My name is Susana Jackson. I was widowed two years ago at a young age after my husband Jacob moved us here. I did not like living in this hot place after my native Ohio, and after he died, I was so lonely. I now have two friends here and I need to run Jacob's general store, so I am busy and do not have time to think about my loneliness.
About a year after Jacob passed on, I was tending the store one day and a young Mexican came in. His staring at me filled me with anxiety. But I need every nickel I can earn so I asked him what he was looking for. He spoke very little English and I speak almost no Spanish, but somehow we communicated. He wanted candles and twine which I had on hand. He paid me, tipped his hat in a gentlemanly way, said "Gracias" and left.
I had no idea who he was but during the next few weeks he came in every now and then and purchased something small, and I was surprised that the barrier of language between us was not such a large barrier. One day he asked for something in poor English and I said, "I'm sorry, I do not understand you." He said it in Spanish, but before I could tell him that I did not understand Spanish, he made gestures with his hands. I thought at first he was indicating a box, and then some cloth. I pointed to several items in vain, but in the end it was clear that he wanted some writing paper. I brought him a small writing booklet, and he smiled slightly after the comic interlude we had just had. I barely prevented myself from smiling back, but I knew I should not provoke him. I looked at him, however, as he examined the booklet and averted my eyes as he looked up. A good-looking man indeed, boyish, with a clean-shaven face, dark hair and dark eyes.
I live upstairs from the store and awoke one warm summer night to the smell of woodsmoke and was about to drift back into slumber when I realized that there is no reason to be smelling smoke. I threw a shawl over myself and ran downstairs fearing that the building had caught fire, but found nothing. I went outside and at the back of the building there was a small fire that was poorly extinguished. It was smoldering and was just starting to catch hold of the dry wood frame. I was in a panic and rushed to find a bucket and water or dirt or anything to put it out. A man came out of nowhere and threw water on it, startling me. It was dark but as I recomposed myself, I saw it was the young man I had seen in the store. He said something in Spanish and then said "I help you."
"Yes, yes, you did indeed help me...Gracias." I took a step forward and tripped. He caught my hand and steadied me and smiled again as I must have looked like a fool stumbling around in the dark. He turned loose of my hand when he was satisfied I was on firm ground and said "Ricardo Montoya."
"Good night Miss Jackson," he said in halting English. "Good night, sir," and with that we parted.
He came to the store the next day towards evening and said, again haltingly, "You are fine?"
"Yes, I am. Thank you."
"This is your store?"
"It was my husband's. He died and now it is mine."
"Do you live here?"
"I have a small farm. I live by creek and I fish."
"Oh, you fish, do you? Which creek is this? I like to fish, too" There was a pause in our conversation and then he struggled for words, saying, "Miss Jackson, you fish with me tomorrow?" I was taken aback by his forwardness, but it was a gentlemanly offer so I accepted. He doffed his hat, took my hand as we parted and kissed it. I thought about him all the next day.
He arrived the next morning and we walked some distance, through the small town and down the old road leading out of town. It was hot but clear and the fields were full of wildflowers. We soon came to the creek he mentioned and sat down on the bank. He opened his knapsack and offered me some bread and cheese and filled two metal cups from a bottle of beer he had brought. We lunched and then started the business of catching fish. We caught enough to feed 3 or 4 people, all the while holding, more or less, a coherent conversation. I regret that I do not speak his language but he taught me a few words for flowers, grass, the sky. He built a small fire, speared the fish on a skewer he had brought and made dinner for me. His companionship warms me. He is a most charming man...
"Miss Jackson..." I interrupted, "Please, call me Susana."
"Soo-sah-nah," he repeated. He took my cue. "Please call me Ricardo."
Our fishing expeditions continued. Once, we were walking back to town on a particularly beautiful night. We reached the edge of town and it was warm and calm and from somewhere came faint sounds of music and celebrating. The moon was behind a single thin cloud. Ricardo took my hand and said, "Beautiful woman." I am sure I blushed at this, but before I knew it he put his other hand gently around my waist. He looked into my eyes intently and I thought, maybe he wishes to dance. But he had other intentions and I felt his lips on mine. We locked in a long kiss and I wondered if someone was watching. When it was over I quickly looked around and though we were outdoors in a field, we were completely alone. He kissed me again, with growing passion, and slowly pulled me to the ground.
He somehow found the pins that held my long hair up, pulled them out and my hair tumbled down. He ran his fingers through my dark blond hair and grabbed me strongly (but not unpleasantly) for another passionate kiss. His hands caressed my back and found their way around until they were cupping my breasts. He pulled my bodice down a bit and gently pushed my breasts up and kissed the tops of them. His stiffening manhood pressed against me. He unlaced my bodice and found my nipples, first with his fingertips, then with his tongue. I was completely inflamed. I threw my head back and arched my back as he released my breasts and sucked my nipples. Now it was my turn to give him some of the pleasure he had been giving me. I unbuttoned his shirt, pressed my breasts into his bare chest, and kissed his neck.
"Oh Susanita," he sighed. I kissed his chest and my hands traveled down to his pants, which I unbuttoned to release his throbbing manhood. I took him in my hands, rubbing him, and then took him in my mouth. Ricardo ran his fingers through my hair as I licked and sucked him and his breathing turned to panting. He suddenly said, "No, Susanita, not yet," and as he turned away from me he tried to regain control. I was sitting on the ground and after a minute he parted my legs and started to caress my stockinged calves, moving up to my thighs, and then to my wet sex. His fingers gently spread the lips and explored the moist inside and he rubbed me in the most delicious place. I was in another world. I laid down and he quickly replaced his fingers with his lips, encircling the whole area and licking the delicious place. I grabbed his head and pushed him into me as he licked faster and I experienced the most beautiful ecstasy, moaning in a most unladylike fashion.
After I came back to earth I realized I could have smothered him but he did not seem perturbed by that. He kissed me and I tasted the sweet juice of my sex on his lips. I caressed his stiff member and said "I can't wait anymore, my dearest Ricardo" and he spread my lips with its tip. He slid through my wetness, and penetrated me deeply. Oh, such heaven! How, as a lonely widow, I have missed the feel, smell and taste of warm male skin! I wrapped my legs around him and clutched his muscled back as we moved together in an ever-faster rhythm. He muttered something in Spanish at the moment of his climax, and filled me with his hot seed. He rested on top of me afterwards and kissed me tenderly.
Before we met, Ricardo and I had wanted nothing more than to have a spouse and offspring to love. We have gotten married, and I am now big with his child. I have been teaching him more English and he has been teaching me Spanish, and we have had many a passionate night by the creek. I am so thankful that I have met this man who has helped me bloom where I was planted.