I see him in mid twirl and I know instantly I am in trouble. His body moves sweetly, too sweetly. His steps are undeniably Cuban and I am undeniably drawn. My partner turns me and moves me skillfully thru a combination of turns and steps and I am blissed out, as always, on the dance floor. Salsa has become my reason to live. It is the time and place that I feel most alive, most vibrant, most passionately connected to life and my truest essence. It is also the time and place that I am apparently the most vulnerable to men.
A man who can dance well is enough to swoon me a little, but a man who can dance really well and who is physically attractive to me is just undeniable trouble for me and seems to be practically irresistible. This one was irresistible on all counts. I watched him for a dance and fell in love before I even made it to his arms. Soft hips, perfect feet moving in that way that only Cubans dance, light chocolate skin, just barely brown but so soft and sweet my hands itched to touch it. Suave, and knowing just how to move a woman to make her look good while he was stylin himself so sweetly around her. "Dammit," was the only word that could come to my lips. I knew I had to have him, atleast once.
A few dances later, he found me and asked me to dance. Joyfully we met in the groove, laughing, flirting heavily and dancing as if we'd danced together for years. Made to be lovers. Undoubtedly the chemistry was delightful and I should have left him right there on the dance floor, walked away, said, "Thanks but no thanks," but I didn't. I like that edge. I apparently like to flirt with danger, and so after a few more dances throughout the nite, he went home with my phone number in his phone and before I even got home there were messages.
The next night we met again, perfectly choreographed between three other men who are in hot pursuit that were probably a lot more deserving and would probably be much better to me. I spent the evening exploring the options in the dance, dancing in turn with the best dancers there, letting myself surrender to the magic of man adoring and cherishing woman in the dance. I let them pull me close and hold me tight and tonite I didn't resist any of that intimacy. I am strong, my feet move perfectly and I feel grace and total control with all of them.
Except him. When I dance with him, I get nearly clumsy. I feel intoxicated by his smell and the way that i feel when he pulls me close. I want to claw and rip and grab at him. It's animalistic. My body burns with desire. He speaks to me in my ear in moments when he must feel me getting weak: "Are you OK?" I laugh and say yes but we both know I am weakened by his magnetism on me. I am in trouble with this one. He is so naughty, bad boy just emanates from his pores and I drink it in big gulps loving the anticipation of the knowingness that we both have.
I have options of really good men who would be kind and available to me, who would treat me with tenderness and respect. I choose him, hands down. He's the sexiest, the hottest and will most
likely be the cruelest to me and my tender heart. We make an agreement
before we leave the dance that night that no matter what, we won't let
it affect the dance. No matter what, we will be friends and not stop
dancing together. I know I can't resist him, I know he is coming to my
bed with me, and he knows it too.
We dance a last dance, and I can't wait any longer. It's time to kiss this man, and find out what else is there beyond the dance. We leave and he walks me to my car and gets in it and kisses me. It's not the most incredible kiss I've ever had, but the passion in it is enough in my already heightened state of arousal from the dance and the story I've created in my mind about how hot this one is, this Cuban God. He follows me home, and sitting on my porch beneath the moon, the intoxication continues. I am just a little high from smoking some ganga but not so high that I have no resistance. His fingers on my nipples, then his lips melt away what little resistance I had and I bring him to my bed, knowing I am setting myself up for failure.
In my room, he asks me if he can take his pants off and if he should take his shirt off. I look at him and grab the bottom of his white t-shirt and pull it up revealing the most incredibly perfect torso and say, "Um, yeah, let's take that off. That's so nice." He is a tae kwan do teacher and master. His body is incredible, I'm screwed and I know it. Damn. I should have left this one at the bar. I am now praying maybe I can keep him under control and also hoping I can keep myself under control.
Not a chance. Instantly, his passion rages through me and consumes me. I could say no, but I'm not even sure he would hear it. I don't want to say no. I should say no, I know that I am heading into yet another disappointment and heartbreak. I actually like the guy already. Just from the dance I have fallen in love with his personality. I try to say no, I try to push his hands from exploring me too quickly, but I am naked in no time, his lips and face buried in my Yoni, sucking and slurping me up. He speaks to me half in spanish, half in english, and has me speaking back the same. I am so turned on I am like a gushing stream and he is wide eyed and loving every minute of me.
His big chocolate eyes are child like, innocent in their naughtiness and we are laughing and enjoying each other fully. He thrusts his fingers into every place he can and brings me to climax with intensity 3 times, and is relentlessly moving towards the fourth. The orgasms are a mix of pain and pleasure. He slaps my ass and it excites me. There is nothing very gentle or tender with this one. It is raw, primal, intensely passionate and incredibly mind altering. I am high on him, riding with him matching his intensity and doing eveything I can to push him farther into it. He is so hard. I haven't been with a man with a rock hard staff like this one in years. I am almost scared but too turned on to care anymore and I let him enter me and pull him in as deep as I can.
He is so incredibly sexy. The joy and bliss on his face are so welcomed and I want only to bring more to him. For a moment I get the awareness that he will not respect me tomorrow, but I give it up and surrender to the moment and fuck him harder. Together we release into stillness and sleep.
He wakes me in the morning with strong caresses and even though I am sore from the night before, I want him again. The door has been opened, he knows I can not close it now. He pulls me to the edge of the bed and we make love in front of the mirror. Our bodies are incredibly beautiful together. Two very fine nearly 40 year old specimens. He keeps saying how hot I am and I can not deny I feel the same. His body is the perfect body for me. Strong, tall, fit, brown, Cuban, and it looks so good pumping into me that I am laughing with him blissfully.
Then he leaves. My heart sinks a bit. I know that might be it and I am pissed at myself for letting that go so fast that I probably have no chance now of being anything more than just another notch on the belt. Part of me doesn't care. I wanted him, he knew it, he wanted me. We wasted no time. We were real and true with what we felt. It was sex, primal and passionately delightful with no strings attached. Maybe I want a string or two.
The next day my African lover comes to see me. I feel crazed by it all, but I blew him off the previous night to settle a score with him and because the Cuban had come to see me. He just wants to touch me, and I am grateful. He is so appreciative and gentle with my body. He truly loves woman and is so enamored with my form. It feels so completely different and so completely needed to cool the insanity of the night before somehow. He spends an hour just caressing my legs and ass with soft gentle strokes. This is the way I really love to be loved, so sweet, so gentle, so nurturing. He is totally OK without entering me and leaves me satisfied, nurtured and feeling so tenderly appreciated.
Now my work is to stay neutral, to not freak out, to not trip on the Cuban. I don't do so well, I send him a few texts that are just enough on the snippy side to probably turn him off, but it gets a response and he calls me to tell me he is my friend and he's not going anywhere. He also tells me that it scared him to get those texts. We can see each other sometimes, we are both adults and we shared something sweet that we both wanted and we need to act like adults about it. He is right and I know he is, but when I see him dancing that night I want only him. I snagged him at the door for his first dance of the night, but I could tell his energy was elsewhere and my heart sunk. I let him go and affirm that I will not go to him, that I will let him come to me, that I will leave without saying a word to him and that I will not let this man play his game with my heart at stake. Strike one, he's out.
I dance with everyone else but him all night, purposefully avoiding him, watching him watch me when I'm dancing and stealthily watching him through my hair. I can't show weakness. I can't show my true feelings, he will run. I have to play this so cool. I dance as sassy and sensually as I can with as many men as I can as close to my Cuban lover as possible. I want to make him want me like he's never wanted a woman, and now I am unavailable to him anywhere but perhaps a dance or two here. My mind is set on finding some way in to his shell beyond sex, yet I
can't wait to take him to my bed again and ride the primal pulse of
desire with him into the dawn.
I want only him.
