Wheels-Down in Cuba

I dangle my feet in the water — warm, not like the icy mountain streams of my girlhood.

A chord from thetres. "Yo soy un hombre sincero ..." Awww:Guantanamera, Cuba's haunting lament for lost love. Guillermo's mellow tenor fills the little valley as his long, sensitive fingers pick delicately at the strings of thetres. Heat, handsome man playing flawlessly and crooning a love song: I melt!

Overcome, I take off my wide-brimmed sunhat and, standing in front of him, shake out my sweaty tresses. Unbutton my lightweight, long-sleeved blouse. A glance finds Guillermo engrossed in his guitar. Turning to face the water, I bend over, slide off my jeans and step out of them, then shrug off the blouse. I'm wearing my prettiest lingerie, palest green interwoven with red ribbon to show off the dusting of freckles that dances down my neck to my still-pink tan.

I wade into the green water which embraces me lovingly. I float over to the bottom of the waterfall which splashes over my body like a warm embrace. I luxuriate in the soft water of this natural spa, then paddle back to Guillermo. Find my footing. Slowly, slowly, I walk toward him. Ursula Andress inDr. No— without the knife. And showing a lot more: my wet underwear's almost transparent, and sexier than being nude: bands of translucent pale green highlighting my tight areolas and stiff nipples, the carefully groomed landing strip focusing his gaze on my mound of Venus.

A final chord. He tilts his hat back, smiles — white teeth, dark flashing eyes — and sits up, laying thetrescarefully to one side. I stand, dripping, as he looks over me and holds up a hand. I drop to my knees and lean forward. His lips touch mine and I shiver. With delight, not cold! I reach in and slowly unbutton theguayabera, my hands sliding over his taught belly and touching his silver belt buckle. I stop there, my wordless question hanging on the faint warm breeze. He smiles yes. I proceed.

What a magnificent organ! It isn't the biggest erection I've ever seen — that superlative will always belong, I suspect, to that short, bushy-bearded fellow I knew in college — but Guillermo's is unusually substantial and may hold the title of most beautiful: the shaft has the color and sheen of antique mahogany with a delicious ropework of veins that remind me of jungle vines climbing a huge tree. I'm no longer shy, I'm in lust.

My tongue caresses the sensitive spot on the underside of the deep, glossy purple, mushroom-shaped head. A groan as I stretch my lips to surround it. Another as I take as much as I can into my mouth, then slide my head up slowly so I'm barely kissing the tip. Then slide down again as slowly as I can manage, squeezing the shaft as I move my mouth up and down.

I can feel his excitement build and sit back to catch my breath. His big hands slide gently across my warm flesh. He reaches behind me and unsnaps my bra. My breasts bound free and I kneel over him, gyrating slowly so they sway tantalizingly above his face. His tongue touches a nipple. Electric shocks course through my body and my clit's on fire, the lips of my cunt dripping with want ...

Condoms! Omigod, I've forgotten condoms!

It's been thirty years since I've even thought about them. They hadn't discovered AIDS back then. What ... where ... how?

Guillermo slides his hand gently between my legs, feels the heat through my wet panties. Leans over and opens the leather satchel. Out comes a bottle of rum, a bag with sugar cubes, little yellow limes and ... a handful of condoms. What a gentleman!

He hands me one. I tear open the packet and unroll it onto his waiting penis, then stand up and slip off my panties while he, still sitting, shucks his shirt and pulls off his slacks. I kneel over him, facing him, take his face in my hands and kiss him softly. His tongue finds mine and our kiss changes gears: passionate, grasping, needy. I lower myself slowly onto him, feeling his mushroom open my flower then my lower lips around his shaft as the head slides into me, filling me, fucking me slowly, inexorably. Emotion flooding through me, I push up and down as he moves.

Rhythm. Movement. Texture. Wetness. Heat.

Faster now. I tighten my pelvis, gripping him as my focus narrows to the space between my belly button and labia. Our breathing synchronizes. Hearts beat faster.

Vision dark now. Slick wetness. Faster. Tighter. He grunts. The night sky of my occluded vision erupts in showers of fireworks as my cunt clenches spasmodically. Ohhhhh! My knees crush his thighs in the throes of my climax and he thrusts upwards — once, twice, three times — then lets out a long, low groan as I feel his cock swell and pump and pump and pump, each contraction a spurt of hot semen.

He falls back and I collapse onto him, feeling his penis still vibrating in my hypersensitized vagina. His arms around me. My slippery breasts mashed against his chest. Breath. Heartbeat. Lust. A trinity of life.

We sleep. Moments? An hour? A stirring of breeze, a chorus of insects awaken us. Groggy, I feel him stir inside me. I squeeze. He hardens. In seconds I'm wet. He pulls out ... "¿Porqué?" I whisper. He puts on a fresh condom and all's well. Roll me over, in the clover. I invite him to missionary me. Roll me over, lay me down and do it again. He does. Another panting, vibrating, shuddering, crashing fireworks of a climax. At the same time he comes.

I stretch languidly. He gets up, walks a little ways, bends down, plucks some leaves. Slicing limes with a knife. Sugar. Wild mint. Rum. Spring water. The best post-lovemakingmojitoI'll ever have.

The horses nicker softly as the shadows climb the canyon wall. We remount, give them their head. They head for the barn at a gentle pace. At the plateau, their gentle ambling turns to a trot but we, and they, are too relaxed for another gallop. At the final curve of the canyon, we rein in as the sea vista opens before us, golden hills in the slanting light before sunset, the sea a deep blue flecked with a few whitecaps. A few near-shore fishing boats heading out, their owners bent to their oars.

The horses are impatient now, picking their way down the trail carefully but purposefully. At the paddock, we rub them down as they neigh pleasantries to their stablemates. I take Guillermo's hand, stroke his forearm. Our fingers linger, then part.

I sleep soundly, and nap luxuriously the next afternoon, still basking in the emotional glow of our lovemaking.

I'm standing in the breezeway at sunset, caressed by the soft wind off the sea and admiring the slanting, honey-colored light, when he appears. Walking silently, in a sharp, embroideredguayaberaand pale slacks with his leather satchel slung carelessly across one shoulder. He's carrying a small, scuffed valise.

Negociosare taking him to Havana for two weeks, he says. He'll be on the overnight bus. Gone.

Putting down the valise he takes my right hand in his left. Putting his index finger to his lips he kisses it lightly, then touches it gently to my lips, gazing at me with eyes as black as liquid onyx, as if he could see into my soul. I could lose myself in those eyes.

With a tiny smile he picks up his suitcase and turns toward the dusty van waiting to take him to the bus station. A tiny piece of my heart tears loose and flutters after him.

Sad but satiated, I have a lightcriollosupper at therestaurante tipicaand pad quietly to my room. I fall asleep nude, bathed in the orange light of the nearly full moonrise.

At sunup I wrap a towel around myself and stretch langorously on my balcony, soaking up the welcome morning warmth on my face and shoulders, arms and legs. A heady aroma of tropical flowers rises on the last of the mist while the sun's still gentle, before the blazing day gets fully underway.

There's a diffident knock on my door.

I crack it open, and a very apologetic young man announces that he's the electrician I'd called for several days ago, here to fix a wonky outlet beside the bed. "Repuestos," he shrugs with a wry smile ... spare parts are next to impossible to get in Cuba, cut off by half a century of US embargo.

I open the door. He glances quickly, shyly, at my towel. His eyes — beautiful long, dark lashes, I observe — ask whether he should wait outside for me to dress.

What the hell, I say under my breath, and invite him in. He finds the breaker and shuts off the outlet, then crouches down to work on the electrical wires. I return to the balcony, leaning against the railing and facing the room to let the sun warm my back.

My worker looks impossibly young, in his early twenties. He's stocky, about my height, olive-complexioned with those gorgeous eyelashes and thick, curly hair. A sleeveless white t-shirt hugs his toned physique, and strong, muscular thighs emerge from sand-colored canvas shorts cinched with a thick leather belt. I can't help noticing a substantial package.

Every few minutes he stands to stretch his cramped limbs and smiles at me. White teeth, full lips — a veritable Adonis. Each time he straightens up he steals a glance at the towel that drapes across me, held together by my fingers at my breasts, and his shorts stretch tighter.

I return his smiles as a gentle warmth spreads from my loins, engulfing my body. Our pheromones ride the warm moist air, mingling in a heady vapor of sexual attraction.

Finally the job's done. He turns on the breaker and checks his work. Electricity flows, and not just to the outlet.

I move towards the young man, stand in front of him — who the hell needs conversation, anyway? — and let the towel drop.

He puts his hands gently on my hips, brushes my lips softly with his. Less gently I tug at his heavy belt, unbutton his shorts and stretch his briefs over — Oh my! — a young penis of nearly priapic proportions. Its ruddy head is the size of a billiard ball and almost as round. It stands atop an upright shaft of similar diameter, no longer than a soft-drink can but thick enough that my trembling fingers can't meet around it.

He steps out of his shorts and moves his strong hands down to my thighs, lifting me easily as I spread my legs wide. Leaning against the wall he hoists me to where that smooth round head just grazes my cunt, now dripping its lubricating nectar onto what I suddenly, urgently want inside me.

My arms around his neck. His handsome face buried in my breasts, licking, nuzzling, nibbling. His dark, fragrant curls tickling my nostrils. Slowly, tantalizingly, he lowers me, millimeter by delicious millimeter. My nether lips embrace the big, round head, stretching deliciously as his rigid member slides into my willing, filling cunt. Ah, my Adonis ... what ecstasy with thee in me!

He holds me there, my legs locked around his waist, thrilling to the heartbeat that pulses against my G-spot. It is a motionless, frictionless, almost Tantric fuck. I push forward and back almost imperceptibly. The liquid motion between my legs elicits deep groans from him and deep, slow contractions in my vagina. Our breathing synchronizes, gradually increasing its pace till we're panting, then gasping and finally yelling as simultaneous climaxes seize us in their thrall, fireworks exploding across my darkened vision and throbbing jerks as Adonis unloads his swollen balls into my cunt.

I'm still suspended on his erection as his spasms and my contractions die away. It's hard as iron and I can feel how it plugs me tight, trapping his semen inside me. The feeling of animal satisfaction quickly turns to rebuilding lust and I begin to move again. He takes huge gulps of air and I feel the muscles in his arms bulge and knot as he slides me up and down his cock with renewed vigor. New fireworks ignite in my belly, shooting in waves up to my swollen breasts which are sliding up and down against his sweat-slicked neck and shoulders as I shudder and my cunt grips his thick rod in rhythmic clenches. I feel him explode again, his penis spurting like a blown-out oil well into my climaxing cunt.

Finally, we're spent. He lies me gently on the edge of the bed, legs spread languidly. Pulls out, followed by a bucketful of boiling semen that pools in a widening puddle on the tile floor. His impressive cock is nearly soft now, dangling tantalizingly over my landing strip. I wriggle down and kiss it goodbye fondly, my eyes slitted with satiety as I smile up at him.

Oops. Forgot all about condoms. Oh well, too late. Fuck it and hope for the best.

He ducks through the shower, towels off and pulls on his briefs, shorts and t-shirt. Pauses at the door, throwing one last gorgeous smile over his shoulder to me. I sigh. Utterly content, and slip back into the arms of Morpheus.

It's mid-afternoon when I awake. I shower and thrown on beach clothes, walk gingerly out into the heat of the day. That boiling lust is now well and truly quenched.

Not that there won't be lots of lovemaking and some sexual acrobatics when Bruce arrives tomorrow, for his week in Paradise. I'll be ripe for the plucking (and fucking), truly a woman of desires reawakened.

When I first met Bruce he reminded me of my long-ago high school boyfriend, and touched me — inside — in all those places that first made me moan and brought to mind a dusty player piano in the basement of a big old house and fireworks exploding in my mind and my first, first-ever climax oh so many years ago.

Of course I had to marry him when he asked — after listening patiently, priest-like (with all the forgiveness and none of the guilt) to my checkered past. I expect that any qualms he may have about my adventures this week will fade five minutes after we get to our room. His ego isn't fragile and I'll tell him everything in good time, when it will arouse him rather than sting.

I love him so deeply and have never regretted a single moment with him ... I remain the luckiest girl in the world!