Legends of Lust

by Autumn Bardot

  “Angela.” I put my hand in his—it’s not a handshake, no up-and-down movement, just a soft, still hold—and a thousand bolts of sexual energy rocket up my arm and dive straight for my crotch. Holy shit. I gasp my surprise.

  Marco holds my hand for too long and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. He feels it too. “Where are you from?”

  “LA.” I can’t drag my eyes away from that gorgeous face.

  “Having fun?” Marco directs his question to my cousins, who somehow manage to thrust out every inch of cleavage and sing the band’s praises at the same time. “Think we’re ready for Hollywood?” Marco leans close, his arm snaking around the top of my chair.

  He smells divine, like fresh mountain water and a newly unfurled leaf. Most singers smell like booze and pot. Not that I’ve smelled a lot of singers.

  “Your voice is amazing. Can I check out your Sound Cloud?”

  “You can check out anything of mine.” Marco stands, looks around, then glances at his watch. “Want a T-shirt?”

  “Sure.” I take Marco’s hand—more sexual lightning bolts—and let him lead me away, all too aware of all the envious eyes tracking our progress across the room.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we weave our way through the crowd packed in the narrow hallway waiting to use the bathrooms.

  “It’s a room where bands can keep their stuff safe.” Marco tugs a key from his pocket and opens the door. The band’s instrument cases are lying about, as are four well-used backpacks. Two banged-up metal office chairs and a shiny music stand are pushed to the side.

  Marco shuts the door, grabs a backpack, and plunges his hand inside. “Fuck it.” He drops the pack and pulls me into his arms. “Did you feel it?” He lifts my hand and presses it to his chest.

  “Feel what?” My heart is beating against my ribs like a four-year-old with a new drum set.

  “That. Your touch is...” Marco exhales. “Electric.” He runs his fingers down the length of my hair. “I thought you felt it too.”

  Maybe it’s all the Snakebites that make me kiss him. Maybe it’s my bruised self-esteem that causes my tongue to push inside and taste his gorgeousness. Maybe it’s the feeling of being chosen in front of all those sexy women. Who cares? His lips are pillows, his tongue a bed of delights. I wrap my arms around his neck and sink into his mouth. We’re devouring each other, thrusting and plunging and breathing into each other without control or finesse. I pull away, panting, my lips bruised. “Wow.” No guy ever kissed me like that.

  “Guess I have my answer.” Marco puts his finger in my mouth. “Do you know ‘Sabor a Mi’?”

  I nod, sucking hard on his finger. It’s my parents’ favorite, a sappy song about carrying the taste of your lover with you for eternity, or something like that. It’s played at every Latino wedding and anniversary party I’ve ever attended.

  “We enjoy this love song for so long,” Marco whisper-sings as my mouth sucks his finger.

  My panties are wet. Not moist. Drenched.

  Marco pulls his finger out and murmurs the next line, his whispered version so sexy I melt into him, my pelvis grinding into his hard-on.

  “I carry your flavor...” His tongue pushes in my mouth and his hands roam over my B-cup-size breasts. “You also carry mine.” Marco slips my dress strap over my shoulder, one pert breast and rock-hard nipple released from the confines of the built-in bra.

  “Your tits are beautiful.” Marco slips down the other strap, and my tits are ready for action.

  Marco takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks like my tits give milk.

  “Sweet Jesus.” My legs wobble. The tug on my tits shoots into my cunt and makes my clit throb.

  Marco switches sides, his hand still pulling and twisting the first one. This is how men need to suck tits. Like they mean it. With enough rough friction that its sweet agony makes your vagina clench.

  It’s not easy to unbutton his shirt, but I manage to undo enough to spread my hands across his hairless muscled pecs.

  Lord help me, I don’t want him to stop. My head rolls back. “Oh god.”

  Marco tugs up my dress, his fingers slipping beneath my panties. “Your pussy needs a cock.”

  “Yours,” I say to the ceiling. “It needs yours.”

  His mouth chews my nipple while his fingers slip and slide over my clit and into my fuck hole. Because that’s what it is now. Vagina is too clinical. Kitty too precious. And there is nothing precious or clinical about what I want right now. My fuck hole wants a big Latino cock deep inside it. I unhitch his jeans and wiggle them over his slim hips.

  Marco delivers, a massive cock escaping from his jeans and into my hand. “All yours.”

  “Sweet mother of god.” I wrap my fingers around it. His cock in my hand, Marco backs up and sits on the banged-up metal chair. “Take off your panties.”

  Reluctantly, I let go of his cock, slip off my panties, and drop the sodden silk into his waiting hand. Marco inhales deeply and groans, then shoves them into his shirt pocket. “Come here, my angel.”

  I step out of my dress and, standing over him, straddle his legs. His cock is poised like a rocket waiting to be launched.

  “Fuck me, Angela.”

  I ease myself down onto him, his length packed into me. My vag walls squeeze and release around him. His size alone sends my clit into orbit. Marco grabs one tit and sucks on the other while I ride him.

  “My angel, you’re so fucking tight. And your smell! Damn girl, I wanna eat your pussy next.” Marco latches onto a nipple and starts bucking, both hands cupped under my asscheeks as he lifts me up and down. “Ride me, baby, ride me hard,” he says while switching tits.

  I slam onto him, the force making me gasp. “Your cock feels so damn good.”

  Marco loosens more than my tongue—he rips away all restraint. I am woman, hear me orgasm!

  “God, yes!” I ride him so hard the chair walks across the room with the force of our passion. “Fuck my pussy.” I lean back, marveling at my stretched-out nipple clenched between his teeth.

  Marco looks at me and grins, and I slam forward into him, my hand smashing his face into my tit. “Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah! I’m almost there. Oh god, soooo fucking close.”

  Marco snaps his head around when someone bangs on the door.

  “Go away,” growls Marco. “Keep going, my angel,” he whispers into my ear.

  “Marco! We’re on in two.” Damn band member.

  Marco bites my earlobe. “Bet he’s listening at the door. Heard us fucking. Give him what he wants. Sing for me.”

  Two more thrusts and my body bursts with pleasure. “Oh fucking yes!”

  Marco bites on my nipple and another climax detonates over me, my cunt exploding like the last minute of a July 4th fireworks show. Marco comes hard while I’m still driving myself onto his cock, trying to ride the final shock waves of multiple orgasms.

  “Holy fuck,” I say pushing back his fedora. “You fuck like a god.” My new religion, the Church of Marco.

  “It’s you who are fucking amazing.” Marco kisses me deeply.

  More door pounding. “We’re on!”

  Marco lifts me off, my thighs sticky from sweat, cum, and cunt. “I get off at four.”

  “Looks like you already got off.” I step into my dress and shimmy it up, returning the tank dress to its full upright and tithiding position.

  Marco adjusts his fedora and snuggles next to me. “How the hell will I be able to perform knowing my cum is running down your leg?”

  “You’ll manage.”

  He pulls up his jeans, arranges his cock. “Four a.m.?”

  “Not possible. My cousins....” I make an I’m-attheir-mercy face.

  “We’re here tomorrow.” He buttons his shirt.

  “Okay.”

  Marco crosses the room, puts his hand on the door-knob. “I’m not just a lead singer, you know. I’m a med student.”

  “Let me guess, gynecology?”

  “Pediatrics,” he say
s and opens the door.

  I follow him down the hall and he’s singing before he hits the stage. It’s a lively beat that everyone starts dancing to.

  “Everything all right?” Maria narrows her eyes.

  “Where’s the T-shirt?” Cousin Rocio is doing the perfect suspicious mom impression.

  “They only had one. I wanted to get four, one for each of us. He’ll have them tomorrow.” Damn, I’m a smooth liar.

  “You and he were kissing, si?” Maria pushes away the twenty empty Snakebite tumblers.

  “Yeah. He’s really good. Muy bueno.” I fan myself.

  My cousins giggle and wiggle their long fuchsiatipped fingers at me. “You’re bad. Very naughty. Muy travieso.”

  Maria checks her watch. “We have a lot of people to visit tomorrow. The uncles and aunts can’t wait to meet you.”

  We get up to leave and Marco waves.

  “Mañana,” he calls out as we make our way out.

  Someone’s beating my head with a baseball hat. I open my eyes and Jesus on the cross swims into focus on the opposite wall. International flights and nightclubbing don’t mix. Neither do headaches and sunlight. I tumble out of bed and drag myself to the mirror. Was last night a dream? Did I really fuck the lead singer of Mono Suavo during their break? The dried white flecks between my thighs reply in the affirmative. Roger that, Angela, you acted like a slut. I pull on a tank top and shorts, and tread down the stairs.

  “Good afternoon, mija.” My abuela picks up the remote and turns the volume down on the TV. She’s watching a novella. Even without the sound I identify the plot. A woman in fake eyelashes and a push-up bra is screaming at a sexy bearded dude in a three-piece suit. Behind him, a dyed redhead with major cleavage spillage is pointing a long red pointy acrylic nail at her. Classic novella. Love, lust, and lots of adultery.

  “Have fun?” Abuela asks in Spanish.

  Cousin Maria is sprawled on the sofa, a soda in her hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like the floor of one of those nightclubs you took me to.” I accept a cup of coffee from the maid.

  “Angela met a boy,” blabs Maria in Spanish.

  Abuela’s eyes narrow. “What kind of boy? A good boy?” Two rapid-fire questions in Spanish.

  “He’s the lead singer of—”

  “No no no!” Abuela’s “no” needs no translation. “No singer.” She waves her hand. “Find a nice boy. One with money.”

  “He’s not just a singer, he’s a med student,” I say in Spanish. The coffee isn’t doing much to settle my stomach but the fried plantains the maid set down may.

  Abuela’s taupe-penciled eyebrows lift. “Ohhhh, a doctor. What’s his name?”

  “Marco.”

  Abuela screws her lips. “Does this Marco have a last name?”

  “I forgot to ask.” We were too busy fucking.

  Abuela frowns. “Find out his last name. All his names.” She turns back to her novella and raises the volume to old-deaf-people level.

  “You know how it is with that generation,” says Maria, aka Blanca Maria Esperanza Romero Navarro. “Abuela will be able to get his family’s net worth and history by supper.” She leans over and plucks a fried plantain from the plate. “He’s really a medical student? Does he have any friends?”

  “I’ll ask.” I sip the coffee.

  “His fedora was very sexy. Wish more men wore hats like that.”

  Abuela’s gray head swings around. “He wore a hat?”

  Maria and I nod in unison.

  Abuela lowers the volume so even I can’t hear Redhead shouting at Fake Eyelashes. “Marco with no last name wears a hat? And he sings? What kind of music?”

  “All kinds,” says Maria. “He’s better than Luis Miguel.”

  I cover my mouth to keep from laughing—the singer is a favorite of older Latinas everywhere.

  Abuela glares at us. “Stay away from this man.”

  “Why?” I ask after Maria and I exchange an Abuela’s-gone-loco look.

  “This man sings and wears a hat and all the young women want him, si? I bet he’s very handsome. Sexy.” Abuela taps the top of her head. “He wears a hat to hide his blowhole. He’s not a human, he’s an Encantado. Stay away. Don’t go back to that place.”

  Maria looks at the maid standing in the doorway. “Marta, did Abuela take her pills?”

  “The pills are for my heart, which you are breaking.” Abuela sits tall in her chair. “I’m not senile, Maria.” Abuela’s eyes bore into mine. “Your singing doctor is an Encantado. He sings, he wears a hat, he’s sexy. Stay away from the Encantado or he’ll drag you into his watery home.”

  I look at Maria. “What is Abuela talking about?”

  Maria opens her mouth but Abuela shuts her down with a torrent of Spanish.

  “Did you get any of that?” asks Maria after Abuela is done.

  “Not really,” I say.

  “Abuela says Encantado live as dolphins in the rivers but they transform into humans once they’re on land. They wear a hat to cover their blowhole.” Maria glances at Abuela, who nods encouragingly. “Evidently they’re known for their singing, which makes all the girls fall in love with them. Encantado...enchanted...get it?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my cunt moistening as I recall the size of his enchantment.

  “Once they lure their lovers to the river, they take them to Encante, some kind of underwater utopia.”

  “A shape-shifting dolphin?”

  “Si.” Maria rolls her eyes. “She really doesn’t want you to go back to Culebra Negro.”

  Abuela stands and points to the dining room table laden with way too much food for three women. “Eat. You’re too skinny.”

  I eat my way through the day, each aunt serving a full spread of Ecuadorian dishes when I arrive at their houses. Empanadas, lomo saltado, humitas, pan de yucca,and flan. I’ll be the size of a cow when I return to LA.

  “It’s just a story to scare virgins away from a ladies’ man,” says very fluent Cousin Agata when we stop by her house for the third meal of the day. Cousin Maria had told her Abuela thinks the lead singer of Mono Suavo is an Encantado because he wears a hat.

  Agata shakes her head. “Anyway, I haven’t seen any boto dolphins in the river for years.”

  By the time the sun goes down, I am ready to dance off all the calories I scarfed down.

  “I assume we’re going back to Culebra Negra.” Maria sashays into the room wearing a red miniskirt and a white breasts-on-a-platter top.

  “Of course.” I unplug the curling iron. Tonight I’m wearing a full face of make up, a neckline-plunging cream-colored dress that barely covers my ass, and strappy silver heels. I want Marco to take one look at me and get a boner. “How do I look for dolphin man?”

  We burst out laughing.

  Abuela is waiting with crossed arms at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t go back to that nightclub.”

  Maria assures her we won’t, and we dash out the door.

  Maria starts the car. “Be careful, Angela.”

  “Why? Abuela got you spooked?”

  “No, I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

  Hurt? Marco’s cock was sexual healing, à la that Marvin Gaye song.

  “I’m not looking for a relationship. Just fun.”

  “That’s fine as long as Abuela thinks you’re an innocent virgin.”

  “If you can fool her so can I.”

  We arrive at Culebra Negra, find a tiny table in the back, and listen to a cringe-worthy version of Kesha’s “TiK ToK” by the warm-up act.

  My stomach is aflutter while I wait for Mono Suavo. Luckily a Snakebite tames my nervous excitement.

  Another Snakebite later, Mono Suavo comes on. I sit on my hands to keep from waving like a starstruck groupie and wonder how he’ll ever see me sitting way back here.

  Marco begins the set with “Atlanta” by Stone Temple Pilots, a haunting song that starts my head swaying. Mid-verse, Marco stands and saunters toward my ta
ble. He holds out his hand and I take it and stand up, the rest of the lyrics sung just for me. Damn, no wonder singers get laid so easily. My panties are wet with wanting. The song ends too quickly, and Marco drops my hand but has a promise in his eyes.

  “Wow,” says Maria when I sit back down. “He is definitely into you.”

  After the set, Marco comes over and gives me a hug. “Missed you,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Yeah? Do you remember my name?”

  Marco looks insulted. “Angela. With the wettest, tightest pussy this side of heaven.” He leans in. “Got a minute?”

  “Several.”

  Marco flashes his movie-star grin. “Come on.”

  I follow him as we wind around the tables and squeeze past the line of the red-lipstick brigade waiting for the bathroom.

  “In here.” He opens a door marked prohibida la entrada. No admittance.

  Marco thrusts his tongue inside me and slams the door shut. We’re kissing in a pitch-black void, tongue and lips the only sensations. His hand snakes around my neck and pulls me deeper. My tongue can’t keep up with the speed and force of his. It’s full-mouth lip-lock and my pussy’s purring I want him so bad.

  “We don’t have long.” His face suddenly lights up, the instant illumination from his lighter. “Suck me.”

  My ex never spoke like that. Good thing, because I would have laughed. But I’m not laughing now. His hungry-for-sex face and the deep tenor of his plea are freakin’ foreplay.

  I kneel down, unzip his jeans, and release his stiff cock. Marco lowers the flame, the glow spotlighting his cock and my face. Sexiest thing ever.

  I wrap my hand around the base.

  “Talk dirty to me, Angela.”

  I brush my lips across the head. “I’m gonna lick and suck your cock until cum fills my mouth.”

  Marco sighs and runs his fingers through my hair. “That’s right.”

  My ex was unimpressed by my blow jobs; he claimed they lacked finesse, so I’m hoping Marco isn’t disappointed.

  “That’s it, my angel, lick down the shaft, yeah, that’s good, right there. Oh you’re good, love when you whirl your tongue around like that. Where did you learn to give head like this?” He’s saying all this while massaging my head, which feels so damn good I could suck on him for eternity.