(Editor’s note: The actual date has been altered, but the event detailed in this blogpost is real; like it actually happened. And she’s also one of my best friends ever; seriously.)
Por favor: A man and woman can be friends
A tiny white T-shirt embroidered with a Cuban flag dangles over the magazine rack breathing on the plasma in the living room; a half-filled bottle of Gatorade delicately dances on the ceramic-tiled floor; Thick raindrops pelt the glass sliding door; the ceramic bench in the patio sways to the strong wind.
And she’s slowly unbuttoning my plaid dress shirt on bended knees – on top of the kitchen counter.
She squeals childishly as I cup her pale and lightly-freckled breast with one hand and run my fingers through her voluminous streaky-blonde hair with the other, all the while her hands travel along throughout my back, her palms coming to rest at my bottom; Firmly.
She murmurs a few words in Spanish – in between gently kissing my shoulder blade and caressing her own hair – and locks her hands around my neck after starting to remove my boxer shorts with one hand.
She weighs me down when I attempt to put my arm around her waist and carry her to the laundry room.
It’s 7:30 a.m. on the Coca Cola-clock right in front of me. Her keys and backpack sit by the front door. Her keys and backpack have been sitting by the front door since 6:30 a.m.
“No…Todavia, nene (No… Not yet, baby),” she said, on her knees by the kitchen sink and laughing hysterically as she taps me on the nose with the tip of her right index finger. “Vamos a ver si de verdad me quieres (Let’s see if you really want me). Te quiero sentir todo (I want to feel all of you).”
With short and gentle steps and my hand in her hand, she begins to lead the way out of the kitchen before quickly turning around and resting her back against the wall, and dipping as if she was diving feet first into a pool. Without taking her eyes off of me, she squats in front of me and takes me in her mouth while running her free hand through her hair.
Her left hand resting on my thigh, she gently rubs my ----- with the side of her face. She gradually picks up her pace.
“You’re getting so ----,” she said playfully while I extend my fingers throughout her hair. “How bad do you want me?”
It’s 8:15 a.m.
She lets go of me quickly, only to put both of her palms on my thighs, easing her way back up.
She feels for the wall with her back, before enclosing her legs around my waist. I begin to caress her breasts – again – before carrying onto the kitchen counter; face up. Her legs bended, I begin to gently kiss them as she runs her hands up and down my head. I move my hands across her bottom. Her legs are fully-extended. I run my hand repeatedly throughout both of her smooth legs.
Her moans are getting louder and louder. She is touching herself, all over; grabbing at her -------.
A cellphone is ringing. There’s Gatorade all over the kitchen floor. A perky brunette fills the TV screen on one of the kitchen walls.
It's 9:36 a.m.. It's raining harder now. The sliding door is fogged.
“Come on, papi,” she said. “What are you doing to me? Please, don’t tease me anymore.”
Without hesitation she positions each leg on my shoulders, while biting down on her right index finger.
“Que rico, papi. Que rico, papi,” she screams, still on her back on the kitchen counter; the pace picking up with each thrust. “No me hagas eso.”
The sweat from the back of her legs paints my chest; her grabs at her breasts.
It's 10:16 a.m.
To be continued..
Do you want to know more about this 305-reeking, beach-bumming, Cuban food-obsessed dude? Well, then.. You can connect with Fernie @wordbyfernie (Twitter) and Fernie Ruano (Facebook) and visit http://www.latinbeatsvibe.blogspot.com . Who knows? If he really likes you, he might even give you his email.
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