“Yes, that’s enough for today, I think,” she answered curtly. Eduardo showed her to the smaller casita the resort kept at this beach. A long, delicious dinner of fresh fish, tortillas and beer on the beach was the perfect ending to a perfect day. Between the surfing, her full stomach, and the time difference between Cabo and the East Coast, Adrienne was more than ready to retire to her bed and fall immediately to sleep.
She awoke to find a cool wetness wrapped around her. A sexy, salty smell she could actually taste filled her nose. She realized with a fright that she was not alone in her bed. She jumped up, gathering the bedding around her, covered her nakedness and shivered in fear. There was a man in the bed next to her, a very big man. He was naked and hard muscled; his long, wet black hair fell down his back. He moved slowly, turning to her.
“Why do you cover yourself? You are beautiful.”
She tried to speak but was too frightened for any sound to escape her. He spoke again, looking into her eyes.
“Why do you show fear?”
Adrienne shook her head, despite an understanding growing inside her. He touched the sides of her face with cool hands, drawing one slowly down the side of her body.
“You know me. We are already lovers.”
“Xocicolto,” she whispered with confusion as he slipped his hands under her and lifted her to him with no effort at all. She squeaked in mild protest as he pulled the covers away from her naked body. He smiled at her beauty, before pulling her closer to him and burying his head in her breast. This mythical man began to kiss her and whisper softly in an ancient tongue. She let him gently ravish her, afraid to move, but mostly because she was too tempted to resist.
“Why do you fear what your body does naturally? I saw you the first night, you know. You hide from your desire. You tie it up inside you. I knew if I could free you from this, you would become more than any woman I’ve had before. I have been here for hundreds of years, with many women, but I have not had anyone like you.”
She shuddered with desire as he continued to explore her body. His tongue, his fingers, his lips found her, tasting her in places that she had never realized could be so alive. From time to time, he looked deeply into her eyes, as if asking how far she would let him go.
“It’s only a dream, it’s only a dream.” She said it aloud to reassure herself. It was time to come back to reality, but did she want to? Did she really have to? His touching and probing rendered her incapable of anything other than seeking the pleasure in him that he was determined to find in her. His cool ocean fingers entered her hot places as they had in the sea, but in her bed they were more focused and real. He flicked her clit until she wanted to scream. Abruptly he stopped licking until his cold tongue found her nipples and his teeth bit them gently, coaxing them forward and making them hard. Soon, she was teeming, pulsing and set for detonation. He pulled away from her for a moment and, again, looked at her deeply, asking her questions and telling her things that needed no words. He was not old or young. He was, at once, timeless and of this time. As he was set away from her for the moment, she could read his rich, red skin. He ran his fingers through her thick, dark hair. She could see the life pulsing in his enormous manhood as he prepared her, pulled her close to him again, then entered her hot, wet cave that hungered for his every twitch and shudder. He moved in and out of her slowly at first, then, finding a rhythm between them, he quickened his thrusts. He reached a strong arm around each of her thighs and pulled her legs aside him, then lifting her up as he had on the sea, he drove into her, physically and metaphysically deeper than anyone—real or imagined—had before.
She felt herself rise higher and higher, his guttural utterances and her cries confirming their collective fervor. She felt something let go inside her. That thing that had been tied up within her was giving way. His earlier words echoed in her mind as she bucked wildly against him, no longer afraid of following and enjoying temptation. An unfamiliar wildness drove her as they tickled and tortured each other into a swollen, painful pleasure knot.
Outside, the wind rose with their jutting spasms, carrying first their groans, and finally their fiery screams across time. He ground his head into her chest to anchor himself against his passionate release, sending her into an uncontrollably pleasurable orgasmic fit.
Then they lay still, in the dark, for what seemed like an eternity. Neither dared speak, lest they break the spell.
Then he rose from their bed to stare out the window before turning to her, staring in her eyes long and hard. He then removed a leather rope that had been tied to his arm. He tied it tenderly around her arm and kissed her passionately.
“My time is short. I have only a few days, but I will come to you,” he said softly and then faded away.
Adrienne woke with a start. She took inventory of the small casita, anchoring herself in reality before it all began to come back to her. That was either one hell of a dream or I am losing my mind, she thought. She cracked the door to peep outside. Along the beach, things were coming to life. Gathering locals limbered their bodies before heading out on their surfboards. Eduardo sat in the sand just outside her door with several travel cups that smelled, she noted gratefully, like coffee.
“Señora, you are awake early. Do you wish for some breakfast or do we have waves first?”
Adrienne giggled, then surprised herself with a full-on blush. It didn’t matter anymore what was real and what was fantasy. All she knew was that she could not stop, and that if it was within her power, she would never let it end. Never had she felt more alive or sexual. Her midlife muck had turned into an out of this world midlife fuck!
“Waves,” she answered, unequivocally. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”
For two more glorious days, Adrienne road the waves like she’d been surfing her whole life. No longer needing Eduardo’s help, she maneuvered her own board to great heights and through complex turns. She was convinced that Xocicolto’s strong hands held her safe, giving her the confidence to push herself more with each ride. Sometimes, she would surf all they way in, forcing the back of her board downward to stay atop the crest like a queen. But sometimes she still took the whole trip to shore on her knees or lying flat on her board.
And for two more nights, the Aztec prince came to her. They made love boldly, craving each other with zealous, overpowering emotion. He sought out all the secret places on her body that sent her soaring and pleading for him to fill her with his cold, salty essence. And when they could bear the prelude to their passion no longer, he drew her on top of him, skillfully maneuvering her up and down against his roiling crested member, just as he did with her each day in his watery form.
That third night, sensing that this could be their last, they pushed the limits of their beings. With a new and uncharacteristic boldness, Adrienne tickled and teased the places within him, draining him of his godliness and in her bed, turning this Mexican royalty into a mere mortal. As her bravado blossomed, Xociolto relinquished control, allowing an exquisite, mutual exchange of reawakening pleasures. She saturated him with her warmth, as he cooled her with his deep sea touch.
She laid him back, never removing her eyes from his. Then, taking his member gently in her hands, she leaned down to lick the length of him. She could feel a pulsing begin deep inside the emerging organ. She inhaled his cold, salty scent, following the quivering veins back down to their base with her tongue and nibbled at the fruit there. He began to whisper the ancient words, raising a heat in her that she had come to expect. He sensed the connection, and his speech became broken. He raised himself from her and looked into her soul. He knew she was changed. He knew she was his. He knew he was hers. Rolling over onto her back as he pushed into her, Adrienne raised her legs high above her head, sending them thrashing with abandon into a shared rapture.
But once they were still, she could tell something was different with him. His skin felt warm and dry. Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, they lay twisted together. Finally, he turned to her and k
issed the place where he’d tied the cord to her arm. He removed it, held it in his hand, then pushed her arm up above her head, kissing her gently up the inside of her arm. When he reached her face, he gazed at her with a drained sadness that made her start to cry. He licked the tears from her face that were soon mingled with tears of his own.
“I am weak at the end of my time. I am called back to the place where I must go.”
With that, he produced an oddly shaped golden bead.
“This is something that was once precious to me. It held great value to my people. It is as old as I am. Perhaps older than you can comprehend. If you will wear it, it will connect you to me for all time.”
He threaded the bead onto the leather cord, and this time, tied it around Adrienne’s neck. He tried to sit up but faltered. She sat up in their bed to hold him, leaning him back slowly against her, cradling him in her arms.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded, knowing before he spoke what his answer had to be.
He smiled softly at her, raised a weak arm and began to gently caress her cheek.
“I must return to the place where I belong or I will be no more.”
A golden light appeared from the heavens, illuminating a path into the sea. Xocicolto left her and walked into it, seemingly gaining strength once the sea closed in around him. He looked up into the light, stretched his arms out wide and cast a loving glance back at Adrienne. Then he and the light were gone.
Eduardo knocked on her trailer door, as he had done two mornings hence.
“Señora, we surf?” he asked.
“No, Eduardo. Today we go home.”
On the way back to the resort, Adrienne kept one hand at the hollow of her neck, touching the beautiful bead her lover had placed there. Returned to her casita, she packed her things and prepared for tomorrow’s flight home. She sat alone that night on her private balcony, staring out to sea. She marveled at her experience over the last few days. Opening her heart had opened her senses. She no longer felt old and bored with life as she had on her arrival. She was leaving with a new lease on life, a new sense of curiosity, adventure, and lustfulness. Adrienne wept softly through her smiles, as heard the surf sing its message of Come to me. Come to me…
A blissful knowing pull drew her to walk down to the beach. Unlike the day of her arrival, the sea in front of her resort was as smooth as glass. The jutting rocks stood out as silent sentinels, basking in waves that slowly rippled around them. She walked toward the sea, allowing the surf to wash over her toes. Feeling a strange vibration at her neck, Adrienne reached for the bead, momentarily afraid of the power pulsating around her neck. She panicked and clutched at the cord.
You are mine. You will always be mine. The sound of his whisper enveloped and calmed her, and forever awoke a sensuous awareness within her.
The bead around her neck began to glow. Its vibration intensified and ripples of pleasure reverberated throughout her body. She could feel his breath not cold this time, but hot against her neck.
You will always be in me. I will always be in you.
“You will always be in me. I will always be in you,” she repeated into the wind.
Then, as the bead began to darken and cool, she knew he was gone.
The next morning, with only a couple of hours to make her plane, Adrienne rushed about the casita throwing everything of hers into anything she could carry as Eduardo waited by her door.
“Señora, it is the time that we must go to the aeropuerto.”
She smiled at him and handed him the heaviest bag. Before following him, she turned and took one last look toward the magical Sea of Cortez. Adrienne felt a small tingle at her neck, and somewhere else, deeper inside.
“Eduardo?” she finally asked, feeling a million miles away. “The sea is very different here from the way it was when I first arrived, isn’t it?”
“Sí, Señora. It was Xocicolto. But he is gone now. I told you, it is a special time. He comes only una vez every year.”
“Yes, Eduardo. Every year. And you know what? From now on, so will I!”
TRANSLATION SENSATION
Sasha James
The hardest thing about writing erotica is crossing the (sexual) line with style and class.
—Sasha James
En Français
“N’arrête pas, n’ arrête pas,” Genevieve kept repeating over and over. By the confused look on her American lover’s face, she could tell that he had no idea that she was asking for “more please.” He had stopped kissing her neck, and she wanted desperately for him to continue. She started pointing to the spot that his lips had just vacated, hoping that he would pick up the hint.
“Oh, you want some more?” Mark said, and picked up where he had left off.
His kisses began trailing from her thin neck to her cleavage. He unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons on her red silk blouse until her lace bra was exposed. Mark hesitated long enough to admire her sexy underwear. Her bra was thin enough for him to see the rosy color of her nipples. “Damn, you French chicks really have the feminine thing down to a science.”
“Pardon?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. Now it was Genevieve who didn’t understand.
Mark listened to her French words, which floated in the air like a sweet symphony. He didn’t know what she was saying but knew they weren’t the same words as before. They didn’t understand each other’s language, but that didn’t really matter. What mattered was that they spoke the same body language, and right now her body was speaking volumes. The way she was poking out her breasts and moving closer to him on the sofa was telling him to proceed, and proceed he did.
Mark unsnapped her bra, causing her tits to spill out. Unlike most women he had been with, she was au natural, no implants, all flesh. He placed his hand underneath her right boob and jiggled it just to make sure. “Yep, all woman,” he mused, as her titty shook like Jell-O.
Genevieve reached for the back of his head and guided him toward her waiting nipple. Realizing that words were useless, she decided to utilize hand gestures, and pinched her nipple with her thumb and index finger.
Marked took her clue and began to suckle her tit like he was trying to extract milk.
Genevieve threw her head back on the sofa cushions and enjoyed the succulent sensation. She couldn’t believe that only a few hours ago, she had stepped off the plane at Kennedy Airport, and now she was in the midst of a heated sexual experience.
The flight from Charles de Gaulle to Kennedy airport was long, and Genevieve should have slept the entire way, but she was too excited to close her eyes. She had dreamt of coming to America, especially New York, since she was a child. Seeing postcards and pictures from friends and relatives who had been abroad had piqued her interest at an early age, and she often daydreamed about seeing the Statue of Liberty, the Golden Gate Bridge and other famous American monuments.
Now that she was an adult, her dream was finally coming to fruition. Genevieve had joined an Internet social network, and had met some really cool Americans, who persuaded her to come to the States. Their urging, coupled with her long-seated desire, was all she needed to finally make the trip.
Genevieve owned a small boulangerie-pâtisserie in the sixteenth arrondissement with her fiancé. Their bakery was in an affluent part of Paris and was extremely successful, allowing her to splurge on a ten-day holiday in the States. Jean-Paul, her fiancé, stayed behind to mind the shop, allowing her to fulfill her childhood dream before they settled down and had a family.
Her first stop was Manhattan, and then on to Chicago and California before heading back home. Having lived in France all of her life, Genevieve’s English was poor at best. Even though she learned the foreign language in grade school, she hadn’t had much use for it, until now. She had brushed up on a few key phrases before coming to the States, like, “Hello, my name is…,” “Please,” “Excuse me,” and “Thank you.” And she hoped to pick up more English while she was in New York.
The customs line was long but
moved swiftly and soon Genevieve had her passport stamped and was free to enter the United States. She traded her Euros for dollars at the currency exchange and then headed to baggage claim. After she retrieved her luggage, she headed outside to the taxi line.
“Where ya goin’?” asked the taxi driver in a thick Brooklyn accent, once she climbed in the backseat.
Genevieve took out the brochure for the hotel and handed it to him.
“Twenty-fourth and Seventh, coming right up.”
Genevieve was so excited that she perched herself on the edge of the seat and peered out of the window. She watched in awe as the streets of New York whizzed by. The afternoon sun was shining bright, and sunlight bounced off the tops of skyscrapers. The city’s bridges—especially the Brooklyn Bridge—were also a wonder to her, standing tall and strong over the East River.
Soon, they were pulling up in front of the hotel, located in Chelsea. She paid the driver and got out.
Once she had checked into her room she hooked up her laptop, wanting to let her friend know that she had made it safely to the hotel. Genevieve logged on to her email account, and sure enough there was an email from her American friend, Barbara. She clicked on the email, copied the text and then pasted it onto a translation website, which interpreted it into French.
Hey there, hope you had a good flight. I’m working this afternoon, but can meet you later this evening to show you a really good time.
Genevieve typed her response back in French and used the same copy and paste method to translate her words to English.
Sounds good. I can’t wait. She and Barb had been email buddies for the past few months, and she couldn’t wait to meet in person.
After sending Barb the hotel information, Genevieve logged off, took a brief power nap, and then, before heading out to explore the city, she stopped at the front desk and dropped off an envelope. Some of her New York Internet buddies had suggested that she check out the Village and other cool places in the city. She followed their instructions, took her time and browsed in and out of shops and boutiques along Seventh Avenue. New York was similar to Paris in that there were people everywhere, and everyone seemed to be in a hurry. She looked at the buildings and noted that most of the architecture was old, though of course not as old as that in France. But some structures had ornate masonry work that she found interesting. Although she was a stranger to the city and didn’t speak much English, she didn’t feel like an alien; she felt right at home.
Can't Help the Way That I Feel Page 17
