Rome joined her in a long satisfying climax, pumping her pussy with every drop of his Zulu semen. “Oooh, yeaaaah,” he moaned. Still inside her, sweaty and almost out of breath he collapsed and laid his head between her snuggle puppies. “Regina.”
“Yes?”
“I would be glad to assist you with any more upcoming precious projects.”
She smiled. “Oh, Rome, you’re such a dedicated employee.”
It Is What It Is
Sea lo que sea
Petula Caesar
I’ve always valued a great personality, intelligence, and inner beauty in women. But as a very handsome man and a partner at a very successful law firm, I had access to what my brother calls “top shelf girls.” So I dated them, and really didn’t pay much attention to other types of women. I’ve always tried to remain modest about my “Brad Pitt good looks” (as one of my exes described me once) and my accomplishments, but honestly, I knew in my heart I deserved the “top shelf girls.” I went to the gym regularly and kept myself well groomed. I was well dressed and interesting. Most important, I made sure I treated the ladies well no matter how serious or casual the involvement. I wasn’t a bad guy. I was just very busy with my career and preferred that a woman’s beauty be…easily accessible. I could get past a not-so-great personality if the woman had a frame that still managed to balance generous breasts, a flat abdomen, and a thin waistline, combined with alluring eyes, a pouting mouth, and a pretty face. I could muddle along for a good while without stimulating conversation or common interests. Or, to quote my wife Evangeline’s words (the very words that bought us together in fact) “Sea lo que sea,” which roughly translated means “it is what it is.”
The first time Eva and I were naked in bed I stared at her rounded, cocoa-colored abdomen and her breasts topped with fudge-colored nipples that were beginning to slope softly downward. I would watch her breasts sway, bounce, and swing while she rode my dick. I would imagine the wind moving the trees on Isla Verde Beach near her home in San Juan, Puerto Rico. I was surprised that she allowed me to look at her fully undressed the first time, but she did. Her body was sexily imperfect. Her face was pleasingly plain to me at first glance. She possessed two slightly sad, coffee-colored eyes, an ordinary nose, two pale pink full lips, and a smooth, spacious forehead. Her body was a collection of voluptuous, slightly oversized curves that easily led one into the next. When she smiled it was a haunted-looking, closed-mouth curving of her lips that faded quickly. Her hair was long and hung straight down to her generous hips, like a thick sheet of midnight silk or a heavy dark waterfall. But she was completely honest about all these things in her personal ad.
I started reading El Diario when I was transferred to my firm’s headquarters in New York City. I was looking forward to starting a life far from the comfort of the familiar. Once I got settled I started checking out the personal ads. I wasn’t really sure why. I hated to think of myself as the stereotypical white guy looking to have a sexual experience with a Latina now that I was in the Big Apple. There had been minorities of all kinds around me in college and in law school; they were nothing new to me. I quickly realized how prejudiced that sounded, and stopped trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t racist. I didn’t like struggling with political correctness when I contemplated my dealings with women. Having a conscience was inconvenient as hell sometimes.
I scoured each ad wi
th my most discerning eye, scrutinizing every word and phrase, looking for any hint of dishonesty, deceit, or mental illness. Anything that sounded too good to be true was immediately dismissed, as was anything sounding too desperate, too freaky, too underage, or illegal. Evangeline’s ad was the only one left at the end of this process. The headline for her ad was “sea lo que sea.” In it she said she wanted a man who would have a “sexship” with her. Not a relationship…a sexship. She said she was looking to “create a sexual rapport with a man, but not necessarily any other kind.” When describing herself she said she was “no great beauty” but “one wouldn’t throw her out of bed.” I was intrigued. There was something about the way she presented herself that had the ring of truth to it. She seemed at ease with herself…which I admired and even envied slightly. I sent her an email, she responded, and we agreed to meet at the Starbucks near my office. On the appointed day she was sitting near the window, peering out anxiously, obviously looking for someone.
“Excuse me,” I asked as I approached the table. “You’re Evangeline?”
“And you’re William,” she replied, motioning toward the empty seat at the table.
“Please sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
She had a beautiful voice. It was very carefully modulated, and precise. It was soft like a caress. It had a rhythm to it that my dick seemed to be able to hear because it began dancing to it as soon as she spoke my name. I had never reacted to a woman’s voice like that.
I shook my head in response to her as I sat, and began taking mental notes about her physical appearance. In spite of the sexy voice she was just what her ad said she was…an ordinary-looking woman. I released my disappointment with a sigh. Only in that brief moment did I acknowledge that I had some preconceived ideas about what my new Puerto Rican lady-friend would look like. Even though my mind’s eye recorded all the things I didn’t much care for, my dick still seemed interested. She pushed her long hair back from her face and said, “Let’s get down to business. Why did you answer my ad?”
I hesitated for a moment. She answered her own question, saying, “It’s the no-strings sex, right?”
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “The whole idea of sex without emotional attachments seems nice on the surface. Not sure how well it really works, though.”
“So why are you here?”
“I liked your ‘it is what it is/it is as it is’ headline, once I looked up the translation.”
“Thank you.” And she smiled her closed-mouth smile.
“You were pretty up-front about everything you had to offer and everything you wanted. I liked that, so I had to see if it was real.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think you have the most beautiful speaking voice I’ve ever heard.”
“Again I thank you.”
“As for whether or not I think you’re being honest, I’ll have to see.” We locked eyes and I felt as if we were about to do battle. “Why are you looking for a no-strings-attached thing, and not a ‘serious relationship’?” I made quotation marks in the air with my fingers as I said “serious relationship.”
She drained her coffee from her cup and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. The air around us suddenly filled with tension and sadness. It was as if she were prying herself open with a crowbar. She paused, trying to decide if she wanted to tell me why I was in Starbucks with her today.
She finally plunged forward. “I’m originally from San Juan, Puerto Rico. I came to the States to attend Columbia University. Once I finished my undergrad, I got my first real job, my first little apartment on my own. I invited my parents here to visit me for Christmas. I was always the one flying there to see them, and I wanted them to come see me for a change. I wanted them to see New York during the holidays. The tree in Rockefeller Center, the Rockettes at Radio City, the decorations everywhere. A complete tourist’s Christmas in New York City. They agreed. I saved up money for months, even took a part-time job so I could pay for everything and make it just perfect. The plane had difficulty landing, it was icy…” She halted there. Her eyes pleaded with me not to make her say the rest. So I didn’t. I could see the shadows of pain and grief lying on her face, completing the sentence for her.
She continued. “My family, my friends wanted to help, but I didn’t want help. I wanted to mourn quietly by myself. But they were all around me, trying so hard to say the right thing, to do the right thing. Everyone around me saying, ‘Pobre bebé. Que triste es. So much tragedy in her life.’ ”