Robinson Crusoe Island? Yes, really. It seems the story of Robinson Crusoe was based on a real life guy who was marooned on these islands. Seeking tourist dollars, the Chileans changed the name of the islands. The real guy, Alexander Selkirk, had an island named after him although that isn’t the island he lived on.
Anyway, the island now has a small town mostly fishermen catching lobsters and one airport, which was important to me. It is about 400 miles off the coast. I got there about noon. I had read that the island has no ATMs or other modern methods of paying, so bring cash. Because of that I had been carrying a large number of Chilean pesos in a special little folder. I paid for the fill up of gas in cash. One of the mechanics was heading back into town for siesta and offered me a ride. Normally, tourists are met by the local boat and taken by sea to town. But this wasn’t a scheduled airliner and there was no boat. On the way, we went past Selkirk’s lookout where he supposedly watched for boats. You could see forever from there. The driver dropped me off at the hotel and I rented a room, in cash, for the night. I also thanked the mechanic with pesos and asked if he could pick me up tomorrow on the way to work. He agreed.
I checked in and wandered around the sleepy little town of San Juan Bautista. Everyone stared, politely I might add. I also saw a fisherman taking live lobsters right from the boat up to the hotel, so I firmed up my dinner plans right then. One of the tourist attractions is Selkirk’s cave that can be reached only by boat. The problem is, Selkirk never lived in a cave, he said he built himself a house. He had a rat problem until he convinced a couple of the feral cats on the island to live with him. After that, he didn’t have rat problems. So I had seen all of the tourist attractions. I went back to the hotel and napped. I showed up for dinner, alone in the dining room. I gathered I was the only guest.
A cute girl came to my table as waitress; she looked about 14. She was wearing a white cotton top and colored skirt. Her hair was cut in what I would call a pixie cut around the shoulders and framing her round face, held back by a couple of plastic clips. My California Spanish made me understandable. “Que es su nombre?”
“Juanita,” she answered.
I flirted with her telling her she was, “Muy Bonita.”
She blushed but looked pleased as well.
I ordered the lobster and a bottle of Chilean wine. She hurried off with the order. She came back with the wine and a glass. I noticed she was having trouble with opening the bottle. I grabbed the corkscrew and told her to come around and watch. She came around and when she stood next to me she was so close that her leg was rubbing mine. Then she moved away. I took her hand and told her I liked it and pulled her back. She came back until our thighs were touching. It was so cute I kissed her hand. Then I showed her how to open the bottle of wine. I poured a glass and told her to try it which she did. Her cotton top was light and I could tell she wore nothing under it since her dark nipples were distinctly visible, hard and pointed. I poured myself a glass as she took the corkscrew and left looking back over her shoulder at me. I winked.
Now I had a bit of a problem. Was I taking advantage of the girl? She obviously was flirting with me. Was a girl from a small island like this innocent of what she was doing? A girl from the big city would be all too aware and if she teased a man, she’d mean it. But a small town girl like this, could she be flirting, but because she was so protected, she might not know?
I was pondering this when she brought out an appetizer of grilled peppers stuffed with cheese. As she set the plate down I offered the wine which she sipped. I took a sip from the same place on the glass. She understood and blushed, but I noticed those nipples again standing out against the white cotton. Juanita hurried off. I smiled wondering exactly what was going to transpire. Slim chance since I figured her to be the daughter of the owner on a short leash. But she was a cutie and obviously enjoying the flirting enough to initiate some herself.
Dinner was incredible, the lobster just off the boat, was tender and tasty beyond belief. I gave Juanita a bite when she came in to ask how it was. I said it was as tasty as she. That really got a blush but she asked how I knew she was tasty. I said I could tell from sipping on the glass after her, the sweetness on the rim of the glass from her lips. It made me want to kiss her lips and taste such sweetness again. She flushed but not a blush this time since her breath was also affected. There was no smile, more a challenge in her eyes. I was taken aback for a second by her stare. I took her hand in mine. She nodded and left. I wasn’t at all sure what that nod meant but it knew it was a ‘yes’ to something.
After dinner I went out into the courtyard. A few minutes later, Juanita joined me. She sat next to me. I asked her if she was done for the night and she said yes. Her mother was the cook and had to stay till ten just in case but she had sent her home. Juanita was telling me that we had three hours at least. I leaned over and kissed her upturned lips. She looked all dreamy as I pulled back so I kissed her again. She pressed back as our lips were together. The kisses became more passionate until I found her breast and the hard nipple. She broke away. I couldn’t catch what she was saying except the word, “embarazada,” pregnant.
Lucky for me Latin and Greek are the root for all medicine and when I told her I had a vasectomy and couldn’t get a girl pregnant she figured out what I was saying. Her smile told me all. I took her hand. There was a stair which led up the back from the garden. She came with me up to my room. In the light from the torches in the garden she looked lovely. She was also looking a little nervous, understandable. But she held onto my hand and followed.
That allayed my qualms. When a girl says she is concerned about getting knocked up and finds out you are infertile and comes along, she wants it. She isn’t being talked into it. And she was old enough to understand.
Inside the room, I pulled her into my arms and we kissed passionately. This time when I cupped her small breast, she moaned and pressed back against the pressure. I tweaked her hard nipple drawing another moan of pleasure. I pulled away and tossed off my shirt. Juanita quickly tore off her cotton top exposing small well formed breasts. I stepped out of my Dockers and briefs as she stepped out of her skirt. She had nothing underneath. As she straightened up, I got to see her in all her glory. I was surprised to see she was bare, not just of clothes but of hair. I led her to the bed, which was covered with a fluffy down duvet, since this far south it could get cold.
Juanita lay back on the bed kind of cuddled down in the white duvet, looking expectantly up at me. I joined her and we kissed. As I pressed my hand between her legs she said breathlessly, “Mi primera vez.” I was a little surprised because she seemed so eager, not like a shrinking violet virgin. But she obviously was young, so it wasn’t a big surprise. I whispered that she was beautiful and sexy as my finger parted her lips and sank into her hot wet gash. She was turned on, no doubt. I slowly began caressing her clitoris as we kissed. Juanita moaned and her eyes closed as her head fell back on the bed. “Si, si, si,” she quietly chanted.
My tongue found her nipple and traced around it, teasing and licking. I sucked her whole small breast into my mouth and attacked the nipple with tongue and lips, switching from one to the other. Her hips were pressing against my hand, already in the rhythm of sex. I continued on kissing her belly, then lay between her thighs as I parted her hairless lips. She was red and slick with her juices as I licked deep down inside, then up and around. Her pussy followed my tongue in its journey as she sought maximum pleasure. I attacked her button softly at first then more vigorously as her hips bounced on the bed. Her head was pressed back into the bed as her back arched up. I sucked her clitoris into my mouth sucking and licking it at the same time, that sent her over the top and she exploded into her climax, bouncing around on the bed so that I had to hang on like a bronco trying to keep my mouth on her sex. Finally, she collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard, her legs spread askew.
Is there anything quite as inviting as a woman freshly orgasmed, all askew, wet and open for more? I moved up over her settling down until my hard cock was even with her sex. Her eyes flashed open as she felt my body on hers. I could see a momentary not quite panic, then she remembered why she was here and she smiled. I rubbed my cock up and down her pussy, covering it with her juices, found her center and pressed in. She tensed a little so I stopped, whispering “Relajese,” relax, which she did. I pressed forward and this time the head of my cock slid past her barrier. She yipped as it parted. I waited again, then pressed on filling her with my cock.
I pulled out and pressed back again. She began crying out something which I couldn’t understand. Maybe my Spanish teachers never taught me these words, but they were impassioned. Her pussy was unbelievably tight, but she was so wet that I moved easily in and out, her pussy milking my cock on every stroke. It felt like a vacuum on every backstroke was pulling me back into her. On the bottom stroke I would pivot, mashing her clitoris and giving her a little extra stimulation.
Little Juanita was getting louder and louder as we fucked. I glued my mouth to hers, kissing her to keep the noise down. I had no idea if Madre was still in the kitchen but I didn’t want her to come looking for her niña with a butcher knife. Juanita was bouncing around under me and I felt her pussy spasm and flood with her juices below me. She screamed into my mouth. All those sent me over the top.
Blast after blast, I filled her spasming pussy with my cum. Finally, spent, I fell to the side pulling her with me so that I stayed buried in her. Slowly, my cock subsided until it slipped from her dripping pussy. I stroked her hair as she smiled up at me. We kissed a few times and smiled at each other sharing a special moment. Finally, Juanita asked the time. When I told her, she quickly jumped out of bed, threw on her clothes, kissed me passionately once, and slipped out the door.
I lay back contented. I had to think about why Juanita picked me. Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to pick some boy from the island? Maybe not. In fact, maybe it makes more sense for the girl to pick a transient like me. I wouldn’t be spreading rumors. It goes back to the good girl image.
People have sex for three reasons: fun, to make a baby, or to gain something of value. Love doesn’t figure in. You love all sorts of people and don’t have sex with them. When women argue that they have sex for love, they are trying to hide the fact that they are bargaining sex for something of value from the man, nothing any different than what the hooker on the street corner does. They love all sorts of people but they only have sex with the man who gave them a promise of unconditional monetary support and women want a promise not to use any money on other women. I’ve heard lots of talk shows and other forms of torture and so often what comes out of the woman’s mouth when she’s mad and the truth slips out; what really pisses off a woman is how much the guy spent on his girlfriend. It’s not the sex; it’s the money, stupid.
One of those lap dance places opened in our town. I was curious so I went one night. Having naked attractive women pressing against you was a rather interesting experience. My girlfriend was incensed, not because I liked women or because of anything sexual, because nothing sexual happened, but because I spent ‘our’ money on those sluts. My money is our money and her money is hers.
Sex ought to be for fun, not for bribery, the way it so often is in America. I read about the hookers in Nevada and how the women there won’t do for their husbands and boyfriends what they will do for johns, because it is dirty.
It is that ‘Good girls don’t like sex’ attitude. Only sluts like sex. When a girl is really trying to insult another girl, she calls her a slut. That’s right, enjoying sex is the single biggest insult you can hurl at a modern American woman. So if a girl wants to enjoy or try sex, finding a stranger who will fly off into the air and you don’t have to worry about rumors, maybe makes the most sense.
Juan picked me up at the hotel and we took the long drive back to the airport. The sun was barely up as we drove up the mountain and over to the south of the island where the airport was.
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Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2009