Caramel Flava

“Told them the truth. I’m in Special Operations.”

She laughed.

“What?”

“I should have given the porter a twenty. This is the best page I’ve ever had.”

He nipped at her nose. “Better be the only page you’ve ever had.”

Red eyebrows raised and green eyes twinkled at him. “Really, Raf-y. I missed you terribly.”

“Missed you too, darling Isa. Next time, we cannot go this long or I won’t be able to make it as far as a table in an airline club’s conference room.”

She licked his chin. Her teeth grazed the skin and she licked it again.

“Yes?”

“Like sugar and butter, warmed by heat, and poured over muscle, the best caramel ever. Raf-y, you are eatable. I need more of you. Let’s skip the plane, the getaway, the whole thing and stay here. You are addictive. I cannot have you only once.”

Laughter filled the room as he drew her onto his lap. His hand rubbed her tush.

She wiggled into the caress. The ache pleasurable.

“Oh, I have much more planned for you this weekend, Isa, than you can imagine.” He leaned down, his breath teased her lips. His tongue laved the line of her mouth and she opened to him. When he lifted from her, his breath played over her. “None of it can be done here.” He rocked her against him and her breath shuddered. “I’m going to make you come so hard, your shouts will make the neighbors wonder.”

“Promise?”

“I am Latino, darling Isa. A Latino man, especially a Navy man, is always true to his word.”

Tie Rack

Estante de corbatas

SékouWrites

How long is your dick?” Ms. Ramos asked in Spanish, her smirk teetering somewhere between devious and delighted, the index finger of her right hand pointed directly at her manager’s crotch.

The new Macy’s store manager considered himself an expert in many things, including the seduction of women. After work, when his tie was loosened and he gathered his new coworkers around him at Dekk, a trendy SoHo bar where dim lights and strong drinks made everyone look gorgeous, he would brag that all it took was a compliment (the right compliment) to add yet another notch to his belt.

This was partly true. By use of compliments—but also by use of hungry smiles, cheap champagne, a voracious appetite for administering skillful oral sex and an uncanny knack for exploiting the biggest fear of pretty women (ending up alone)—he had found himself slipping and sliding within the moistened walls of many pairs of lips.

“That’s sick, man.” This comment was from one of the younger brothers in his newly created circle of men during their latest Dekk gathering. The young man wore his hair in a tightly tamped Afro and always found a way to keep his elaborate belt buckles visible, no matter how many layers of clothes he had piled on top of them.

“Sick how?” the manager asked in response. Sick, he knew from a younger cousin, was one of the latest euphemisms for “cool” but there was something in his young coworker’s voice that made him think that there might be a more negative connotation at play. He was about to press the issue when one of the other men whispered Ms. Ramos’s name and all of them made the sharp sound of sucking air at the same time.

Over time, the manager had developed sexual preferences. When available, older Latinas were his poison of choice, for he had come to find them passionate, nurturing, deferential and sexually uninhibited. All of which made Ms. Ramos, who worked the men’s tie section of Macy’s, his most obvious quarry.

He’d called her into his office for an impromptu “performance evaluation” because he’d noticed that she was wearing widely spaced fishnets and black ankle-strap pumps; he wanted a much closer look at both. He felt certain that he was only a compliment or two away from getting his tongue wet with the warm juices just inside her panties but that was before he looked at her personnel profile. He had no idea, until she was seated across from him, her prodigious cleavage and sculpted calves tempting him mercilessly, that the Panamanian beauty had been to medical school, had been a practicing doctor before coming to work at Macy’s.

“Now, how is it that we have a medical doctor working in our tie section, Ms. Ramos?” he’d asked, striving to sound loose and conversational, hoping his tone didn’t betray his anxiety. He specialized in pretty but dumb or desperate women. Women of superior intellect or solid self-esteem never fell for his hollow compliments and thinly veiled efforts to remove their clothes. He was already correcting his posture, sitting up straighter, determined to make this look like the professional evaluation that it was never intended to be.

“There are different ways to heal besides medicine,” she’d said after a pause, her voice dreamy and distant, as if she wasn’t fully present in the conversation.

“Like what?” He didn’t care what she meant, but felt that this was the appropriate next question for a manager probing an employee. Sh

e shrugged and he fought to maintain eye contact as her chest shifted.

“It depends on the ailment,” she said. “Men, they tend to have the same one. All the same one.”