title: 9000 km away from home.
author: Hotpants
keywords: MF

I tried to imagine him with a squeeky voice, with bad breath. Ultra-macho, ultra-right wing, slow off the mark. It did not help. The sun burned down on me, I was wearing my ridiculous fashion cowboy hat - better than nothing. If only I would have paid attention to the direction, I get lost everywhere, I have no landmark memory, I would not even recognise the place if I was right in front of it. Two local engineering students had taken me there yesterday, I had met them in a rather touristy place a couple of blocks from the main square. He had immediately caught my eye when we walked in. Unsurprisingly, because he was tall and showed off his muscly arms in a sleeveless black shirt. Mexican men are romantic, my Mexican friend Maria had always told me. They make you laugh. They dance with you, write you poems, but they are not handsome, they are small and fat and funny. But the few ones that look good, they look really good, and then they are better than all the Europeans. "Tienen la cara de: Te cojo bien." Their face says: I'll fuck you good. I had not been convinced until yesterday. 

I had admired him from the periphery, maintaining the conversation with the students that took me there. God, he was cute! He had an amazing physical presence, he moved with such a masculine confidence. 100% testosterone. He made my blood boil. And he checked me out, I saw it, I felt it! I tried not to stare too obviously. Pretty face, too. He looked like the older rocker brother of Gael García. The two midgit engineering students, who additionally were 5 years younger than me, started getting on my nerves. Asking me if it is true that western women are so liberal when it comes to sex. Who do they think they are! Ricky Martin, or what? He wiped the table next to ours, he sure realised I was watching him. God, he stayed there at the table for an extra two minutes, looking over, doing nothing and I tried to ignore him, because entering with two midgits and then flirting with a supermodel-waiter is not exactly good behaviour. We had gone on to another place, he had pierced me with his eyes as I walked out, I had looked down. His image stayed in my mind all evening, I went home early and he had visited me in my sleep.

I could not stop thinking about him today and so I had set out to find him. I was sent from bar to bar, I kept asking, it was hot, and I was myself not sure what I was expecting from this, maybe just to be able to say to myself that at least I had tried. It was my last day in town. 

I entered yet another bar, this place could well be it. Small, plain, dark, empty during daytime. I went to the back bar and my heart stopped - was that really him? I had never expected to actually find the bar, let alone the waiter. Unsure what to do, I walked over to the empty bar and sat down, not showing any emotion, any interest I ordered

"Una Indio, por favor."

He put the open beer bottle in front of me and said, in English, with a smile and a cute accent

"You have come back!"

I ignored that. What had I been thinking? I wanted to go to the loo, my stomach was a little upset, I was wearing that hidious hat, but did not want to take it off, because my hair must be sticking to my head, soaked in sweat, my face must be bright red. 

"And where is your boyfriend?"

Oh shit, he did not even take the time to ask my name. That's the dilemma with latin men, particularly with Mexicans. If you want their respect, you have to make them suffer, take months to let them get in your pants, be jealous, mean, stress them out. Pretend you have only been with two or three men before them. Difficult, if you only have a couple of hours left in town. But I would rather leave with my pride intact than to enter the records as yet another easy blond white slut, no way I was going to let myself be used like that! I did not know what I had come for, maybe just to look at him once more, but I felt my anger build up. What did he think he would achieve with that kind of question?

"No tengo novio. Soy gay!"

He laughed out loud. A natural, manly laugh, a strong voice, a voice you would have expected to be produced from his ample chest.

"Of course!"

"¿Qué te da gracia?"

He wiped down the bar, then looked at me from his hazelnut eyes, irresistable smile. He walked around the bar. He took my hand.

"Come with me, I want to show you something!"

I staggered behind him, half resisting, half willing, half unable to act from surprise. He opened a door behind the bar, we entered a corridor. He stopped, pulled me over and pressed me against the wall, pinning my wrists. I gasped, I had not expected that. Was he going to rape me? Against my will, I felt my heartbeat rise in arousal. God he was so sexy, he blew my mind. A develish voice in my head started whispering: "Let go, just do it. What are you scared of? You will not regret it!" I looked at his face, devoid of expression, but very handsome, his chest. He smelled so nice and my whole body begged to lean up against him. We looked at each other for several heartbeats. I said nothing, neither did I try to escape. That was all he needed to know from me.

He released one of my wrists, and took my stupid hat off, dropped it on the floor. He reached out to arrange a couple of streaks of blond hair that the sweat had stuck onto my forehead, following slowly down my hairline with his fingertips. I started shaking, almost unnoticeably. His fingers continued their journey, behind my ear, and back front following my jaw line, holding my face. I thought he was going to kiss me and slightly leaned forward.

Instead he released my other arm and used both his hands to strip off my long sleeved shirt, that I wore to protect my arms and shoulders from the sun. I stayed with my arms to the side when he stroked my naked shoulders. My nipples hardened visibly, blood rushed through my body, through my mind, I was unable to form a clear thought. He inspected me. He took hold of the neck seam of my strappy top and, before I even realised what happened, he tore it apart down the front, and there I was, half naked, no bra, his eyes were pinned to the naked white female chest in front of him, firm round breasts with erect small nipples sticking into the air. He took my breasts in his hands, squeezing and stroking them, and, doing so, he started to make noises of arousal, breathing heavily, and his look lost some of the confident "I know i can have you.", it made way for some "God, you're unbelievable!" My last guards broke down, I gave in, closed my eyes and moaned in pleasure from those large hands around my breasts. He leaned over to lick the salty sweat from my breast, my nipples, my hands held on to his broad shoulders. He pressed up against me, pressed me against the wall in that gloomy dirty corridor, I put my arms around him, and felt his erection through both our trousers. I moved my hips so as to rub it, and he groaned. He reached down between my legs and I parted them, he grasped hold of my throbbing pussy.

He took off his shirt, and I admired him, he undid my trousers, then his, both dropped to the floor, my knickers followed, then his, releasing his proud, erect, slightly larger than average prick. He took a step back, but took only half a moment to look at me with my 1.80 m bright white nakedness, before he clasped hold of my leg, pulled it up and planted his prick in between my legs, entering me straight away. I was wet with sweat and juices, I felt him rise inside me and moaned in response. Somewhere in the back of my head there were the normally very powerful voices screaming something about HIV and pregnancy and that my travel insurance surely would not cover emergency contraception. We immediately entered a rather fast pace, I felt him slide in slide out, and every time he slid in I pressed forward to feel him deeper, we were in tight embrace and I felt his hot breath on my shoulder, heard his groans insight my ears, my face sideways, squashed against his chest. He penetrated me deeply and steadily, his testicles slapping against me, and I felt orgasm build up in me fast. He paused, and reached down to pick up my other leg. I jumped a little, wrapped my legs around him, my arms around his neck, he was strong enough to hold me up. He restarted banging me, jamming my back against the wall, his hands holding me by the hips, moving me back and forth, I gyrated my hips to support his pace, squeezing his prick with my pussy muscles to intensify the sensation. I gave out little cries every beat, he got faster and faster and I came shortly before he did, clenching my arms around his neck, biting into his shoulder and contracting around him rhythmically. He entered me even deeper and released a long moan, when I felt his cum spurt inside me, in between my contractions,  and him falling forwards, squashing me between himself and the wall. 

He released one of my legs, then the other. We separated, our skin sticky from the sweat, and as he pulled it out, semen ran down the inside of my legs. Both of us were out of breath, covered in sweat, I was still shaking a little from the powerful orgasm. None of us knew what to say. I started gathering my clothes, pulling up my knickers and trousers, picking up my long sleeve shirt and buttoning it up. I left the torn top there on the floor, as well as the silly hat. He followed my example, pulled up his knickers and trousers, but before he put on his shirt, he stepped up to me and hugged me, squeezed me, held me for several seconds and gave me a peck on the cheek. 

"I love you!"

Easily said, in all parts of the world. I went back through the door, entered the bar in trance, looked out for the ladies toilet. Spotted it, entered. Looked in the mirror, let water run, splashed it into my face.  Looked into the mirror again, saw a slightly run down appearance, the face of a stranger, a little tragic, hurt and sad green eyes with a feverish spark, a little lunatic. I suddenly started laughing, which transformed the face in the mirror, gave it life and joy and invincibility, even if the lunacy persisted. I did not go into one of the cubicles to clean the mess between my legs, I would do that later, in the hotel, where I still had my backpack. But I cleaned up my hair - that was better. 

When I came back into the bar, I was greeted with a smile. 

"You want a new beer? This one was open a long time!"

I picked up the bottle of Indio, which was still untouched and still chilled

"No te preocupes, ni tenía el tiempo para calentarse mucho." 

I said with a dirty grin. 

"What's your name?"

"Birgit. ¿Y tú, cómo te llamas?"

He looked at me puzzled. 

"How? Burrrrguid?"

"Algo así."

"Un plácer, Burrrguid. I am Juan Pablo. But my friends call me Ceviche."

I burst out in laughter. 

"¿Ceviche? ¿Y por qué eso?"

"It has been my favourite food since I was a little child. I grew up at the coast..."

It was like we were living our first date in reverse, we chit-chatted like what had just happened had never happened. He refused to answer me in Spanish. I refused, with equal insistence, to speak English. I stayed for three beers before I had to leave for my overnight bus. 

"Come back any time you like!"

he said, scanning me with his eyes top to bottom. Then he added, probably tongue in cheek

"Or marry me and take me there!"

"Hmmmm.... quizás!"

A long embrace and then our first kiss. Very sensual, very intense, very slow, very tasty. I could feel some movement down his trousers, he was coming back to life. He petted my backside as I walked out, I was happy. All the way during the busride, I tried to ignore those rational voices, telling me off through the beer haze... That's where the prejudices about western women came from in the first place, stupid horny girls on holidays taking liberties they would normally not take! What if he had something? What if you'll regret it for the rest of your life? And how are you going to make sure you're not pregnant, what if you are? Concentrating on the pleasant sensations of soreness between my legs that reminded me of what may well have been the best sex of my life, I shut the voices up. Take a break! You only live once, don't you?