My Real and Terrific Love Life Ch. 1

First Installment in the "Latina" Series of Erotic Tales

Let me start out by saying that I am a 47-year-old Mexican-American woman who works in electronics. I am 5'2", with a 38-C bust, 28" waist (OK, maybe 30" if I forget to exercise), 36" hips, and maybe 10 pounds overweight. I exercise daily to keep myself fit and attractive, and it shows. I have a fairly-dark complexion that naturally looks like an all-over tan. I have shoulder-length dark hair that is brown, but looks black in all but the most direct sunlight. I have big, deep- brown eyes, and I'm told I have a very warm smile.

My father was a very strict Catholic, and I wasn't allowed to date until I was 21. Living in a one-bedroom house with my parents, four sisters, and a brother, there was no place to sneak off with a boyfriend, anyway. I started dating when I moved out at age 21, and I stayed a virgin until my third boyfriend, when I was 23.

I got married for the first time at age 26. My first husband was only my third lover, and he didn't even like kissing, let alone anything more. One of the best- kept secrets in this post-feminist age is that most women REALLY enjoy sex with a loving, caring partner (one who has a fair idea of what he's doing when it comes to pleasuring a woman's body). Typically, Latina women (like me) are ESPECIALLY fiery and passionate in this regard. I am certainly no exception. So as a hot and sexy Latina, I was frustrated by the lack of sex through 17 years of my first marriage. I can count on the fingers of one hand, the number of times my first husband and I ever had sex, and he never ONCE brought me to orgasm in that entire 17 years! The fiery passion of my youth had just about burned out, when my first husband passed away after a long, lingering illness.

Now, with my second husband, everything is better. He has got to be the most romantic, passionate, and erotic man I have ever met, and I couldn't be happier. The story that follows shows why I am so happy, and I hope that this story will appeal to both men and women.

I was 45 when I met my second and current husband, and after a sexless 17-year first marriage and two years since my first spouse died, I was still practically a virgin, having had sex maybe 12 times in my 45 years, and all of those were JUST sex, not really making love. That is, my limited sex-life had been devoid of most of the affections and emotions implied in the expression "making love." And at age 40, husband #2 WAS a virgin when we met, although, as I would discover, his inexperience did not mean that he lacked romance, desires, and skills. Luckily, even though my youthful passion was almost extinguished by my past experiences, I still have my youthful looks, including long, dark (almost black) shoulder-length hair, smooth dark skin that naturally looks like a tan (an inheritance from my Mexican ancestry), dark and shapely legs that look quite long for my height (I'm only 5'2"), and soft but firm 38-C breasts.

My looks were just one of many things that would make my new husband attracted enough to me, to turn HIM on, while also reigniting my OWN lost passions. But I am getting ahead of myself in this story.

It took me a year to pull myself together after my first husband's funeral, and then I joined a local dating service. My idea was that I would just find some men to socialize with, just get out of the house and have a fun evening once in a while, nothing too serious, and no physical involvement. Or so I thought.

The dating service has each member fill out a personal profile about his or her interests, education, career, and what sort of relationship they are looking for. I had found a few mildly-interesting profiles, and some of them turned me down, but I had gone out on a few dates. Most of the men I met turned out to be real jerks. I accepted their smoking and heavy drinking, even though I did not like it, just so I would occasionally have a date on a weekend. I couldn't see myself becoming very intimate with any of them, much less becoming serious enough to marry one of them. I did let myself be talked into sleeping with one of these dates, my first lover since my husband died, but sex with him was awkward, clumsy, and slightly painful, so I resolved to keep all future dates strictly platonic: go out and have fun, but no romance.

As I looked through the books of men's written profiles, I kept going back to one that somehow had me intrigued. This man didn't drink or smoke. He had never been married, but was a single dad raising an adopted daughter (he was a legal guardian to his niece, whom he treated as his own daughter). He had a successful career in the same industry as I worked in (computer chips). He shared my interest in history and in ballroom dancing. He sounded like an intelligent and well-educated man. But he owned an antique car, which he and his friends had restored. One of my coworkers had a boyfriend who spent every waking minute in his garage, tinkering with his old car, and rarely had time for her. I feared that this man would be the same way, so I kept flipping past his profile. And yet, something made me keep coming back to it and reading it again.

And then one day, I got a call from the dating service. The fascinating man whose profile I had kept reading and re-reading, wanted my phone number, and the dating service wanted to know if it was OK to give it to him. I was enrolled in a ballroom dance class that would be starting soon, and I was still looking for a partner. His profile said that he liked ballroom dancing, and I figured that he was responding to my ad (in the dating service's newsletter) for a dance partner. So I said, "Sure, give him my number."

A few days later, I had a message on my answering machine when I returned home from work. It was from him. He left me his home phone number, and he asked me to call him back. By that time, I had already found a partner for my dance class, and I had made it clear to this partner that it would be dancing only, I was not interested in a relationship with him. Maybe somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I had told my dance partner this so I would be free to start a relationship with the man whose written profile I just kept looking at.

I called back this man with the intriguing written profile, and this time, I got HIS answering machine. I left a very curt, almost hostile message: "I have already found a partner for my dance class. But thanks for thinking of me."

The next evening, I had a message on my answering machine. "I didn't call you to be your partner in a dance class. I am already enrolled a ballroom dance class, and I am not looking to join another one. I found and read your profile, and I am very interested in YOU. I want to ask you out on a date."

I thought about it. I had found a lot about him to like. But I worried about that damned old car of his. Still, I thought, he couldn't be any worse than my last few dates, and if it didn't work out, so what? I wasn't really looking for a long- term relationship right now anyway. Or so I thought.

The next day, I called him, and we finally got to talk to each other in person, not just one answering machine to another. He told me that he had enjoyed the light humor I had put into my profile (for example, I included a pun on kissing frogs to find a prince, stating that "I appreciate the toad in every prince"). He was amazed at how many interests we seemed to have in common (we both enjoyed jazz and classical music, for example). We even had almost the same birthday (his was just a week after mine). He told me that he wanted to get to know me and my son. In the course of our conversation, I casually mentioned a discipline problem I was having with my son, then age 8. He surprised me by telling me he once had that exact same problem with his 13-year-old niece/adopted daughter at about the same age. He told me how he had handled it, and he reassured me that it was a phase that they outgrow. For the first time, I relaxed and felt comfortable talking to him. Soon, I was telling him about my own childhood, and he was telling me about his. Then we drifted into all sorts of other subjects, and soon, we had been on the phone for two hours.

The next night, he called ME this time. He told me about a problem he was having at work. I told him about a problem I was having at work. I even joked about being a woman with a career, not a career woman. His comments showed me he was really listening to me, without being a jerk by offering an oversimplified solution to my problem, as so many men seem to do. Again, our conversation wandered into a wide array of topics, and again we talked for at least two hours.

These long phone calls to each other now became a nightly ritual, and I couldn't wait to get home from work and talk to him. Hearing his deep, masculine voice always made my heart race a little, while at the same time making me feel calm and relaxed. His mellow voice put me into a contented swoon, washing away all my cares. And the things that he told me convinced me that I had found a true gentleman, a real rarity in today's world. We kept up these daily calls for two months.

Then one day, he told me about an upcoming Fourth of July parade in which he would have his antique car, and he asked me to meet him there. He said that we could go out for dinner afterward.

I was annoyed. Why did he have to spoil everything by reminding me of his antique car, the one thing about him that had always made me reluctant to start a relationship with him? Still, we had invested two months in building-up a telephone friendship, and I knew that another such true gentleman was unlikely to come alomg anytime soon, so I summoned up my courage to ask him where his car stood in the pecking order of his affections. He told me that, a few years ago, he and his friends had invested a lot of their time, and much of his money, in restoring his car, but now that the restoration was finished, he took it to about one parade a month in summer, and none in winter. He had a local shop do regular maintenance on it, because being a substitute dad to his niece took priority over spending time trying to maintain his antique car himself. Raising his niece had helped him to realize that he was more interested in spending time with family than with his car. He had joined the dating service to find a wife and build a family with whom he could spend time. While he had no plans to get rid of his car, and it did give him some fun to have occasional weekend outings with this car, family was top priority with him.

Although I couldn't be absolutely sure, I sensed that he was telling the truth about wanting to spend more time with family than with his car. After all, by now we had about 50 or 60 all-night phone conversations behind us, and he had always been straight-forward with me, he had never lied to me. I could even see that his car might be a fun thing to build family outings around. And if he did start to neglect me or take me for granted, to favor his car over me, I could always dump him. These thoughts reassured me a little, so I agreed to meet him at the parade. But I got to the parade late, and even though he had told me where he would be after the parade, I never did find him. When we spoke on the phone that night, we were both a little disappointed that we still had not met in person, after knowing each other for two months. But hearing his deep baritone voice made me feel a little better.

The Fourth of July was a Thursday that year, the start of a 4-day weekend. The next day, Friday, I took my son swimming at a local pool. So I called my new phone friend that morning, and I asked him if he and his niece would like to meet me and my son right now, at the park next to this pool. I had never felt comfortable enough around any man, since my first husband, to introduce a date to my adopted son. But this man had told me repeatedly that he wanted to get to know both me and my son, and by now I wanted to know both him and his niece/adopted daughter.

I sat under a tree and read a book, while I waited for them to arrive; since it was a hot day, I wore my shortest of short-shorts, with my dark, slender legs crossed in front of me. When he arrived, he didn't comment on my looks, but I noticed that he kept stealing glances at my bare legs, and that made me feel good inside, that even at age 45 I still looked attractive. Sizing him up from head-to- toe as she stood over me, I was not at all disappointed with his looks, either. Not at all. He was 5'10", about 170 pounds, trim and just-slightly muscular, with wavy, well-groomed dark hair that was starting to thin with age. His long, slender toes looked elegant in his open-toed brown sandals, and his brand-new, tight, dark-blue jeans nicely accented his long, slender legs (although I was a little disappointed that he wasn't in shorts, as I was). Best of all, he had the biggest, deepest brown eyes that I had EVER seen! After introductions, our kids both went their own ways. While his niece was swimming, and my son was climbing around on a jungle gym, my date and I sat on a park bench, sharing lunch and casually talking.

Our relationship at this point was still strictly in the platonic stage, and right now, I wasn't looking for anything more than that. Again, or so I thought.

The next day, I invited him and his niece to join me and my son at the beach.

A school friend of his niece also came along. My new male fiend had a big van, so it was easy for him to take us all to the beach. While the three kids played on the beach and shopped at nearby stores, my date and I sat on the beach in our bathing suits, having another of our easy, pleasant conversations.

He looked kind of handsome, in a plain, not a "Brad Pitt" hunky sort of way. While his glasses made him look very smart, even lying on the beach without his glasses, his receding hairline gave him a high forehead that accentuated his intelligence. His chest and legs were slender and muscular, so he obviously exercised regularly, enough to keep himself in nice physical shape, without being obsessive about it.

I couldn't help but to steal admiring glances at his 5'10", 170-pound masculine frame, stretched face-up before me on the beach.

Of course, my prancing around in my own skimpy bathing suit was giving him just as much to admire about me.

As I sat beside him on the beach, I had my slender, dark legs stretched side-by- side in front of me, and I noticed him stealing occasional glimpses at my smooth, dark legs. His lustful gaze looked as if he might be picturing me naked on the beach, with my legs spread wide for him. I would have normally felt this to be an annoying and piggish behavior, but with him, somehow, I didn't mind his fantasizing about me. Maybe I felt this way because he was only looking, while previous dates of a less-gentlemanly sort would have been all over by now. I felt safe and relaxed with him. Without really realizing it, I even began to steal glimpses at his bathing suit, stealthily trying to determine whether my OWN skimpy bathing suit might be making him all big and hard (and I secretly hoped to spot some CLEAR sign that I was making him extremely horny; I guess I needed that reassurance that men still find me sexy in my 40s).

Maybe in my own way, without even realizing it, I was starting to fantasize about him just a little bit myself, too. I closed my eyes, basking in the sun and enjoying a half-asleep daydream. From somewhere way down deep in the back of my mind, my daydream started to picture just him and me on an otherwise-deserted beach, me spreading my outstretched legs wide, my finger-tips reaching inside my swimsuit, putting on a private show for him with my probing fingers in my hot, hungry cunt.

This hazy image faded into me lying naked, spread-legged, face down in the sand, and letting him gaze up into my wet, eager, horny little pussy, right through my ass cheeks. Because we had talked so much on the phone, and we had revealed the deepest details of our personalities to each other before we had ever met in person, somehow, through these misty daydreams, I just KNEW that if I were to give my gentleman friend a sexy show like this in real life, this kind and patient man would turn out to be just the sort of loving, caring man who would reciprocate, by slowly, tenderly kissing me so gently, so lovingly, so sweetly all over my front and back, knowing exactly when, where, and how to touch me, spending HOURS just slowly heating my entire body and soul to boiling desire. Or was that just the heat of the sun on the sand that was warming me so?

Lying on the beach, I continued to fantasize that I was naked just for him, and I daydreamed of what he would do to, for, and with me. Reopening my eyes and gazing at his outstretched form on the sand, I noticed that his moist, tender lips DID look very inviting, as if they could shower my whole sexually-reawakening body with a LOT of fiery passion. I sighed to myself, because his bathing suit, although small enough to show a LOT of hairy leg, was too loose-fitting to tell whether he was getting turned-on, too.

I didn't even know WHY I was starting to vaguely think about him in this sexual way. He had been such a gentlemna all along, and he had never pushed me for romance, let alone for sex; he had asked me for nothing more than my time and friendship. Maybe the fact that he WASN'T pushing me, explains WHY I had begun to wonder about the sexual side of this man's personality. But the kinds of thoughts and mental images I experienced on that beach weren't the real me, not at all. Or were they?

As we sat on the beach, I tried to focus on something other than my hazy, half- formed sexual fantasies, to keep from getting too wet and horny this early in our newly-budding relationship. So I made up a hypothetical question, loosely based on a problem that was typical of those I faced at work, and asked him what he would do in a similar situation. His solution was well thought out and made a lot of sense, and was not at all simplistic. So he had passed my first test.

Next, I told him that I like coffee, and I told him exactly how I like it (two creams, no sugar). I could almost see him mentally storing that information for future reference. For the next half hour, I made sure we discussed a wide variety of topics, so that he might forget what I had said about coffee. Then I asked him to walk down the street and get me a cup of coffee, but I did not remind him how I like it. He came back with the coffee prepared exactly as I had told him earlier. He really had been listening to me. He had passed my second test.

On the way back from the beach, we were stranded when his van broke down 40 miles from home. His water pump had broken. We had my adopted son and his adopted daughter with us, plus one of his daughter's school friends, so it was pretty crowded in the cab of the tow truck on the 40 mile ride home.

His niece's friend had to sit on her lap, and I had to sit on his lap. I sternly told him that although I was sitting on his lap, he was not to get any ideas from this. He respected my wishes, and he behaved as a perfect gentleman on the entire ride home. Although part of me was just a little bit disappointed and mildly offended, because my sitting on his lap was not causing his manhood to grow and press up into my ass, his courtesy to me meant that he had definitely passed my third test.

His usual mechanic's shop was too far from his house or mine to get any of us home from there. So I told him that my usual mechanic was just two miles from my house. Although it was late, and we were all getting tired, we could all walk to my house from there, and I would drive them home. When we got to the repair shop, it turned out that the rented garage where he keeps his antique car was just 4 blocks from my usual repair shop. So we walked just 4 blocks, instead of two miles, and he drove us home in his antique car. He sat my son beside him in the front seat, and the rest of us got in the back. My son really seemed to enjoy the ride in this antique. This car was not really a convertible; it had NEVER had a roof from the day it was built. The cool summer evening breeze in the open-top car felt good after lying on the hot sand all day. And there was something about this man's profile beside my son's, in the moonlight, that warmed my heart and made me smile. Neither of us knew that the other felt this way at the time, but our calm teamwork in getting safely home had made us both very attracted to each other.