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Message-ID: <27850asstr$976684203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Barbara B" <babs42ne@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Wavy Hair and Hungry Eyes (M/F, race, romance)
Date: Wed, 13 Dec 2000 00:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Thank you for responding so quickly I am re-sending the story as text.  I
hope it makes it through this time.  Please let me know if it does not. 
Thanks, Babs
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   <1st attachment, "Wavy Hair and Hungry Eyes.txt" begin>

   This is a new fiction story, property of me, Babs B.  I am here.  You
cannot post it anywhere, even a free site, without first contacting me. 
I'm easy to reach: Babs42ne@hotmail.com.

   WAVY HAIR AND HUNGRY EYES By Babs

   This story is dedicated to a very dear friend who is in my heart every
single day even though her soul has finished its journey.  Thanks, sweetie,
for everything you were and are to me.

   "You should take a Latin lover," she said, her eyebrows raised, gazing
over the top of her wineglass.

   I tried not to be startled by her statement, but I was and she knew it.
She would know because she and I had been friends for almost 30 years now.
Since we were kids together.  I made an attempt at being casual, "Why is
that?"

   "Because you've never had one.  You've never been with anyone who wasn't
a blue eyed blonde or redhead," she continued sipping her wine and then
lowering her glass to the table.

   I wanted to come back with a flippant remark -- a witty retort -- but
instead I sipped my own wine -- slowly -- trying to give myself some time
to think.  Let's see, there was Don.  He had sort of brown -- no, I guess
it was more dishwater blonde as I think about it.  And there was --
what-was-his-name?  Oh, yes, Doug.  But, no, he was just balding.  What
hair he had was fair.

   "Can't think of one, can you?" she challenged.  "Yes, you should take a
Latin lover," she repeated even more confidently.  "They are EXTREMELY
sexy. They are the best.  They can do magic with their tongues and lips and
hands -- not to mention their cocks.  And they know how to treat a woman
and how to really satisfy her -- oh, how they can satisfy her," she said
dreamily, her mind in some other place for a moment.  "There's a reason why
women seek them out." She was a much more worldly woman than I -- having
taken many, many lovers over the years -- and I had to give it to her that
she certainly had the experience to back her words.

   But I found what she said disturbing because -- I mean -- we weren't
talking about some new puppy I was to acquire.  'You should get a German
Shepherd.  They're really the best breed.' Hmmm.  I'm a liberated woman,
live in a cosmopolitan area and take some pride in the fact that I have
good friends of many races, friends I can hang out with and talk seriously
with.  Our relationships were built more on our intelligence, circles we
moved in, mutual backgrounds and interests than on anything else.  But I
had to admit she was right.  I had never been serious emotionally about
anyone who was of another race or culture.  But I tried to be light hearted
and not let her know what I was thinking.  (Why do we try to play games
with those who know us so well?  Sigh)

   "You mean Lucy really was hot for Desi's buns?" I laughed, hoping to
lighten the mood.

   "Yep, she sure was," she snickered too.

   "But as I recall, ol' Desi had trouble keeping it in his pants," I
continued jovially.

   "Ah, yes," she sighed, more serious now.  "That is their one fault. 
They just can't seem to leave the ladies alone, hardly ever being faithful
to just one." Then levity overtook her again, "Or two!"

   We both laughed heartily.  The kind of laugh that starts down in your
tummy and sort of erupts into your cheeks and out your mouth.  A laugh that
comes after a glass or two of a smooth wine.  A shared laugh.  A connection
of spirits of long standing.  It was the kind of laugh that dear friends
share and think will go on forever.  That they think they will share more
than once.  Hope they'll share more than once....  And then our
conversation turned to other things.  But her words were like tiny seeds
planted in my brain.  They took root there and, like new vines of ivy, they
wove their way into my psyche....

   ***********

   I'm not sure if it was his wavy hair or his hungry eyes that first
caught my attention.  Not too tall, not slim but certainly not heavy
either, he looked to be close to my age, probably younger, leaning there
against the wall, his papers in his hand.  We were all massed together
while the customs officials made sure each of us had the correct
documentation.  We were indeed a lot like a bunch of cattle.  At those
times -- the ones where petty authority figures impose their annoying
importance on others -- I have learned to say the serenity prayer several
times and go into a slight trance, the better to endure the tribulation. 
He, on the other hand, I guessed, was one of those who had never honed that
skill.  He seemed restless.  Like a trapped stallion he shifted his weight
from foot to foot, urgently eager to be through with this process and stomp
onto the ship.  His eyes met mine briefly, but it was the kind of
connection that is shallow, his mind focused on completing this process as
quickly as possible.  But I am quite certain that it was not my own
projection that I saw -- the hunger in those eyes -- the look a man has
when he's ungratified and longs for something more -- something that will
bring him satisfaction.

   I lost track of him then, as we moved through the endless lines and
corridors, getting this stamped and that OK'd.  I thought about him once or
twice that afternoon - his black, thick, wavy hair -- his dark, hungry eyes
-- his smooth brown skin.  I wondered if he had settled down.  That's the
thing about a cruise ship.  One of the main purposes is to relax and take
care of yourself.  I wondered how he was going about doing that.  Gambling,
eating, swimming, drinking, making passes at beautiful or homely women,
fucking.  <<Oh, why do I always end of thinking about sex?>> I laughed to
myself.  <<Insatiable.>> I chuckled.

   There was the boring evacuation drill, which we could endure only
because they had filled us with a luscious lunch.  Then it was do this and
do that and once again we found ourselves eating.  The dining room was so
elegant, like a fine restaurant.  After all the food and not much activity,
I decided to head to the top deck for a stroll around the track, the better
to work off some of the calories.  The sun had set but it was still light,
and the sea was calm.  It was lovely up there with a soft, warm, salty
tropical breeze blowing over my skin.  I'd chosen lose shorts, a sports
bra, a tank top and my best walking tennies.  I was dressed for serious
exercise, not for glamour.  There were more people there than I had
expected.  Some were walking in pairs, but most were solo like myself.  I
like to walk alone.  That way I don't feel like I have to pace myself with
another and I can let my mind wander and contemplate.

   As I was finishing my forth round on the track, he passed me.  Actually,
at first I didn't realize it was him.  I first noticed his buns.  They were
round and firm and he had worn shorts that set them off nicely.  Watching
him stride off in front of me I suddenly recognized that dark, wavy hair.
He had a quick gait that looked very sexy with that rolling derri re and it
wasn't long before he had lapped me again so I got another look.  Yummy. 
'I like a man with a good butt,' I thought.  Well, actually I like the way
it contracts when he's thrusting and cumming -- 'Oh, stop it,' I told
myself.  'Earth to Babs, Earth to Babs' -- I could almost hear one of my
brothers teasing me.  However, I still wished I'd taken a little more care
with my clothing.  <<Maybe if I had worn those tight biker shorts...,>> I
was dreaming when I heard, "Hi.  I noticed you at dinner tonight." To say I
was startled was an understatement.  And what kind of a way is that to
start a conversation with a perfect stranger....

   I'm sure my body jerked a little and then I reacted almost instinctively
replying coolly, "Oh, really?  Well, I didn't see you," which was true.  I
mean I had certainly _noticed_ him earlier, but I didn't _see_ him at
dinner.  It's always better not to lie.  He surprised me again when he
laughed aloud seeming to expect that response.

   "You were looking good in that white dress," he continued glancing
sideways at me no doubt to observe what I would say or do.  <<Gawd, he has
beautiful, dark eyes>> I thought.  Then I remembered the dinner.  I had
worn a white sundress and sling-back while sandal pumps.  Casual but not
too casual.  After a glass of a fine wine, I found myself flirting with one
of the fellows at our table.  He and his girl friend were on their first
cruise and he was a good ol' boy if I ever saw one.  She had tried to dress
him up, but his tattoos peeked out beneath his shirtsleeves and he seemed a
bit confused at the array of forks and spoons.  Still, they showed promise
at being a really fun couple - unpretentious with a zest for life -- and
she didn't seem to mind that I was enjoying teasing and being teased back.

   I decided to ignore his obvious reference to my looks.  "Thank you," I
replied sweetly, but inwardly I wished he had said something about my
esprit or intelligence.  <<But then again, how could he do that?>> I
thought.  <<He doesn't even know me.>> I was about to make a reference to
my entertaining dinner companions, when he veered off toward the stairs,
waved his hand and said, "I'll see you around."

   I was left disoriented.  I mean here he had taken up my slower pace
striding next to me, making small talk, and I was just getting over my
surprise of his "introduction" when he was gone.  I was annoyed.  I had
surely "noticed" him -- and if he had half a wit about him he probably knew
I "noticed" him -- and now he had disappeared off the deck.  I wanted to
know more about him.  I wanted to talk and talk some more.  I wanted to
brush up against him "accidentally" to see how he felt.  Maybe he left
quickly on purpose to disturb me.  Then I began to have some self-doubt. 
Maybe I had been too distant or aloof.  Perhaps I should have been
friendlier.  Maybe I should have accepted his overtures in a warmer manner.
I wonder what he was thinking....  Then some words of wisdom from my dear
old friend came back to me.  "It's a total waste of your time to try to
figure out what's going on in a man's head," she had said.  And I laughed
aloud at the incidents we had shared that prompted her remarks so long ago.
I finished that revolution and headed for the stairs myself.  ******

   To say that the following morning I dressed without thought would be
incorrect.  I picked out a tight but classy-looking pair of white slacks
and a loose, brightly printed tropical blouse with white sandals.  I guess
you could say I wanted to look my best in case he was there at breakfast.
He wasn't.  Or at least I didn't see him.  I was disappointed and I was
pouting as I headed out after breakfast to see what activities were on
today's schedule.  I stopped in at the library (of course!) to see what was
available and wandered around the gift store.  In the late morn I took in a
funny show at the main theater which sparked my mood a bit so I signed up
for a late afternoon massage.  After lunch I decided a workout was just
what I needed before the massage.

   After changing into a pair of tight black shorts, sports bra and tank
top I headed for the gym.  I like to look half way decent while working
out, but the main focus for me has always been on staying in shape.  First
the upper body.  I guess it was all the food and relaxation that was making
me go for four repetitions of 12 on the upper body lifts.  Not easy -- have
to work at it.  Some of my muscles were tightening up due to the unexpected
stress but I dismissed that knowing the masseuse would be able to take
those knots out with a firmly pressing elbow.  The gym was on an upper deck
at the bow of the boat and it was a too hot and very humid room.  I began
to sweat -- a lot.  Picking up a towel I returned and completed some lower
arm pushes before working my lower body.  Both legs lifting the weights
simultaneously 1 repetition, 2 repetitions, 3 repetitions, 4 - oh, heck,
make it 5.  By the time I got to the thighs I was panting a bit and pretty
much soaking wet.  I was on a particularly torturous machine in which my
legs were open as wide as I could stretch them -- to a number 9 -- and I
had to bring my knees together, over and over.  1,2,3....12, rest for one
minute.  1,2,3....12, two repetitions, rest.  I was just finishing the
final repetition when I heard a familiar voice to my left say, "Looks like
you're having a little difficulty there." Here I was -- my legs propped
wide open, my hair sticking to my head from the sweat which had also soaked
my shirt, my shoulders glistening with sweat even with a towel around my
neck -- sitting next to just-entered-the-gym,
looking-very-sexy-in-his-tank-top-with-his-chest-hairs-stickingout,
nice-firm-muscles-on-his-arms-flexing, grin-on-his-face Mr.  Cool.  I was
annoyed.

   "Yes, well some of us come here for a serious work out," I said dryly --
or as dryly as I could under the circumstances.  Out of the corner of my
eye I thought I saw a bit of a hurt look come over his face, but I could
have been mistaken.  I guess I was so abrupt because I was feeling
defensive.  I had wanted to look my best the next time I ran in to him --
my most alluring, sexy self -- not like a poor cur that had washed up on
the shore.

   "Besides, I was expecting you to stick around a little bit longer last
night on the track," I scolded, "so we could talk." Where that statement
came from, I do not know.  I somehow heard myself say the words, but that
wasn't really like me at all.  Again, perhaps it was due to my
defensiveness.

   He shot me one of those looks -- a fleeting one -- which said 'Gawd
that's an annoying female trait.' But he was also an experienced guy, and
he knew that if he ventured down that road he could kiss good-bye any
chance he had of getting what he wanted.  Being a man wise in the ways of
avoiding the doghouse, he chose his words carefully, grinning slightly,
"Well, I guess you could say that as a mind reader I'm pretty much
illiterate."

   Now if there's one thing that's an almost instant turn on for me it's a
man who can make me laugh.  Some guys know that intellectually, but they go
about it all wrong -- by telling -- or trying to tell -- a joke.  It's
never about a 'joke' -- at least for me it's not.  It's always about the
wit and whimsy of the moment.  Someone who sees the preposterousness of
human nature and comments on it in a way that tickles me -- never mean or
cruel, just funny.

   He was watching me closely and I couldn't resist a chortle, which broke
the ice.  Well, I suppose that's not an apt way to put it considering the
temperature and humidity in the room, but we were able to exchange a few,
more pleasant comments to one another after that.  Then it was time for me
to go to make my massage appointment.  As I climbed off the machine, I
raised my hand like he had the evening before and said cheerfully, "I'll
see you around," as I headed out the room.  <<Yes, it's better to be the
leaver than the one who's left>> I thought, but I just couldn't resist a
quick glance back.  He was watching me -- with a little smile on his face.

   The masseuse was a small, sturdily built Filipino woman.  She was at
least six inches shorter than I, and it is always amazing to me how a small
woman can do such vigorous manipulation.  She was cheerful and we talked
quite a bit at first, especially as she was pressing out the knots in my
shoulders.  Then our conversation began to lag as I became more into the
session.  While the soft, restful music was playing in the background, the
aroma of the lavender from the candles and from the oil was lulling me into
a light trance.  At one point I remember fantasizing that those were his
hands moving over my back and my legs ...  he was firmly stroking my feet.
And I found myself wondering if Dark Eyes -- as I was now beginning to call
him -- could give a good massage.  I had seen his hands while in the gym.
They were not the hands of a laborer, but they did look strong.  I wonder
what it would be like to in his arms....  *****

   Because my partner is a Big Bands fan and we were planning to head over
to hear the Benny Goodman-like band later that evening, I chose a dress
which would flow while dancing.  It wasn't really all that revealing a
frock -- more suggestive of the curves that lay beneath the cloth than
exposing them.  But I will say that I took extra care with my grooming that
evening -- a little extra blush, a little extra mascara, extra curl on my
shortly-cropped hair -- but not admitting to myself that I was secretly
hoping Dark Eyes would be there -- watching me.  We had gotten to the
dining room right at the appointed hour so we could leave as soon as we
were through with our meal.  The others at our table had arrived early too
since we had decided we would all be heading to the dance floor together.
During dinner, however, I did not see him.  Gradually, I got caught up in
the gaiety of our group and was anxious to be off when the last dessert was
completed.  Only then -- when I stood up to leave -- did I see him.  He was
seated behind me -- about half way cross the room at my back -- and that is
why I had failed to see him earlier.  He flashed a big smile at me and
nodded slightly.  I was about to wave when my partner took my hand and led
me from the room.  I glanced back but he seemed engrossed in the
conversation at his table.

   I felt disappointed.  All that attention to detail had been wasted. 
Well, perhaps not wasted because the other guys in our group seemed wide
eyed with appreciation, but it had been planned to elicit that response
from Dark Eyes and all he got was a fleeting glance.

   The band was very, very good -- only 8 pieces but all quite accomplished
musicians.  I, like many others apparently, am somewhat delighted at the
revival of the swing bands.  Their recent -- well over the past few years
-- comeback has been a refreshing contrast to the heavy metal/rap noise. 
(Notice I didn't say music.) The first dance was a swing number and the
band definitely got into it, 'bending' the melody when necessary to make it
almost seem like jazz.  I couldn't help but look around the room.  It's
always humorous to me when I go to a swing-band dance because most everyone
under 30 is dressed in 'costume' like poodle skirts and loose trousers with
suspenders or as flappers.  They look so darling decked out as their
parents or grandparents even greatgrandparents must have looked years ago.
Those 40 or older, however, are always dressed in the style of day.  The
older ones must look 'hip' to today's 'look,' while the younger ones know
how to dress for the occasion.  But all in all everyone seemed to be having
a great time.  The dance floor was packed.

   I had just finished my fourth dance -- a samba -- and was feeling
somewhat breathless when I saw Dark Eyes come in to the room.  Nearly all
the tables were taken by this time so his party had to sit way in the back.
I tried to watch for him but there were so many people I lost track of
where he had gone.  My partner and I then twostepped an especially
strenuous swing number and were headed back to our table, when suddenly
Dark Eyes was right in front of me.  I am sure there was surprise
registered on my face when he asked sweetly, "May I have the honor of this
dance?" I couldn't help a spontaneous smile.  It had been framed as a
question, but actually it was more like a rhetorical question -- one that
isn't a question at all but seems like one.  It's actually a statement.  My
partner looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to ask, "You OK?" And when
I grinned, he nodded, returned my smile and headed back to our table.

   The band struck up their first slow number of the evening -- a REAL
oldie -- "The Tennessee Waltz." I tried to remember that last time I had
danced to that song -- of if indeed I had EVER danced to that tune.  Maybe
I was trying to keep my mind focused so I wouldn't get lost or overly
excited in his embrace.  He held me firmly, but not hard.  Close but not as
if he were demanding more.  His hands were warm and he knew the steps --
gliding, leading me over the floor.  I really do like to waltz.  It's such
a romantic interchange.  His movements were smooth and -- what was it --
oh, yes, almost effortless.  He moved like a man who knew what he was doing
and where he was going.

   His polite and courteous manner coupled with his gentle but firm touch,
lured me into a feeling of intimacy I wouldn't have expected so soon.  We
talked of this and that and I began to feel like I'd known this man a whole
lot longer than was actually true.  I found out he lived fairly near to me
-- and that he could pretty much make his own hours at work.  He told me
how much he loved the mountains and mountain climbing -- even in the snow!
His eyes lit up as he described his fondness for his two beautiful show
dogs.  I found out that he did Navy Seal training -- for fun!  That
training is so tortuous that I had trouble imaging anyone finding it fun,
but that did explain why he might have looked hurt over my comment at the
gym.  Even though I tried to keep them at bay, images of his sexy body kept
jumping into my head.  I just hoped my eyes didn't look too glazed over as
I would have a flash of those muscles rippling beneath that brown skin and
that very short, very black hair on his chest.  I was thoroughly enjoying
myself and was just thinking that this might work when the music ended, he
thanked me, escorted me back to my table, turned and returned to his party.

   Once again I found myself annoyed at this pompous ass.  Well, I suppose
that's a bit of an over statement, but the thought of 'how dare he' did
definitely enter my mind.  Even though all he had done was -- well it was
what you would expect any gentleman to do.  But I had wanted him to stay
there with me -- on the dance floor -- telling me more - holding me tighter
-- flirting -- teasing.  He should have read my mind....

   *****

   The following morning he didn't come to breakfast.  Or at least he
didn't come at the same time I did.  I know because, of course, I looked
for him and I knew where to look this time.  He was not in his assigned
seat.  I hid my annoyance and anticipation and instead left quickly to get
ready to go to the pool.  I had heard about it and wanted to be there early
because the lounges and the area around the pool filled up quickly.  Or so
I had been told.  Actually I was pretty excited about being in a salt water
swimming pool because I'd never experienced that before and wanted to jump
in before it was too crowded.  I was not disappointed.  The water was
divine.  The ship pumped the fresh, warm, Caribbean Sea water continuously
into the pool after the ship was away from port.  The water had been
filtered so it was very clear, but still it was very salty and warm.  Felt
wonderful on my skin.  And because I love the smell of seawater -- does
something tingly to my nose and sinuses -- I was breathing deeply and
splashing myself.  Then I lowered myself so that only my face from the nose
up was visible -- all the better to sniff that luxurious aroma.  I closed
my eyes and imagined myself back on the Kona Coast in Hawaii where the
water is as clear as this pool and you get the added bonus of watching
tropical fish swimming in front of your mask and snorkel.

   When I opened my eyes I saw him -- strolling by -- but he did not see
me, of course, because I was partially submerged.  <<Gawd, what a body>> I
thought, my eyes open wide drinking in the sight before me.  He was wearing
a red racing brief swimsuit which set off his beautiful dark skin.  He
didn't have what I would call a perfect body, but it was pretty close. 
Muscles in just the right places, just enough hair.  Dark, short hair on
his chest and tummy -- and belly <<and no doubt on his balls and groin>> I
thought as my pussy began getting even wetter -- this time from the inside
out.  I had a sudden image of myself running my fingers through that hair,
fondling his balls.  "Ummmmm," I growled automatically, then hoping those
around me in the pool thought I was making a comment about our salty
surroundings.

   I watched as a woman at least 5 or 10 years older than he came up to
him, kind of pointing her finger at him as she came toward him.  He was
smiling and courteous to her, nodding his head and gesturing with his
hands. She was wearing a bikini and for her age she looked pretty good.  As
I watched them conversing I noticed that her nipples were getting hard
beneath the thin fabric of her suit.  I was jealous, especially since this
fact had obviously not missed his notice.  I looked to see if he would have
a responding erection, but he did not.  After a few moments, she handed him
something and they parted.  A male friend immediately came up to him and
they were doing the good-buddy thing, obviously talking about what had just
occurred.  Dark Eyes smiled broadly, showed his friend what was in his
hand, and then shook his head from side to side slightly as if to indicate
"No." I did notice, however, that he did stand up a little taller and pull
is tummy in a little tighter while continuing that big grin.

   He put his towel down on a lounge and headed over to the pool, which by
now was pretty crowded.  I had my entire head out of the water but my hair
was wet and there were many people around me.  He said "Hi" to a few folk
and stepped over the edge.  He was about knee deep in the water when he
noticed me.  He took a double take, I'm sure not anticipating me there.  I
was expecting his silly smile and a wave, but instead what I got were those
hungry eyes.  That look that a man can give a woman that says "I'm horny. I
want you.  I long for you.  I need you." It's a look that women crave.  I'm
no exception and when I saw that look -- that look of hunger -- that look
of pure lust -- that look that I needed to see -- I could feel it in my
stomach and my body responded, my heart beating faster, my breathing more
shallow.  I was wondering if he saw the same look of desire and passion in
my eyes that I saw in his, because I'm certain it was there.  I noticed him
immediately getting a hard-on, which -- unfortunately for him -- became
pretty apparent because of his skimpy suit.  He naturally lowered himself
quickly into the pool and then I saw that little grin return to his face.
He waved, and I smiled and waved back.

   In some ways I suppose it's a draw back for men that their penises
respond so obviously when they're aroused.  And -- how do they put it --
oh, yes, the penis doesn't lie.  So different than for a woman.  I mean
it's not like a guy can go into the bathroom, look down and say, "But she
comes from a very nice family.  She would be a good homemaker.  She'll be
loyal and true." If it ain't there, it ain't there, as they say.  If he's
attracted to a woman, his brain automatically sends a signal that says,
"Get ready!" and, of course, he does.  I was secretly delighted that I had
had that effect on him.

   He took his time wandering over to me, then seated himself beside me. 
We exchanged pleasantries, but I honestly cannot remember exactly what we
said to one another.  It was more the mood of the moment and the tone of
voice than the actual words that was important.  I believe that somewhere
in the midst of the conversation he told me about his past military
experience, his schooling, his large family, some of the prejudice he'd
experienced, but I can't be sure if I learned that then -- or was if it was
at a much later date....  What I do remember is how he reached for my hand
which was on the bench between us.  There, beneath the water, his hand
moved over mine, gripping it, encircling it, then moving it so our fingers
were intertwined.  We continued to make small talk while he stroked and
manipulated my palm, my fingers, the back of my hand.  I have no idea why I
was becoming aroused simply because he was rubbing my hand, but I was.  It
was romantic and erotic at the same time.  We laughed and whispered and
conversed -- all the while he was fondling one small part of my extremity
but it almost began to feel like he was fingering my pussy, especially when
he began to use both hands on my one.  The nipples on my breasts began
getting hard as he took his time, arousing me slowly.  I was wondering if
my upper body was becoming red or flushed as I noticed him looking at my
neck.  Then he leaned over across me as if to reach for something on the
other side of me, and my breasts tingled as his shoulder rubbed over them
and I gasped a little as his head -- with that thick, dark, wavy hair --
brushed over my collarbone.  I was loving being this close to him and
feeling him take me to a state of arousal I didn't think possible with so
little stimulation.  I do remember him glancing at my breasts and murmuring
something like, "Those look so delicious.  I wish I could feel them and
suckle them -- for hours," which had the immediate affect of making my
nipples even harder.

   Gradually he moved my hand until it was on his thigh, which was muscular
and strong.  I automatically gripped the firm flesh but then moved a bit
higher, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible due to the throng of
playful revelers around us.  His cock was getting stiff, but not as hard as
I somehow knew it could be.  I squeezed and stroked as much I dared and
found myself breathing faster and heavier with every second that passed. 
He smiled sweetly and then moved my hand away.  I think he did that for
both of us.  I know I was getting more and more into it and more and more
excited and - although not yet at the point of no return -- I was nearing a
state where I might abandon my natural modesty.

   "You going to work out later?" he queried.  My mind had been elsewhere,
but I regained my composure and tried to focus on his words.  "Yes, I
thought I would," I lied because I hadn't been thinking of that at all.  It
hadn't even entered my mind that I might spend some of my last day on this
beautiful boat pushing weights and cycling in a humid, stuffy gym.

   "Good," he replied as if sealing the deal.  We talked for a little
longer, holding hands there beneath the water.  My body began to calm down
and, although I couldn't see or feel it, I was pretty sure his penis was
again flaccid.  I released his hand and excused myself rising to leave the
pool.  There was what seemed to be a multitude of people playing in the
warm water.  I was a little surprised when he rose too and accompanied me
back to the chase lounge where my towel was lying.  Because I've never been
really comfortable in skimpy bathing suits, I was wearing a black and
magenta malot that showed my curves without making them obvious.  I could
feel his eyes roaming over my body as I walked ahead of him.  I wondered if
his sight would linger over the roundness of my hips, just as mine had over
his a few days earlier.  When we arrived at the chase, he smiled sweetly
and said that he had to attend a meeting.  Suddenly I had this fear that
perhaps he found my body unacceptable, but I realized my concerns were for
naught when he leaned over slightly and whispered, "I'll see you this
afternoon -- in the gym."

   The sun was climbing higher in the sky as I lay down on the lounge.  I
know it's not wise these days to get a tan, but there is something about
soaking up those rays that invigorates me like nothing else -- especially
near the equator, in the tropics.  I suppose there is some clinical
explanation -- like the manufacture of Vit D or the release of Vit A or the
production of melatonin -- but all I know is I always feel incredible after
even a short exposure to our nearest star.  So it was with a spring in my
step that I headed back to my cabin to clean up and change for lunch. 
Little did I know I would need that extra energy in a little while.  *****

   When I arrived at the gym that afternoon only the attendant, Dark Eyes
and one other fellow were there which was not surprising considering most
of the passengers were busy making the most of the ship's opportunities --
all the better to create fond memories.  My memories -- I suspected --
would be as powerful as any of theirs.

   Dark Eyes didn't see me at first.  He was preoccupied doing some bench
presses.  I strolled over to a nearby machine in time to witness him
pushing up what must have been nearly 200#.  What amazed me was that this
didn't appear to be a particularly strenuous task for him even though his
muscles were toned but not at all bulky.  <<He must be very strong>> I
thought.  I was doing some upper arm lifts myself when he noticed me.  He
sent me a look that seemed to be one of relief and anticipation at the same
time.  Perhaps he had thought I wouldn't show.  I say that because it was
pretty obvious he had been there for awhile.  His body was glistening with
sweat.  He nodded to me and continued his tasks.  When I looked around
again I discovered that the other gymnast was gone.  Only the attendant
remained, and she was occupied with reading a magazine.  Without missing a
beat, Dark Eyes headed over to her.  I think he handed her something, but I
couldn't be sure because his back was to me.  What I did see was her send a
slight glance my way before she got up and exited.  The rhythmic disco
music was playing, but I thought I heard the sound of a lock closing on the
door.

   Dark Eyes walked directly to me.  There were no words.  He held out his
hand, smiling slightly and as I took it he pulled me up and into his
embrace.  He had that randy smell that men get when they haven't had sex in
awhile but are about to get it.  It's that raw male sex aroma and it
surprised me and turned me on at the same time as I breathed deeply and my
lungs filled with HIM.

   Latin libido.  I had heard about it.  My dear friend -- she had
certainly told me plenty about it.  "You'll never experience anything like
the Latin libido," she had said once.  "It must be one of the strongest
forces in the universe.  Once you've known it you will never be satisfied
with anything less." Before Dark Eyes I had never encountered the power she
described, but I honestly don't know if there would have been enough words
to prepare me.  It was sort of like a cross between being hit by a truck
and being caught in a spell....  I don't know if it's the same for all
women, but I know for me I pick up the energy of a man when I'm near him.
But more than just picking up Dark Eyes' energy I almost felt like I was
one with it, my passion rising quickly to his level.  He was pulling down
my shorts, fingering my pussy and kissing me while holding me tightly.  How
exactly he did all that simultaneously I do not know, but I was so excited
I didn't know much at that point.  My shorts were around my thighs when
Dark Eyes turned me around and gently maneuvered me onto my knees on the
seat of the exercise machine, putting my ass at just the right height for
him to stand behind me.  Then he took me.  Right there.

   No long foreplay.  He knew -- or could tell -- or felt my arousal. 
Gawd, I wanted him -- I had wanted him for days -- and my pussy was wet
with anticipation.  When his cock -- harder than any I had ever felt --
entered me it was unbridled craving and passion.  For both of us.  I'm
certain I came -- probably hard -- on him but what I remember most was that
hot, Latin, jitzm pumping into me, filling me fuller than I had ever been
-- so much so that my cunt couldn't hold it all and it began gushing out of
me.  I closed my eyes, all the better to bask in the vigor I had just
experienced, when Dark Eyes slowly pulled me to my feet.  I wondered if we
were through.

   I shouldn't have wondered.  I should have remembered my friend's words,
"Be prepared for as much lovin' as you can endure if you're ever lucky
enough to be with a Latin," she had moaned once.  He spread a couple of big
towels down on the floor and carefully urged me there, beside him.  We were
still mostly dressed when he began a slow removal of my clothing.  It was
almost as if he wanted to savor the exploration of my body -- not in a rush
now but time to honor and worship every part.  I began to see the wisdom in
what he had done.  The initial urgent passion was passed, replaced by a
still rising arousal that would remain for much longer.  My pussy was wet
and full of his cum so my whole body was primed.  Tenderly he took off my
shirt and kissed my arms from my hands to my shoulders.  Every time his
mouth touched my supersensitive skin it was like tiny ripples moving to my
pussy which was completely full of HIM.  As I lay there, he moved down and
removed my shoes.  <<How many men know how sensitive a woman's feet are>> I
wondered.  He did and he took his time, sucking a toe every now and then. I
was lying there totally engrossed in myself and him at the same time, my
body feeling him and feeling me almost without bounds.

   When he removed my shorts I remember thinking I didn't want him to
spread my legs because I might lose some of his deliciousness.  I shouldn't
have been concerned.  His mouth was there, tasting my juices and his juices
and then he rose quickly to my head.  I could smell my sex -- and his too
-- all over his face and I think I almost lost consciousness because I
remember shaking slightly.  Then his lips were on mine and he filled my
mouth full of US.  I had been French kissed -- what woman hasn't -- but I
had never experienced the ecstasy of mingled sex in my mouth, in my
nostrils, down my throat.  My arms automatically grabbed for him -- I
needed so desperately to hold him, hold him tighter than I had ever held
any man -- hold him to me -- make us one.  He let me have my way, pacing
the process.  It was like he could read my mind - doing just the things I
needed and wanted and desired to be done.  I didn't have to tell him
anything.  He knew.  He knew what and when to do it and it made it possible
for me to let go totally, trusting that this lover could take me to heights
I'd never experienced.

   When he ever so gently moved away from my embrace, he took my hands and
held them by the wrists over my head.  He kissed my forehead and my eyes
and gave me another passionate mouth kiss, which left me panting.  As his
caresses moved down my arms I could feel my nipples getting hard.  When I
looked down at him he was staring back at me -- holding me in his gaze --
as he pulled his lips back and gripped the base of my sports bra.  If I
close my eyes right now I can still see that image in my head.  It was so
scary in a way -- those white teeth and almost a grimace -- as he pulled
the bra up away from my breasts.  Almost like he was poised to nip, he left
his lips pulled back so that I could see his teeth.  I am not at all into
pain and for an instant I was afraid he might be going to hurt me.  I was
startled when I realized my nipples were getting even harder, possibly as a
reaction to the possibility of being bitten.  I shouldn't have feared.  He
-- I realized -- did it for affect somehow knowing I would be turned on by
being frightened but not so much so that I would be seriously alarmed --
just enough so that it would add to the thrill.  Instead -- while still
looking directly at me -- he stuck out his tongue and began a wet lick. 
First one breast.  Then the other.  Then back to the first again.  As he
continued I think I began to moan, it felt so good.

   I don't remember exactly how it happened but -- well let me see -- I
think he moved his hands down my arms until he was at my bra and then he
removed it.  What I do recall so clearly that I can almost feel it at this
very moment is his sucking.  It was so much like a baby suckling.  His eyes
were closed and I heard him making little murmuring sounds.  And the beauty
of it was that he seemed so very, very sincerely to need and want to do
that.  It was for him as much as for me.  My heartstrings were being tugged
as they had never been previously.  Moments before I had been caught up in
lust, then afraid and now I was holding and nurturing an infant.  It was
like my feelings as well as my body were there for him to play with. 
Perhaps the word play isn't the best one -- it was more like they were
there for him to use -- to bring us both what we desired so deeply.  I felt
like he could not only read my mind, but my body and my emotions as well.

   "Latins are pleasers," she had confided to me so long ago.  "They get
off on pleasuring a woman.  Doing whatever she needs to be satisfied is
their goal.

   Oh, they get their own needs taken care of.  No doubt about that.  But
it's almost like their primary objective is to leave a woman totally
appeased and contented -- helping her reach her highest peaks." In my mind
I could see that glassy look her eyes had that day and I wondered if my
eyes too told the tale of what I was living.

   When he entered me again he had maneuvered my body so that his feet were
braced against the wall.  I thought it a bit odd that he had wanted me to
move to that position but I gradually understood the wisdom of his plan. 
He began by thrusting slowly and shallowly.  My knees were drawn up and my
feet were on his beautiful butt as I rocked in rhythm to his movements. 
Then I felt him shift his weight ever so slightly, bracing his feet, and he
plunged deeper into me than I had ever felt.  Automatically, my toes curled
under and I gasped jerking my head back, lifting my chin.  He was growling
lowly and tenderly biting my exposed neck, as my body shivered with one of
the most intense orgasms I have ever experienced.  I know it lasted for
over a minute.  Then he backed off a little while continuing to nuzzle my
face.  "You Okay?" he whispered softly in my ear.  All I could manage was a
feeble nod.  "Let me know if you need to stop," he continued while nibbling
gently on my ear.  Again I nodded and I think I was able to manage an
affirmative, "Uh huh," but I didn't want him to stop.  I didn't ever want
him to stop.  I wanted to go on forever....

   He rose up sitting on his haunches.  He was still between my legs which
were willingly open for/to him.  I saw him lick his thumb as he looked at
my pussy, the head of his cock resting at my ready opening.  "You have a
beautiful pussy -- so pink.  Such a tiny, feminine clit," murmured as he
again entered me slowly and shallowly, rubbing my clit rhythmically with
his thumb.  Stroking my G-spot with that perfectly curved, rockhard dick
while massaging my clit once again sent me over the edge.  I remember
crying out and gripping the towels I was lying on.  I needed to hold on to
something -- hold tight to something -- to ground me because I was so out
of control.

   Then he lowered himself onto me and began fucking me -- well, I want to
say it was like regular, everyday fuck.  But it wasn't.  I had my arms
around him and was loving the feel of his body over mine and our joining;
that part was the same.  But he varied the rhythm and because his feet were
still braced against the wall he could vary with much skill the depth and
force of his penetration.  My pussy was wet from cum and sweat and we made
this sexy sloshing sound as his hips flopped against mine.  "I love the
sound we make together," he whispered.  I know I had at least two more
orgasms like that.  Maybe more.  I do know that for more than a day
afterward the whole area around my pussy was tingly and throbbing.  All
that pressure made my entire bottom feel more alive.  Twice I remember he
stopped -- his body tense -- as he instructed softly, "Don't move, baby." I
learned that this was his way of pacing himself.  "Almost came before I was
ready," he explained.  "Your pussy is so incredible -- like velvet." I
don't know to this day know if his words were truthful or if he was just
saying them for effect, but I do know that I adored hearing his compliments
and comments.  That they added fuel to my already smoldering body.

   Then he withdrew and lay his naked body alongside mine.  I loved the
feel of his warm skin.  I found myself with my eyes closed stroking him
lightly.  He -- I finally figured out -- was letting me rest a little.  But
he didn't leave me.  He lay with his body touching mind, all along mine. 
He reached over for his water bottle and offered me a drink.  I hadn't
realized how thirsty I was until then, or how sweaty I had become.  In some
ways I suppose it was good that the gym was so hot and humid or we might
have become chilled.  We talked for awhile.  We discovered we both liked
the same neighborhood deli, and we laughed at the thought that at sometime
in the past our paths might have crossed there.

   Dark Eyes was sort of sitting up leaning his weight on one hand as I
turned over to lie on my stomach while we talked.  Then I saw it.  It
startled me.  I don't know why, but I just hadn't expected it.  It was
certainly readily apparent to anyone else -- it's just that I -- well, I
guess I just hadn't thought that much about it.  There in the mirror so
very clear was the contrast -- his brown skin and my white.  Even with my
slight tan, his skin color was a marked contrast to mine.  His cock too --
this first time that I had really examined it -- surprised me.  The darkest
color I had ever seen on a penis previous to this was purple.  His was
black.  He saw the shock register on my face.  He sat still watching me
carefully and waiting to see what my further reaction would be.  And for a
fleeting instant I knew -- felt empathetically -- the prejudice he had
described.  Someone judging him -- rejecting him.  No, they really weren't
judging HIM or rejecting HIM because had they known him like I knew him
they would -- well, they would come to love him.  They were reacting to
their own preconceived conclusions and prejudices.  He, I am sure, was
assessing me too at that moment.  Would I be like others who saw only that
superficial difference -- the color of the skin, hair and eyes -- and
believe that all closer connections should be severed, if indeed they had
ever begun?  Would he see that look of "Oh, he's one of those" in my eyes?
Would he feel that grip in his gut of yet another person needing to have
him be one-down so they could be one-up?

   In many ways I think that Dark Eyes had ascended above that level in his
own personal development.  His treatment of me -- and others I was to learn
-- was like evidence or a model that that he didn't have a need to be
anything other than what he was.  He was damn good and he knew it, but he
didn't have to prove it to me or anyone.  What was it my friend had said?
Oh, yes, "Sex with attitude," she had sighed.  And Gawd, that man could
fuck.

   My epiphany over but my body not yet completely satisfied, I positioned
myself to take that beautiful black cock into my mouth.  He was not yet
hard when I began, using my tongue along the underside and sucking softly.
I could taste and smell sweat and cum and that made me want him even more.
I deep throated him a couple of times then I moved lower to lick and suck
his balls.  He situated himself so he was kneeling next to me and as I
reached for his balls with my mouth he took hold of his hard dick.  He
stroked it while I played with those powerful orbs.  He was moaning and
stroking when I felt a small amount of cum fall onto my face.  He
automatically reached for a towel and started thoughtfully to wipe me off.
"No I want it on me," I uttered and he laughed a little.  I smeared this
small amount of cum on my face knowing how soft it would make my skin. 
<<No need for wrinkle cream tonight>> I laughed to myself.

   "Come here.  I want to really fuck you," Dark Eyes growled.  I had never
known a man who could release as little or as much of his cum as he wanted,
but I came to learn that Dark Eyes knew well how to do that.  He could
control his orgasms so precisely that he made lovemaking an event like none
I had ever known -- before or since.  And when he fucked me that last time
-- hard, long, fast, slow, deep, shallow -- I think I may have lost
consciousness for a second or two.  I do remember his finale.  I was gently
sucking his tiny tits when he made a sound that was sort of like a cry and
a moan at the same time.  The strong muscles on his back and arms
contracted in rhythm with his butt and legs as he pressed himself
powerfully down onto/into me, cumming deep and filling in my eager pussy.

   We lay next to each other for a little while then, basking in the glow
of our passion, touching gently.  Eventually, I felt a little playful and
giggled, "You're a pretty lucky guy.  Meeting a new lover on a Caribbean
cruise." He was more serious, and smiling softly he replied, "Yes.  God has
been good to me, and now it's my job to see that I don't mess it up...."
*****

   I saw him one last time on that trip -- the next morning -- exiting
ahead of me down the gangplank.  He turned around briefly and caught my eye
almost like he had that first time four days ago.  Only this time the
connection wasn't shallow; it was deep and intimate.  He still had his wavy
hair, but his hungry eyes had been replaced -- with mischievous ones, now
accented by a sly smile.  And I wished more than ever in my heart that I
could tell her she had been right....

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