An Affair Abroad

by T. K. Richards

  “Actually, you don’t. I know exactly what you are trying to say,” smiling at me with his eyes.

  I swirled the wine in front of my lips, then took a few sips. I returned his stare, “I’ve received offers outside of my race before, but I never felt compelled to accept. Until now. You are the first I’ve ever been attracted to.”

  “Are you comfortable being out with me?” he asked.

  “Are you comfortable being seen with me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re beautiful. And since we are talking about this, you may as well know, I have gone out with women of all persuasions, but you are the first to have this effect on me.”

  I was in trouble. I was falling fast and hard. I was worried about the future instead of enjoying the present, and I was scared my heart was going to get broken. In the back of my mind, I thought the only thing that could save me, was if the rumor about British men being horrible lovers turned out to be true. He had no idea, but I knew I was going to find out the answer to that question tonight.

  The amount of food we ordered was gluttonous. Mash suggested we take an after-dinner stroll to walk some of it off, and led me down a few lesser crowded streets. The sound of traffic surrounded us as we walked a few blocks, and ended up in a courtyard across from Buckingham Palace. The gold and white lights lit the site so bright, I could see it clearly from where we stood.

  He placed his jacket around my sweater, as the night air turned on its chill, staring at me marvel at the historic palace. The glimmer in my eyes lured him in, and we found ourselves kissing in the moonlight, wanting more of one another, and not wanting the night to end.

  “Are you ready to go back to the hotel,” he asked.

  “No,” I replied, “But if you need to get some rest I understand.”

  “Rest is the last thing on my mind,” he said clinching onto my hand.

  “So where to then?”

  “I’d love to show you my place?”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  We drove a little under an hour from the city into the suburbs. Curvy roads, dark streets, and many hillsides later, Mash entered a code into a gated community, with at least three acres between each home in a dimly lit neighborhood. The houses were huge, and I grew anxious to see where we were going to end up.

  He pulled into this beautiful mini castle like home, with mild lighting outside its exterior, and greenery for days. I thought to myself, ‘He must be one hell of a deejay to afford something of this nature.’

  It was intimidating. My small three-bedroom starter home could fit inside this colossal house. I felt out of my league and became quiet again, shifting back into awkwardness.

  My silence was broken when Mash asked me what I thought about his house. I thought it was a lot of house for one person, but I didn’t dare say it aloud, “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I was thinking of downsizing next year, but I like the area.”

  “I admire your taste. Did you do the interior design?” I inquired.

  “I hired professionals. I couldn’t pull all of this off.”

  “Well they did an excellent job. It’s clean and modern, but most importantly it reflects a man lives here. It’s sexy.”

  “Come on, let me show you around.”

  He began the tour with his man cave/studio, where he housed all of his collectible toys, a bar for hosting, and a Styrofoam room where he recorded his music. We then walked into each of the five bedrooms and workout area near the living room. Along the walls were mounted abstract paintings and nothing personal. Floating shelves, but no pictures of a mother, child, or himself. Only paintings and random wall decorum, of what I perceived as an expensive Indian collection.

  Next, we entered the living room where a massive, curved screen television rose from the floor. I acted impressed but I wasn’t. All men seem to be fascinated with oversized TVs, and the latest electronic gadget. Below it was an electric fireplace I desperately wished he turned on. The house was beautiful but nippy, and I was hoping this would be the room we lounged in, so I could get warm in front of the fire.

  I pulled my sweater closer together and hoped he noticed. I thought he did when he took one of the decorative fur throws from the sofa, and wrapped it around me. I was wrong. He covered me so we could climb five steps from the left side of the living room, where he led me through a double glass door to an outside pool area.

  I couldn’t see the landscape, but I imagined it was beautiful. We cuddled under the fur blanket, admiring the stars in the sky as the moon’s reflection hit the waves in the pool. We conversed about music, movies, our likes and dislikes, and cultural differences without checking the time, which had moved on significantly.

  “I have an important question to ask you,” he said, “What is your favorite song of all time?”

  “Ugh that’s a hard one. I love so many different genres.”

  “But there has to be one song you love more than any other piece of music. When I asked the question, what song popped into your head?”

  “Sting, When We Dance,” I called out.

  “Voila, your favorite song of all time.”

  “I do love it. It’s definitely in my top five. What’s your favorite song?”

  “Bob Marley, Waiting in Vain.”

  “Ooh another good one.”

  “It is, isn’t it?

  A breeze of cold air infiltrated the blanket. I shivered and drew closer to him, pressing my head against his chest for warmth. He squeezed my shoulders, and I relaxed, nestled next to him. “I’m assuming you like reggae music from the other night,” he asked.

  “Very much so.”

  “What’s your favorite Bob song?”

  “Chances Are.”

  “You surprise me,” he smiled.

  “Why?”

  “I thought you were going to name a more commercial, more well-known one.”

  I had run out of words, and silence found its way back in as we stared at each other, wondering what the other was thinking. He took me by the face and kissed me so tender I felt a tingle in my chest. “You’re freezing,” he said rubbing the coldness of my cheeks, “Let’s go inside.”

  He led me to the stone colored rug in front of the fireplace. With the flip of a switch, the black glass revealed a red and brown fire behind the panel. We canoodled in front of it until the blanket was no longer needed, continuing the tender kiss he planted on me outside. My sweater was tossed, then his sweater disappeared, as the heat from the fire, and from us, sweltered the room.

  He let me unbutton half of his oxford shirt, while fighting the urge to explore me with his hands. I found his restraint admirable, but I knew he wanted to ravish me, so I played his game and stopped undressing him. “You didn’t finish giving me the tour,” I said punishing him.

  He rose to his feet and helped me off of the rug, holding my hand as he escorted me to the kitchen. I noticed him looking at me, then looking away when I caught him. I laughed to myself, wishing I could read his mind. Imaging the conversation, he was having in his head, since I pulled the brakes in the living room. ‘I just couldn’t be a cliché giving it up on his living room floor.’

  He paused in the hallway and pressed me against the wall. Stealing a few soft kisses, and running his fingers up and down my arm. I wanted to shout, ‘Take me!’ Instead, I held it together as the intensity continued to build. “Why don’t you have any pictures on your walls?” I distracted him. He backed away, still holding my hands and replied, “I thought photographs belonged in photo albums, not walls.”

  “Okay,” I said feeling I had overstepped.

  “Whose picture should be hanging around?” he asked.

  “Um your parents, or one of you mixing, or one of your favorite moments maybe,” I responded and questioned at the same time.

  “Maybe I will. I hadn’t put much thought into it. I’d be happy to share my photo albums with you if you want.”

/>   I didn’t answer. I motioned my head to the room up ahead, then led him towards it, “What a kitchen!”

  “I have used the stove maybe twice, and I’ve never used the oven,” he snarked.

  “Seriously? I could get fat in a kitchen like this. You have everything. I mean literally everything.”

  “Yeah, but it’s no fun cooking for one.”

  “So true. I cook and invite my crew over to eat all the time.”

  “So, you cook a lot?” he probed.

  “Cook and bake.”

  “I hope I get invited to one of those dinners. I’d like to see you in action.”

  “Trust, I can burn.”

  “You can what?”

  “Burn. Where I’m from it means I cook really well. Slang or Ebonics is what some would call it. I might whip up something for you while I’m here. Ugh, do I spy another pool table in your dining room?”

  “And that brings us to the last room in the house.”

  Adjacent to the kitchen was an obvious dining room, where a second pool table sat in place of a dining table. I felt I had already pried, when I asked about the pictures, so I waited for him to volunteer, why he designed his fine china room so poorly.

  Circling the table while eyeing him with suspicion, I waited for an explanation. He played my game as I ran from him, making him chase me, then he caved.

  “Yes, there is a table downstairs, but what can I say. I love the game. It is my favorite pastime, and my stress reliever. Sometimes I don’t want to walk all the way downstairs, so I put another table in this empty space,” he said proudly.

  “You don’t owe me any explanations about your house, but the fact you did has earned you some bonus points. I think it’s cute. Plus, it is still a table, right?”

  “Right. I knew you were smart. You get it. But uh, I didn’t know I needed bonus points,” he closed in on me. “You’re the first person to ever walk through my entire house.”

  “Yeah right. I’m not calling you a liar, that just seems a bit far-fetched. I mean come on. A house this beautiful? It’s hard to believe no one in your life has ever walked down these halls.”

  “It’s true. I’ve been here a month or two, over a year and you are the first.”

  I couldn’t look him in the eye. It was hard to believe he hadn’t had a woman stay over, and roam his house for a night or a weekend. Looking away, I used his same words from dinner, “Then why me?”

  “I wish I knew why I chose you to be the first. I know I’m definitely vibing with you,” he answered.

  “I’m feeling you as well.”

  “Ah! She said she’s feeling me,” he said aloud, “So it’s mutual then?”

  “It seems so.”

  This would have been the perfect time to be a mind reader. How could I really know Mr. Sharper wasn’t playing with my emotions? I was really enjoying his company, and getting to know him and the world he lived in.

  He was smooth, and I couldn’t tell if he was being pretentious with me. Those sweet, tantalizing kisses we shared had me wanting to explore him below the surface, and I was too far gone to know, if he masterfully played me like a game of chess. “When will I get to see your house?” he asked. And there it was. The second reference of coming to visit me. ‘God, I hope he is for real.’ “My house? It’s nothing like this. It’s cozy, and clean and decorated to my taste, but it’s nothing compared to yours. Would you would really come to the states to see me?” I leaned back to look him straight in the eyes.

  “I’m already planning it in my head.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I told you at dinner, I felt a connection with you the moment I saw you. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Watching you move, was the only reason I let the song you were dancing to, play all the way through. I didn’t want you to stop dancing, or for it to be the last time I saw you. No one has ever had that effect on me before. Ever.”

  “I haven’t felt close to anyone for a few years now,” I confessed.

  “What about right now?”

  “Right now, I’m feeling like a teenager. Do you remember the tingling feeling you’d get when your crush would walk by you in the hallway, or look your way?”

  “I do. My crush is standing before me, and I’m feeling a tingling sensation looking at her.”

  “You’ve been feeling a sensation of some sort for most of the night.”

  “I’ve traveled many places Nadia. I’ve seen many world beauties, but none have measured up to you.”

  “What if it’s just lust?”

  “I’m definitely lusting you, but I’m also falling in love with you. I’m a firm believer when you know you know,” he said towering over me.

  I failed searching for the truth in his eyes. I stared in them and became blinded by a combination of lust, desire, and naivety. I clung to every word he uttered, believing his words were honest and pure. “Will you let me love you?” he said now molding my chin with his fingers, and nibbling my lips. “Love me or fuck me?” I sighed, desperately wanting his kisses to continue, and they did up and down my neck.

  “Both,” he said now gripping between my breasts and slowly unzipping my suit. And there was the smoothness again. ‘This is too soon for this to be love. Right? It would be insane to let this man fuck me after three days. Right?’

  We knew a little about each other—but I still couldn’t resist the physical desire exploding inside of me. I wanted him. Bad. Badly. Properly. Now. Nervously, I shuttered as he removed the straps from my shoulders, still seducing me with his gaze. His hands began to stroke the top lining of my bra, and my senses heightened from his gentle touch—almost giving me the healing of reiki, but not yet quite there.

  I took his hand and placed it over my racing heart, so he could feel his effect on me. He grinned, then delicately whispered in my ear, “May I touch you?” in the deepest, most virile tone. I became heavily lubricated—there was no need for foreplay. I melted into his grasp as I felt the hook of my bra become unfastened. He stood back, and waited for it to fall onto the floor giving me a once over, then smirked on the side of his mouth.

  He had me on display, studying every inch of my topless body. Then he said, “I’m going to remove those now,” pointing to my tangas. “Okay,” I sighed as he stepped back towards me, fell to his knees, and slid his fingers between my hips, pulling my panties to my feet.

  As before, he examined me, but this time I was fully naked, and could feel his hungry breath upon my navel. I trembled as he read me, giving him my power, and closed my eyes awaiting his next move.

  One ankle lifted, then the other, as I quivered from the anticipation of what was to come. Suddenly, I felt the presence of his fingers upon me. They were warm, feeling the curves of my buttocks and exterior of my walls.

  Quickly, he jerked his hands and pulled me closer to his face, where he landed the softest kiss on my lips down below. My eyes opened, and I looked down to see the bottom half of his face, missing in between my legs. “Aye Papi,” I muttered. Not only was this man causing my pussy to pulsate, he now had me speaking in random Spanish. I ran my fingers across his head while he held me in position, then balanced me on one leg, placing the other across his shoulder, never skipping a beat on his tongue service.

  I occasionally enjoyed a good licking down below, but it was never an act I required. Thanks to Mr. Sharper, my position was rapidly changing about foreplay as I, for the first time, quavered and released from oral stimulation.

  This new lover of mine, was undeniably experienced in tongue play, and had to have sensed I was about to come. As soon as my body began to trill, he stuck his finger on my clitoris, and applied pressure, while generously open mouthed kissed me from my navel to my breasts. He lingered there for at least a minute, sucking on my nipples until he finally released his finger from my trigger spot.

  “So, you speak Spanish?” he asked, rising fu
lly to his feet, and wiping his mouth with his shirt. Not an inch of fat was on his abs. The black and brown stubble on his chest begged me to kiss them. I did so softly before answering with what little voice I could find, “Not really. I don’t know where that came from.”

  He flashed his whites at me and followed with, “I think you’re ready for me.” I nodded yes as he steered me towards the wall where he lifted my thighs with his wrists, and placed his wood against my crevice. I heard plastic crumbling, and smelled the latex as he drew back, and rolled the condom down until it smacked. ‘Thank goodness we didn’t have to have that talk,’ I thought to myself as I sighed at the pressure, neglecting to look at his package. I had never seen an ivory cock in person before, but I was about to feel one.

  My shoulders tensed and my back locked at his first attempt to enter. “Breathe,” he commanded. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath, but Mash was paying close attention to me, and could feel me tense up upon his entry. I obeyed and exhaled, “There you go. You can take it. Good girl,” he sultrily coached me as I gripped him inside my walls. “Hold on to me,” he said, alluringly before feeding me to the wall, leaving my imprint in the indigo cracks.

  Back and forth, up and down, fast then slow, he stroked without any struggle to lift my body midair. He moaned and complimented how good I felt to him, as I held on for dear life, just as he instructed. Tightly gripping my arms around his neck and atop his shoulders, I was panting with delight and moaning in his ear, “Maximus, Maximus,” which made him thrust deeper and deeper.