“You still have ring … maybe you still marry.”
Alejandra sounded so sad when she said that. Which was weird, she’d just had an orgasm, and orgasms release endorphins. I closed my eyes and took another mouthful of rum.
“I’m not married,” I said, “and I’m not looking for another wife.”
“What you look for?”
I rattled the cubes in my glass.
“I don’t know. Someone easy I guess.”
I held up the tumbler.
We were back at the bohio. I could hear waves crashing on the beach below. Alejandra was naked except for a thong.
“Look how we are,” she said, refilling my glass. “I feel I know you forever.”
“Yeah? I haven’t seen you in almost two years. Haven’t heard from you in months. Didn’t even know you were alive until I got to Puntarenas.”
“And I saved you. Remember?”
I remembered. Rescued by a ninety-five pound stripper. My biographers were going to have a field day with that one.
Alejandra turned her attention back to the TV. Rain pounded the jalousie windows making it hard to hear the flickering box across the room. On the screen a dark-skinned boy was pulling numbered ping pong balls from a drum and handing them to a light-skinned man in a sweat-soaked guayaberra.
“Chuleta!” Alejandra fired the losing tickets into the trash. The breeze from the bamboo ceiling fan made her nipples stiffen. She stood there, lean and hard and feral, like a wet jaguar. I grabbed my dick.
“I got your winning number right here,” I said.
She straddled my lap. “You good man,” she said, jabbing a finger into my chest, “I think I fall in love with you.”
I was amused she thought I was good. But it scared me. Cash is king with sex workers and I was broke.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Why – why I no fall in love with you?”
“You know why.”
Alejandra studied me, pondering something. I couldn’t tell if she was amused, or mildly perplexed. Then she said: “You no understand our culture. You frío. We caliente. You lógico. We romántico.”
As if to prove her point, she fell onto the bed and spread her legs. Her wet hair trailed down to the sheets like little black snakes.
“Ven aquí ,” she said.
She was right. I’d been on a bad run. I needed to get out of my head. And this was why I’d come to Central America. Fuck reason and logic. Screw decency and common sense. I needed a taste of that Colombian magic again.
I crawled up between her dark thighs. In that moment, shaved silky-smooth and smelling of vanilla, was a reason to go on. I reached up and pulled on her nipples. She moaned.
Her eyes rolled back as my tongue pierced her lips. Her hands griped my hair. Her lean thighs held me fast, pulling me deeper, deeper into her darkness.
I could feel vibrations begin to radiate through Alejandra’s tiny body. She twitched. She begged. She screamed. And when she finally came she called out a name that was not mine. Then she rolled off the bed, and began dressing hurriedly.
“What the fuck?” I lay there sticky and gasping for breath.
“I late to meet my friend,” she said.
“If you need cash, my wallet’s on the night stand.”
Alejandra glared at me, then pulled on a skin tight top. I dropped back onto the bed and watched her apply lipstick, my hand palming my still hard dick. When she bent over to fasten her heels I could see she wasn’t wearing panties under the short skirt.
“Hang on,” I said. “You say you’re falling in love with me – then you take off to fuck someone else?”
“Love and sex no the same. You know this. And you no want me to stay. No really. You no believe in love anymore.”
She kissed me, licked her lips and smiled. She said: “You taste good honey. I glad you come back.” Then she turned, the door closed behind her. I was alone in the dim light, just me, some gibbering idiot on TV, and old man Abuelo. I listened to Alejandra’s heels on the long path outside and I poured myself another rum.
Written by: Cojito © 2012