The story of a man, long away from his loving wife, and the conflict between his commitment to her and his natural desires.
I’d been in Costa Rica trying to resurrect my professional career while my wife and step son stayed in Florida. It was on the hope that success would come sooner than later and they could join me here in Costa Rica. I love my wife and she is truly the love of my life, and even after knowing her for 6 or 7 years, I STILL get that little fluttery feeling in my heart when she does something sweet or cute. But it’s been many months since we’ve been together and Skype can only take you so far. And being a man, well, it is what it is. Enter now the battle between conscious commitment and animal instinct… between love & affection… and a man’s needs.
Rita is a waitress that works at my favorite watering hole here in Costa Rica. I visit there 2 to 3 times weekly and have even managed to make a few friends there. But Rita, for reasons we’ll get to, remains to be the chief attraction for me at this establishment because let’s face it, I can get a cerveza and chi-frijo anywhere in the country. Rita is a very pretty, typically latin girl with a very sweet disposition and a certain confidence and determination about her that I’ve noticed and admired as she works. But the main object of my infatuation for her is her round, meaty, perfect bum. And I mean world-class PERFECT. She has a way of pouring herself into every pair of jeans she’s ever worn, accentuating her curves of perfection for the world to admire. So it was clear to me that she knows what she has and isn’t shy about showing it. Not an unusual trait in this culture.
So I’d been quietly ogling Rita from afar for months when one of my bar buddies mentions, “You know, she does hair cuts too”. And the truth of the matter is… I needed a haircut right at that moment, and badly! So I asked him where she works. “Right out of her apartment” and he pointed to the 2nd story efficiency right across the street from the bar. “No shit!” I said. I knew right there that temptation had just entered the building. I mean… I wasn’t so pompous as to assume she’d sleep with me simply because opportunity presented itself and I proclaimed that “I’m ready!” But I also knew that I have a high rate of success when I’m very motivated. So managing my motivation was the key here if I planned on being faithful to my wife.
For the time being, I was safe. Rita knew no english, and I knew very little spanish, so I was happy with hello’s and good bye’s and the occasional peck on the cheek, which would always give me a little thrill. But most importantly is that the language barrier had essentially stripped me of my chief womanizing weapon which is the gift of gab. The ability to make a girl laugh on cue, wisdom to know when it’s time to make your desires known, and the balls to act on them. Without my considerable command of the english language, I was a suave as a grunting cave man. So I’m good, I could sit there and nurse my beer, surf the web on my laptop and ogle Rita’s bum when ever she would stand in my line of sight. Occasionally, after 3 or 4 beers worth of bravery, I’d ogle her perfect bum a little too obviously and she’d catch me. She’d always pretend like she was offended, and I’d act like… “I’m busted, what are you gonna do about it?”… and she’d always walk away feigning insult, but would always look over her shoulder and giggle. Not in a sexual way, but more of a friendly practical joke kind of way. I just love these little exchanges. But it happened, my animal instinct betrayed my desire to do the right thing, and as I was leaving I just blurted out, “Gustavo told me you cut hair”… using 1 or 2 spanish words and filling the rest in with hand gestures. She smiled and understood and said “si, aqiu” pointing out the window of the bar at her apartment. “mui bien” I said, “como? cuando?”. She then tore off a piece of paper, wrote her phone number and gave me the universal thumb-little finger ‘call me’ sign. “Bien” I said, we exchanged pecks and off I went. As I walked out, I uttered audibly, “what the fuck are you doing?”
I arrived at Rita’s apartment this Monday morning for the 2nd of my bi-monthly haircuts. The first one was thankfully non-eventful because with us in the room was her 13 year old daughter and I was relieved when I saw her. But when I arrived today, her daughter was in school and we were alone. And I have to say… when Rita answered the door, she was just so naturally beautiful, she took my breath away! She wore no make up, no fancy clothes or anything particularly provocative at all. She was just a delicious, shapely, latin woman in her modest home. So without her daughter home, I found myself alone with her, sitting on a chair, in the middle of this tiny 1 room apartment… kitchen, living, bedroom in a single room the size of a regular bedroom, and directly to my left was her bed. Oh lord, it was then that my instincts started to betray my true intentions and my mind did start to wander.
She was wearing what used to be long cotton sweat pants that she customized into shorts… SHORT shorts. Plus a snug spaghetti strap top. When she turned to go get something out of her closet, her considerable bum meat wiggled tantalizingly under her loose fitting shorts and I was about 80%, no 85% toward making the decision to reach out and cup her glorious cheek. But I snapped back to my senses and thought the better of it opting to preserve the innocent and minorly flirtatious relationship we have for the long term, instead, opting (or settling) for secret ogling.
Adding to my secret fantasies was the fact that all the while she was cutting my hair, she’d hold my head with her free hand, and occasionally, her hand would drift down and lightly caress the back of my neck – NOT as a come on as I’m sure it was innocent (I think?! ;-)… but the sensation of her light fingers on my neck literally sent shivers down my back which I tried very hard to conceal. She was so physically close to me I could smell her even though she wore no fragrance, and I could even feel her breath on me. All of these things combined with the total lack of conversation heightened my senses. So as I sat there inside my private little, sexually charged, emotionally conflicted, hormone hurricane, I’d steel glances at her beautiful breasts within inches of my face. Then I’d let my eyes scan her perfect frame and take in thrill after thrill, much like a child would run from ride to ride at an empty amusement park. I’d stop for a moment on her latin skin and marvel at its perfection, then work my way up to her shoulders and admire the natural flawless curve, then casually dip my chin to take in her legs, even cheat peeks at the top of her chest swelling and heaving slightly with each breath she took in. Then up to her neck where I could literally sense my breath shortening, to her her earlobe, then finally, brazen enough to gaze upon her mouth… but only briefly as to not appear to be gawking.
And while she concentrated on the task at hand, I took advantage of that distraction and started to steel glances of her most intimate parts. Oh YES, I WAS being SO BAD! The most intimate of which was the slope of her pelvis as it descended into her forbidden valley. I would NEVER look so obviously at her… at it… as it made me feel more like a creep and less like a gentleman. And I always wanted her to consider me the later, so I was extremely cautious. But I knew that if her body was angled a certain way, away from the window as to cast just the right light, and her attention steeled on my temples or behind my ears, and that if her ministrations slowed to a more concentrated and deliberate pace, I knew that she’d be engrossed enough in what she was doing to distract her from any overt ogling I might be brave enough to undertake. So like a cheetah waits for a gazelle to feel secure in it’s surrounding, I waited patiently, just long enough for her to let her guard down. And my patience was rewarded… such a moment did present itself and I didn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity if only for a fleeting moment. But my hope of tempering my ogling by limiting my window of opportunity was conflicted by the startling artistic and natural beauty of her female form slapping me in the face… creating the need for my ‘fleeting glance’ to be upgraded to a leer, an oogle, or even an outright stare. I was on thin ice and I knew it, but actually, I had no choice in the matter.
When I took the initial glance at her torso, I was stupefied at the effect it had on me. It DARED me to stare… and though I tried not to, it was winning. As my inner turmoil raged and screamed at me, “look away now!” to no avail, I could not help but notice how her stomach sloped gradually downward toward her torso, and how her torso eased tantalizingly inward, meeting the upward thrust of her silky thighs who’s feminine swell started just above her knee, lolled up and swelled up past her short pant line, and like a prowling cat, silently and clandestinely crept up under her customized garment, descending gradually to meet peacefully with her torso hidden under the bunched up fabric of her cotton shorts – giving testimony of it’s natural and perfect union, the folds of the material drawing lines of attention toward the most glorious and forbidden of privileged destinations. For a moment, it was as if everything in the universe pointed to, and gravitated toward that spot. I was transfixed.
In hind sight, I know now that it wasn’t just simplistic, guttural, sexual instinct that forced my focus there… it was also the sweet mathematics of the union of all these female parts… how harmony rained down on this river of earthly delight and how it held the promise of the natural, latin, female flesh that hid within. Like a dirty little secret tucked inside her grin – it called me, tantalized me, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine both hands, sliding up her thighs, her head thrown back in rapture, her breathing audible, her legs spreading invitingly, involuntarily, and my tongue dipping down to taste her delectable nectar that nary a privileged few were privy to. I lingered on this image for what seemed like 5 minutes… but it was likely less than 5 seconds.
I was then snapped back to reality with a start, like I sudden awoken from a dream while falling backward. She stopped for a moment to see if I was ok, giving me a little, ‘what was that?’ kind of look. I kept my cool hoping that she was oblivious to my inner turmoil and increased heart rate, and she was. When I looked up briefly to give her a “what?” look, and she went back to her business with a smirk. But there was a part of me that wished I got totally busted. A part of me WANTED her to know how I lusted for her. Not so much in the hope that would lead to anything physical, but only to pay tribute to her perfection simply by enduring the embarrassment of discovery. I sat there while she finished up with the little soft brush and I felt like the cat that just ate the canary, like I got away with something. But the feeling of disappointment was also inescapable. Disappointed she didn’t catch me? That I didn’t make a move? That SHE didn’t make a move? I can’t say for sure. But what I can say for sure is that I had eaten no canary… and that cat was still, decidedly, in the bag.
In the 15 minutes I’d sat there wallowing in my ‘secret hormone hurricane’… I’d contemplated her neck, her shoulders, her mouth, her sweet disposition, her breasts, her legs, her thighs, and of course her world-class delectable bum, and finally, the climactic revelation of her perfect nether region where I allowed my mind to wander, for the very first time, into the only overtly sexual thought of the morning. Yet I left there with the sole feeling that all I really wanted to do was give her a long wet deep kiss. So as I politely pecked her on the cheek, and she on mine, I held her shoulders lightly and felt how delicate and frail she was at that moment, belying the reality that she was in total control of the situation, even if unwittingly. How wonderfully feminine and desirable she was in her most indigenous, modest and natural presentation. I made a physical joke as to how she made me look “guapo” (handsome) and she laughed as I turned to descend down the stairs to my car. As I stepped out into the sunlight, I wondered if ever I got the nerve to respectfully ask her…
“Permítame a besar a tu hermosa boca?”
… might she?
~ El Final ~