Caramel Flava

  “He’s got it,” Debbie says.

  “Coooooooop!” Hector, B.K. and Anthony shout.

  Suddenly, I feel the eyes of the population on us as “Siembra,” a scintillating Ruben Blades song, cooks in the background of our heaven.

  “Gracias, Alicia,” I say, turning away to walk off the floor.

  “You can’t stop now, Guillermo.”

  The insistence of her tone tells me she’s in the sinfully hot zone that blends the lines of dancing and sex. Her hazel eyes, now glassy with euphoria, are on the precipice of combustion. What I can’t decipher is if it’s the music or my masculinity that is the key to her ignition.

  “Come finish what you started,” she orders.

  The pace is even quicker. Watching her twist and turn has the temperature in mi corazón, cuerpo y pobrecillo rising. After a twirl, I pull her close once more, and our lips touch slightly.

  Damn, what’s coming over me?

  Whatever it is, I think she likes it, for her face resembles an erotic explosion.

  “Ay, Papi,” she coos. Then, as a gesture of further appreciation, she pinches my ass.

  Finishing the song, Alicia and I share another dance; this time it’s a slow waltz to No puedo dejar de amar te, Michael Jackson’s Spanish version of “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You.”

  Moving her hands from my triceps, up and down my slender frame, Alicia holds me tight through this song, as well the ballad playing now, “Heroe,” by Enrique Iglesias.

  Feeling the heat of her core as we move together, her pointed nipples against my slim chest are driving me crazy. My lust for her now undisguised, my dick is granite-hard, and wants to take a dip in her pool of ecstasy.

  She notices. Pressing those luscious petals to my neck, she licks my earlobe with her lovely, Latin lizard, thoroughly enjoying the taste of sweat and cologne.

  “Estoy tan mojada,” she purrs. “Estoy tan mojada.”

  Damn, is your kitty that wet? Can I taste it, right here, right now? I bet a river of your juices will escape you, and drench my chin. I bet you are sweet, like pears. Can I search for your G-spot with my fingers while humming on your clit with my mouth? Can I trace the length of me along your lustfully lubricated labia, then slip and slide in a succulent, sensational, sweetly saturated sex sauce?

  Guillermo wants to be your love slave, Alicia; so fucking bad.

  I never experienced a Latina before, and would love for you to be my first, and only. Is it any different, honey? I hear that you spoil your men in el dormitorio. Can you treat me like a king, if only for a moment in lust? Will you sing marvelous, melodious moans if I ease open those legs, lick, then love your clit right with the fluent flutter of my oral flute? Will my manhood feel like it’s in heaven when it plays hide-and-seek inside your Spanish garden? Te deseo; if only for a night.

  If my mouth admits this now, the animal stirring in both of us would be unleashed. Can you picture us being arrested for screwing in front of a midtown audience? As much as our bilingual libidos roared, a mutual dam was constructed, stunting the natural flow of our soulful connection.

  Someday would not be tonight.

  “Where do you live, Alicia?” I ask as we leave the floor.

  “In Upper Manhattan, William…”

  Damn, she even says William sexy.

  “In the Inwood section. Right off of Two Hundred Seventh Street.”

  Hmm. That’s within walking distance from me.

  “When can I see you again for more salsa lessons?”

  “You don’t need any more, Guillermo.”

  Disappointed that our association seems momentary, my eyes search the carpet below for consolation.

  “But if you insist, Papi…”

  In a millisecond, I make the transformation. I’m no longer the luckless “agony of defeat” skier of ABC’s Wide World of Sports fame. Once again, I am faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap…

  You get the picture.

  She continues.

  “Come to my place tomorrow, and bring a bottle of Licor 43. Be there by nine, and I promise I’ll give you a lesson I’m sure you’ll never forget.”

  Giggling, she kisses my cheek, then fades into the crowd of dancers on the floor.

  Gee, I wonder what she meant by that?

  Here I am, still in a stupor, almost twenty hours later. Reliving the cosmic chemistry shared with Alicia had my groin tingling with anticipation all night. Shit, I even placed a pillow between my legs, so that I could hump on it. Masturbation was an option for release, but I wanted to save my scalding seed for tonight. Just in case.

  One by one my boys have been blowing up my phone, giving me pointers on how to deal with an exotic princess like Alicia. Though none of them dared ask, I know they all wanted to know if I’ll be inside of her wet, watery resting place. A true gentleman never tells.

  A beautiful arrangement of red roses sits in the refrigerator, and I purchased the bottle she requested. This golden brown stuff, from what I recall, is sticky and syrupy.

  I wonder what we’ll be mixing that with.

  The vision of me tasting her salty secretions with my hungry tongue has me feeling like an anxious puppy. Man, I would love to suck on her gravity-defying breasts. I bet her luscious nubbins are so ripe and sensitive. Wondering if her vagina can accommodate the full engorgement of my thick rod, I want to make those pretty hazel pupils roll to the top of her pretty head with hot, hectic, hellacious hip thrusts. Envisioning her astride my dick, I see her flexing those firm thighs while squatting, then kneeling.

  Shit, I’m getting worked up again.

  Will the muscles of her channel massage the length of me with short strokes or long, languid ones? Will it spasm once I turn her over and penetrate her to the hilt with my hunger? Will the measured motion of my midsection send her spiraling into a place where nothing matters except the womb-twitching waves of orgasmic bliss? Will she gasp for breath while trying to escape an insane ecstasy? Will I bathe the walls of her sex with my milky pudding?

  In a few hours, all questions will be answered. For now, I’m at my computer, cruising through the Black Singles Connection website. I shared an excerpt of last night with the Relationship and Dating Message Board—a tame version, of course—and asked for suggestions as to enhancing the ambiance tonight. Many of my online friends were amazed that I sought assistance, for I constantly brag about my…ahem…romantic prowess. Together, they came up with ideas ranging from a G-string striptease to kissing her the minute she opened the door. All of them were awesome.

  However, Isabel, a woman from Spain excited that my spirit was intoxicated by a new culture, suggested that I write her a sonnet in Spanish.

  “Women from spain are very passionate. The suave approach works every time,” she said.

  I’m a little rusty, but I think I’ll give it a try in this blank card:

  Aunque sea sólo por una noche

  (IF ONLY FOR A NIGHT)

  Me duele el corazón por ti

  Mi cuerpo te desea ardientemente

  Mi alma te anhela tanto, mi amor,

  Aunque sea sólo por una noche

  Aunque sea sólo por una noche, tócame

  Aunque sea sólo por una noche, saboreame

  Aunque sea sólo por una noche, deja que nuestros cuerpos hagan música

  Te deseo, mi amor

  Aunque sea sólo por una noche

  For effect purposes, the translation of my lust will hammer my point home:

  My heart aches for you

  My body longs for you

  My soul wants you, so bad my love

  If only for a night

  If only for a night, touch me

  If only for a night, taste me

  If only for a night, let our bodies make music together

  I want you, my love

  If only for a night

  Damn, I want Alicia so bad I can taste her skin. It’s delectable, delightful and delicious. Her body will t
remble from my warm embrace; my gentle touch will make her quiver. Undressing, then caressing her, teasing and pleasing her, hopefully I won’t miss a spot with my tongue. Testing, teasing while tasting, by the time I’m done eating her, she’ll shudder and shiver through an endless series of orgasms.

  Then, as we feel ourselves climbing into uncharted heights of lust, the heat of my dick will be relentless once it breaks the skin of a new world. Once embedded and entrenched within her spicy walls, our bodies will stretch the imagination of contortionists everywhere. Pumping and pleasing her, I’ll be determined to see the trembling tremors from a sexually sedated seductress. Swirling from peak to peak, we’ll share the grunts, groans and pleasurable moans that our horizontal mamba brings, as well as the uncontrollable contractions of nerves exploding in ecstasy. I will make this woman cum until she joins me in the ultimate cluster of climaxes that pure, unadulterated passion brings.

  Damn, I sure hope she craves chocolate tonight.

  So, here I am, on the fourth floor of her walk-up building, at the doorway of paradise. A smoldering bachata tune with a steady Dominican beat heats up the hallway, compliments of the apartment below hers. Maybe that’s what we’ll be dancing to tonight. Or better yet, maybe I could show her the steps I practiced this morning while listening to Marc Anthony. Maybe…

  “Well, aren’t you going to come in?”

  There’s nothing like a fantasy disrupted by an even better reality.

  “Close the door,” the voice of a siren orders.

  Glancing out in the hallway, the other gray apartment doors smirk at me. I just hate being the last to know shit.

  Obliging, I shut the door to the real world and enter a surreal yet serene place, an erotic world where you can neither run nor hide from inhibitions. I follow the cadence of her sashay;Alicia’s natural movements are so precise, so deliberate and rhythmic.

  I’m scanning my surroundings, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, curiosity etched all over my face as to what lies ahead. The only degree of normalcy is Gloria Estefan singing “Tengo que decirte algo” on her stereo. Someone left the bathwater of questions running, and it’s overflowing my mind.

  Why is she dressed in a black, formfitting catsuit? And why are there scented purple candles lit throughout the house? What’s up with the red lights, and the chair in the middle of the living room floor? And why are there towels and long red scarves on her red velvet sofa? Wait a second: Did I walk into a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie and meet the seductive Spanish half-sister of Norman Bates? Or, in the alternative, did I walk onto an adult movie set and meet Vanessa del Rio?

  “Thanks so much for the roses,” Alicia says, removing both the arrangement and libations from my arms.

  She reads my card.

  Closing it, her eyes, piercing my soul, are warm and watery.

  I struck a chord in her heart; the right chord.

  “I see you…um…“I stutter, alluding to the scenery.

  “That’s for later.”

  Then she takes my hand, leading me away from one flytrap, steering me in the direction of what I’m thinking is another.

  I’m wrong. It’s the kitchen.

  “Come, William. Sit and let Mamá feed you.”

  Damn, this sister can burn. The paella, complete with lobster tails, bits of octopus, chicken, calamari and shrimp, was so filling. Initially, Alicia looked disturbed that I couldn’t eat two helpings, but I explained to her my disdain for walking around on a full stomach. That’s one reason.

  Reason number two? Who likes having sex on a full stomach? It’s so uncomfortable. I have to leave room for dessert; that is, if there is any.

  My goodness, Alicia sure set a stage. If the cream-flavored scents these candles give off are an aphrodisiac to awaken sexual impulses, then it’s working. Before she went in the back to freshen up, she asked me to push the “2” button on the CD changer in the living room, then make myself comfortable on the sofa.

  “It’s a surprise,” she added.

  Fulfilling the request, the music I’m now listening to caught me by surprise. To my utter amazement, it’s the scintillatingly sinister street radio mix of “Downtown,” by SWV. The background vocals of this song tell me exactly what Alicia wants tonight.

  She wants to get freaky.

  “Going downtown is the way to Alicia’s love, William,” she yells.

  I gulp.

  Did I walk into a mine field, or what?

  She reemerges, winding those sexy hips better than a Jamaican woman, with the Licor in hand. The brazen blaze in her eyes has a tremor racing down my spine.

  “Stand up and strip for me.”

  Following her directive, I rise. Off go the blue jeans, then my blue sweater.

  “Them too,” she demands, tugging at my red-and-white Snoopy boxers. “I want to see what I’m working with tonight.”

  A nervous laugh escapes me, as I roll down my shorts.

  The brown torpedo is at attention.

  “Aaayyy, Papi, is that all for me?”

  “Yes, Alicia,” I mumble.

  “Hmmm, I can’t wait. But for now, you must close your eyes and dance with me.”

  As if on cue, “No me dejes de querer,” a sexy Estefan cut, fills the moonlit evening. I feel its pulse, and pull my Spanish kitty close. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers have nothing on us, except clothes.

  “Keep those eyes closed,” she reiterates.

  Slowly, I nod. Shit, I’m on the brink of overheating. Wait, where is she going with my fingers? Ooh, shit…That feels so good.

  “You like that, Guillermo? You like the way Mamá sucks on your fingers?”

  “Yes…I do.”

  She does them one, two, three at a time, submerging them deep in her mouth, leaving a teasing trace of her sloppiness on each of them while sucking the sense out of them. Is this a subliminal message as to how she’ll handle something bigger?

  She pulls me close once more. Ooh, what’s this oozing down the side of my face?

  “Mm, Guillermo, you’re my chocolate sundae.”

  These candles, this liqueur on my bald head, running down my body, her free hand massaging me as we share a forbidden dance…I feel the fear of fulfilling a fantasy melting…melting…mm, I love this shit.

  “Pour some more on me, Alicia,” I say.

  That’s it, baby, make a nasty mess out of me.

  Now it’s your turn.

  Like Daredevil, I am blind, but my other senses are stronger. Let me get that bottle…got it.

  “Didn’t think I would find your soft hands with my eyes closed, now did you?” I brag.

  “Make me sticky, Guillermo.”

  I’ll do her one better.

  Pulling her into my blaze, our lips peck once, twice, thrice, then part in exploration of the oral pinkness within our fire. Finding the sources of our arousal, first gently, then urgently, the tongue wrestle is ravenous. All the while, I am pouring the sticky solution upon us.

  I’m feeling Alicia shudder from the electricity between us. Those hips grind against me, hard and steady, the momentum of her dance building by the beat. My dick is as hard as a black diamond, and the peaches surrounding them are drawing tight.

  You do mix Licor 43 with milk, right?

  Because I think I’m going to cum…

  Not yet.

  Who do you think I am, Minute Mouse?

  I’m breathless, having collapsed in the metal chair in the center of the floor, dim-eyed and dizzy because my sex sword is still filled with excitement.

  “Let me get out of this outfit, Papi,” my fantasy come true announces. Alicia must forgive the eager look in my eyes; I’ve been dying to see this Spanish goddess naked since our eyes met last night.

  She looks amazing: anatomically astonishing, absolutely appetizing and incredibly intimidating all at once. Her beige complexion is flawless. Slimly muscled, yet curvaceous, that taut abdomen is taunting me, and those well-developed, track runner thighs that complement her sex-, I
mean six-pack are titillating, tantalizing and terrifying. I swallow saliva while gawking, for the combination of her hard calves, firm thighs and great stomach muscles means one thing:

  Mamá Morena can ride good dick all night.

  Good, chocolate dick is what’s she’s going get tonight, provided I can break her erotic spell and leave this chair.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I ever laid my eyes on, Alicia,” I say.

  “And I’m yours, Guillermo,” she responds. “Aunque sea sólo por una noche.”

  Bravely, I try to stand up and greet her with my fever, but she won’t let me. Why is she pushing me back into the chair?

  Reaching back, Alicia hands me a glass of her witches’ brew, mildly disguised as ice water.

  Though my body is defenseless, weak to her touch, the lion at my waist, fully alert once more, wants to mute its roar in the moistness of the tigress straddling me.

  That idea might have to wait. My goodness, I feel her strength as she climbs my sticky, slim frame.

  “Papi, I was taught to always to treat my men like the kings they are,” she says.

  “I…I’m speech—”

  A lusciously long index finger stills my thought.

  “Please don’t talk,” Alicia whispers. “Just enjoy my dance.”

  Taking my face into her soft hands, she’s alternating between kisses and lustful kitty licks. Mm, I like that shit. Her purr, oozing a new sexiness, reestablishes my trance as she slowly, gently nibbles on my ears. Eagerly embarking on an arousing journey, I can hear her panting as her lips touch my nose, then peck my mouth.