Tasting Candy: Over 60 Erotic Pregnancy Stories

Book Themes:

Bareback, Breeding, Creampie, and Sex With Str

angers

Word Count:

5,288

After the most brutal and heart wrenching autumn I’d ever experienced, I couldn’t help but dream of going south. Of traveling to some place exotic and warm, filled with happiness and salsa music, where I could forget everything about where I’d come from, or the loss I’d just suffered.

I knew I needed to recover from the death of my wife and our child, and I couldn’t do that at home, surrounded by their memories.

So, with my work’s blessing, I booked myself for a month long vacation in beautiful Havana, where I could immerse myself in a culture so different from my own and find my footing again. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen, but the moment I set my eyes on Isabel, my entire world was flipped upside down.

It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous — though she was, no sense in lying about that — it was that she had this strange little coy smile, her full lips turning up just at the corner as if everything was an inside joke.

I was the last one onto the tour bus and so she had me sit next to her, and there was a faint scent of mangoes or papaya or some delicious fruit that seemed to emanate from her. Just from that first moment, I was hooked.

The trip we were taking was across the island a ways, and I would be spending hours sitting next to her.

I was quiet at first. Shy, I guess. I’d been married for twelve years, so I wasn’t used to speaking to women I didn’t know. Especially not women as beautiful as Isabel.

But when we were driving down one of the roads, her hand went to my thigh as she pointed out the window.

“That is the highest bridge on the island,” she said in her accented voice, and I could hear the pride there. She was eager to share that bit of knowledge with me.

I might not be the most suave man out there, with my lack of dating experience in the past decade, but I was thankful my tolerance for the heat meant I got away with a nice light pair of linen pants and a short sleeved, button up shirt. I didn’t look like the horrible dorky tourists that filled the rest of the bus.

It also helped give me a bit more courage when talking with her.

“Impressive,” I said, peering at the bridge and the beautiful valleys beyond it, the lush green jungle all about. “Shame we’re not driving over it then,” I remarked with a smile.

“There’s nothing much out that way other than Varadero,” she said, mentioning the closest tourist resort. I’d wanted a more authentic experience, and so opted for a hotel closer to the capital of Cuba.

I once read that if you wanted to hang out with other Canadians to go to Varadero, but to spend time with Cubans, go to Havana. I was pleased that the advice seemed mostly true.

“Have you ever worked there?” I asked.

“Not usually. I prefer to be closer to the city,” she said, her coy smile turning up the corner of her lips once more.

For the next three days I was going to be with her, at her side, as we explored the no-doubt still touristy locations, though I hoped to get a glimpse of what it was really like. To live in Cuba, a place so different from home.

“Me too,” I replied, running a hand back over my long, blonde hair. It would undoubtedly be a bit uncomfortably thick in the heat, but I wasn’t worried. “The idea of being stuck back there with all the boring tourists doesn’t entice me too much,” I said with dry humour, hoping it came across alright.

It was almost as if she were laughing at me with that smile, if not for the fact that her hand was still on my thigh.

“Well I’m glad. If you’d stayed out there, I’d have been all by my lonesome up here.”

“You? I find it hard to imagine you would ever be left to your lonesome, as beautiful as you are,” I said, finding some reservoir of casual flirtatious chit chat to siphon from. Perhaps it was just that smooth, dark hand upon my thigh that was filling me with such vigor.

I always did perform best under duress.

She giggled like a schoolgirl, her face tilting forward and some of her long hair curtaining her face for a moment. She tucked it back — still not removing her other hand from my leg — and looked up at me from beneath her lashes.

“Are you always like this?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that right away. After all, I certainly wasn’t. I’d not had many ups between my downs since the passing of my loved ones, but finally I was letting go. Moving on. This woman was helping a lot in that department, because the more I looked at her, the less I wanted to think of anyone or anything else.