients tonight. He could take as long as he wanted with her. He’d have his work cut for him. Getting a woman to expose herself was often complicated. The models were no problem, because they were used to it, but the other women either felt their bodies were too fat, or they’d be cheating on their husbands, or worse. They usually wanted to sleep with him.

He saw women of all shapes and colors as beautiful. It was all a matter of how that woman felt about herself. Sometimes, they only needed a little encouragement to show that sex appeal.

The women who felt like their husbands were cheating on them usually got the pictures made in some last-ditch effort to hang on to a man who already had one foot out the door. The worst kinds were the women who wanted him. Some wanted to use him for his contacts, or had kinky fetishes that included sex right in his studio, which he didn’t allow. For one, he didn’t want that kind of sleazy reputation and, two, he hated women who pursued him for sex. It took away from the whole mating dance. He liked to be the tiger, not the other way around.

Besides, a woman like that had almost cost him his career. A medical student, Heather Owens, had wanted some pictures done, as well as a sexual encounter. When he said no, she went back to her boyfriend and claimed Juan had attacked her. After a police interrogation and losing some good clients, Heather’s mother finally got her to admit she’d
made the entire thing up. Turns out the girl had mental issues. Ever since then, and because his business was going well, Juan had decided to become very exclusive about the women he photographed. While he promised Simon that he wouldn’t touch Lydia, he knew keeping that promise wasn’t going to be easy.

He dimmed the lights so she wouldn’t be nervous when coming out. Why women had a thing about lights was beyond him, but he humored her all the same. Cutting them back on, he noticed the lace panties and bra she wore. Juan grunted. Lace was one of his weaknesses. The photo shoot was to take place in the bedroom that was painted white with a bed that had an iron frame.

Nervous, Lydia kept pulling at her strap that kept dropping due to the weight of her 38C breasts. He gave her a glass of wine to calm her down and to settle his dick, which had started to swell the moment he saw her on that bed. Tucked firmly behind his loose black jeans, he’d hoped she hadn’t noticed his lump.

“Just relax, Lydia. We’re just going to take a few pictures and we’ll be done.”

FIRST POSE: He asked her to remove her bra and to get on the bed, on her knees with her back facing him. Juan bit his lip as she slipped on the heels and got into position. Seeing the natural pose of her breasts, he wanted to touch them so badly, but then looked at the lace panties barely covering her ass. A little bit thicker than a thong, the panties barely clung to her waistline and her muscular cheeks hung out of them. This woman was giving new meaning to the term “onion booty.” On direction, she turned her head while he got the camera into position to take the first shot. With each
pose, she became more and more alive while he talked to her. “You are so beautiful.” [CLICK] “Stick it out for me.” [CLICK] “Jarvis is such a lucky man.” [CLICK]

SECOND POSE: He had Lydia remove her panties while he fumbled with the camera so he wouldn’t be tempted to look. Whenever he’d felt excited, he remembered Heather and the big fiasco that had followed her bullshit. Still, the sight of Lydia naked made him weak in the knees, thinking of all the things he could do to her. He brought out a pair of high-heeled stiletto boots that went past her knees. After watching her stumble a few times, she finally got the hang of walking in them. Taking out a leather whip, he told her to hold it while he walked to where she stood in front of his bed. He was facing her, and she could feel his heavy breathing. Whether it was his cologne, his voice, or the thought that his body was so close to hers, she could feel the tension. She could also feel the wetness of her pussy starting to make its descent.

Stop it,
she told herself.
This man looks at beautiful women every day. You can’t let him see you lose control like that.

Juan stood so close to her breasts and wanted them in his mouth. Everything about her was beautiful. Grinding his teeth, he took the whip and sat down in front. He wrapped the leather whip in a criss-cross pattern around her ass and in between her pulsating mound. The rope was tight enough to cause tension, but not tight enough to hurt. She could feel her folds wrapping around the rope and her insides getting wet again. Doing some abdominal exercises, she stopped it, but didn’t know for how long. Putting what was left of the whip in her hand, he placed a black velvet cowboy hat on her head and started taking the pictures. The confidence
buried inside of her came forth in seductive smiles. Untying the whip, he could see it was wet, which meant, dammit, she was, too.

She stood up and face the camera, and spread her legs, which, given the boots, wasn’t an easy task. She got them pretty far apart, which meant she was enjoying the tease. With her legs spread, he could see how swollen her pussy had gotten and how excited she was just by the hazy look in her eyes.