I tightened my grip around his shoulders, and like the inarticulate beast I had become, I bit him again, this time on the back of the neck. He responded by grunting and grinding me down onto him even harder, generating exquisite little stabs of pain at the opening of my sex. Fully impaled and suspended in midair, we defied gravity as I rode his hard body. Rafa thrust into me again and again, effortlessly pressing me into him as we made love in our own perfect cocoon.
“You like to bite,” he mused, licking the side of my face from my collar bone all the way up to my temple. “It drives me crazy.” He probed my mouth with his tongue as if searching for his own body somewhere deep inside me, arched and stiff all over, like a famished tiger attacking its prey.
“Only you,” I gasped, not really understanding why I was compelled to be rough with him.
“That’s exactly right, only me,” said Rafa, still working us both into a frenzy with his powerful thrusts. He was all the way inside, farther than I knew was possible, pushing in and in and in. Beads of sweat rolled down his back but he just wouldn’t stop, and I shut my eyes tight when the feeling from earlier came again, an approaching wave I was certain would pull me under. Fear washed over me and I tried to push him away.
“No, I can’t,” I cried.
Ignoring my protests, Rafa turned us and backed me up against the wall, compounding the already extreme sensations deep within me. My emotions ran wild and my thoughts made no sense—one moment I wanted to hurt him, and then the next it was something approaching love. It didn’t take long before my body started to tingle in a way that worried me, a sure sign that something raw and uncontrollable and completely unknown was approaching. Because he’d braced his forearm arm above my head, it was the first thing I saw when I had the same overwhelming urge to bite him. Holding nothing back, I clamped down hard on his biceps, but this time he let me know how much it hurt.
“Amada!” He glanced at his arm and then stared at me in disbelief. Overwrought with desire and near the edge himself, he put his hand over my mouth and grappled us down to the floor, positioning me on all fours in front of him. I arched my back, and without missing a beat, he dug his fingers into my hips and kept up the same punishing rhythm until the room filled with his deep groans and my own cries. Seeking reassurance, I turned and looked into eyes already fixed on me.
“I love you,” said Rafa. His face softened while his body remained hard and unyielding. “Don’t be afraid.”
The euphoria rolled in quickly, and before I knew it the room changed color, my vision pixelated, and I hallucinated that the stars had come up above us like fireworks and bathed the room in a bright cascade of light. His virile body had stirred some sort of mystical energy in me, and as he worked my hips back and forth, side to side, he drove it out and set it free. My entire being quaked and turned inside out for Rafa, and his did the same for mine.
CHAPTER TWO
After we’d crawled to the bed and slept for an hour, Rafa awakened at 4:25 am. He went to the bathroom and tried to get back into bed quietly, but I heard him. We lay on the bed facing each other now, under the covers in the deepest hour of the night, when on impulse I asked him to tell me about himself. Most men would have hated the question, but to my delight, Rafa was a natural storyteller who didn’t hesitate to tell me all about his childhood.
Rafael De Leon was born in the little seaside town of Playa Larga, Cuba, in December of 1980. His mother had been widowed while still pregnant, and by the time Rafa was twelve, she attempted to escape crushing poverty by moving to the city. There they lived in a decrepit walk up behind the Cathedral of Havana, where an entire floor of tiny apartments shared one small, filthy washroom that his mother wouldn’t let him use without slippers. Though she was very talented, she made very little money as a professional seamstress and they both suffered because of it. Rafa grew up terribly poor, but he had good friends, and they played on the streets of Havana at all hours of the day and night.
Sometimes, when his mother was desperate for coffee, she would send her son out to beg for it, and more often than not he would return with a little sack of espresso beans. He was known affectionately as ‘Ojos Azules,’ or ‘Blue Eyes,’ in the neighborhood, and if the neighbors had anything to spare, they would let him have it. They didn’t care very much for Rafa’s mother Carmen, but they adored her smart, sweet boy and treated him like one of their own. His good looks earned him lots of perks, like the quarter pound of Serrano ham he could often charm out of the waitresses at La Bodeguita del Medio. I asked him if he knew that the bar was internationally famous because of Ernest Hemingway, and he said no, all he knew about it was that he could get his ham there. He was a well-mannered boy who made good grades, and when his mother died during his senior year of high school, he moved in with one of the elderly widows in the neighborhood who let him live there for free as long as he did most of the chores around the house.
“What happened to your father?” I asked. He stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. He had to be thinking about his father now, and I silently cursed myself for bringing it up. I certainly didn’t like to talk about my own parents, so I don’t know why I would ask about his. But I was consumed with curiosity about Rafa, whom I had come to realize would be leaving me very soon, forever.
Rafa shifted onto his back and tucked an arm under his head. I came face to face with the bite mark I’d made, and before he could answer my question, I ran my fingers along the already darkening bruise.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never done that before,” I said, full of remorse. I pulled the sheet up all the way to my chin, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, you were just having a little fun.” He gave me a little peck on the lips and a nice, earnest smile. While my side of the sheet was practically over my face, his side had worked its way dangerously low on his hips, and I flashed back to being crushed between him and the wall. My belly did a little somersault from the inside. Without looking at me, he spoke softly. “I don’t know why I said that.”
Of course I knew what he meant, but I told myself it had been a figure of speech that I didn’t quite understand, and I’d put it out of my mind right away knowing better than to take it seriously. Nothing was static, or wholly true or wholly untrue, and I liked to think of language as fluid and musical, full of ephemeral meaning. It was nothing but a song that had disappeared into the ether.
“I know. You were just having a little fun.” I smiled as he turned onto his side again and observed me for what felt like a long time.
“In that moment, I did mean it. I don’t know why, but I did. I’ve never done that before.” Rafa’s blue eyes disarmed me as they had from the moment we met, and any earlier inclination I might have had to censor myself went right out the window. I didn’t just lust for him, I decided I liked him.
“You are so handsome,” I mused, inspecting his chiseled cheekbones, aquiline nose, and angular jaw, all wonderfully masculine features which perfectly complemented soft skin and long, almost feminine eyelashes.
“How long does it take for people to get past this?” I asked, gliding a finger across each of his eyelids. He didn’t answer, but he came closer and kissed me again, so very sweetly. He caressed the back of my head and gently ran his fingers through my tangled hair.
“So, tell me about you,” said Rafa, genuinely curious. It was as if he wanted me to tell him a story. He was undoubtedly sexy as hell, but he could also be quite charming.
“I’m a lonely woman who goes on vacations to find attractive men to sleep with. That’s all there is.” I winked and gave him an innocent smile.
He and I clearly had the same sense of humor, because he laughed right along with me. In the quiet and darkness of the cabin, I couldn’t imagine a more welcome sound. Even though it wasn’t the most forthcoming answer I could have given considering everything he told me about himself, he accepted it for now and didn’t press any further.
“Ugh, no, that’s your friend, Sharon,” he said with obvious
distaste.
“Sharon!” I exclaimed, remembering the night before. “What did she do to you? She’s not my friend, by the way,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“She showed up in the kitchen and offered me five hundred dollars to go back to her cabin.” He found this funny for some reason and smiled to himself, although I suspected he tried to find the humor in everything, perhaps out of necessity.
“Unbelievable,” I said. I couldn’t imagine the indignity of being on the receiving end of that offer. “She’s been with different men all week, but I didn’t know she was paying them for it. That’s awful.”
“Hm.” He lightly scratched his bare belly, diverting my attention to the line of dark hair that began beneath his belly button and disappeared beneath the sheet. “I’ve only been here a short time, but I’ve heard about that. It’s pretty common.”
I took a chance and asked, “Have you ever?” He considered the question, and I didn’t think he would lie, so I instinctively I braced myself for something I might not want to hear.
“Well, I can’t say I never would if I were desperate. I would do it to survive, or if my family was hungry. You do what you have to. I think most people would. But I haven’t been there yet.” I admired his honesty. “It would have to be a pretty bad situation to risk catching a disease.” I thought back to the condom he carried in his wallet. He was careful.
“How are you so sure I don’t have any diseases?” I challenged, somewhat indignant. Rafa cocked an eyebrow.
“You are not the kind of woman who propositions men, you are the kind men chase and never catch.” He lowered his voice suggestively and added, “I can tell you’re a good girl.”
“That’s a big assumption,” I said.
“It is, but I’d call it an educated guess,” he said. “How many partners have you had?”
“One.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About ten years ago,” I said. “The last five years of my relationship were lonely, and I haven’t been with anyone since then.”
He didn’t openly react, but I think he was stunned, and I began to get the feeling we wouldn’t be talking for much longer, so I pressed for as much information as I could get. I tried to ignore his bedroom eyes for now.
“What about you?”
“Amada, regardless of what you might expect, I’ve had very few partners, and because of my last job, I’ve had every vaccination and blood test under the sun many times, and so did they. I haven’t been with anyone new in a long time.”
“What was your last job? How long have you been working here on the ship?” He didn’t really want to answer, so when he noticed me shiver, he took his time drawing the comforter up over us a little higher.
“OK now?” he asked. I nodded, but kept my eyes on him expectantly.
“Just a few months.” He sighed, as if already very tired of it. “I only left Cuba six months ago. That’s why my English is so bad, but I make up for it in other ways, don’t I?” He reached under the blankets and used his thumb and forefinger to lightly stimulate one of my nipples. Oh, God.
“Were you a waiter in Cuba?” I don’t know how I got the words out, considering what he was doing to my chest. He ran his fingertips over my skin ever so lightly, in random patterns from my nipple to the side of my breast near my arm as if drawing in the sand. An exquisite sensation, all the thinking parts of my brain began to shut off one by one, like switches on a circuit breaker.
“No,” said Rafa as he moved on top of me. He kissed me deeply as his deliciously hard body blanketed mine, and we opened and closed our mouths in unison, tasting one another with no inhibitions. He positioned himself between my legs, and although I knew he must be right at my entrance, I couldn’t feel him there yet.
“You are so very lovely, and that’s why I’m here with you. The only reason,” he said. “I saw you and for a second thought you were my favorite actress. But you’re even more beautiful.”
“Who’s that?” I asked dreamily.
“Oh, come on,” he teased. “As if you haven’t heard it a million times.”
I had no idea who he was talking about, but I did believe he thought I was beautiful, and when I looked up at him and into his eyes, I saw love. I was not naïve enough to think it was for me, but I did know that I was seeing the kindness in him, the integrity, as well as his love of life and pleasure.
“I don’t have another condom,” he said, “and I have to leave in a few minutes. What would you like me to do for you? Tell me. Anything you want.” He moved down my body, took my nipple in his mouth and licked gently. I considered asking him to have sex with me anyway, but given his strong feelings about diseases, I thought I’d better not.
“Rafa,” I purred, “that feels so good.”
He continued to suck on my breast, then after a while moved to the other. I writhed beneath him as he paused every so often to let his warm breath tease my wet skin. He would stop and then start, give and then take away, a master of the erotic arts. He drove me mad by offering and then withholding precisely what he knew I most craved. Even though he said he had to leave, his drive to arouse me beyond all reason was alarming, and I began to suspect he might leave me like this. I ran my hands through his thick black hair and let my mind wander to happy places. One of my favorite poems came to mind, and I couldn’t help but recall the first few words as I often do when I am completely relaxed. Plato, Milton and random lines of poetry would often float through my mind at the strangest of times, and over the years I had learned to just let it happen, because like most things, it was for a reason.
“Had we but world enough, and time,” I said in English, “this coyness, sir, were no crime!” I playfully tugged on a handful of his hair as I said the word ‘sir.’ It caught Rafa’s attention, and he completely stopped what he was doing, which was not what I wanted at all.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, meeting his gaze.
“I’m thirsty,” he said, sitting up on top of the sheet, completely immodest and unaware of his beauty. He ran his hand through his already mussed hair as he leaned toward the nightstand and took a big gulp from an open bottle, then offered it to me. It was impossible not to admire his graceful body as his torso extended and flexed.
“Go on,” he prompted, swallowing an enormous mouthful of water. “What was that?”
I was learning how obstinate he could be, and his body language informed me that he wouldn’t be doing anything else until I satisfied his curiosity.
“What time do you have to leave?” I asked.
“At five. I’m so sorry.” He caressed my cheek with real affection. Con cariño, I thought.
I sat up with him, allowing the sheet to pool at my waist. Ten minutes. I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes, hoping I could recall the poem I once knew word for word. It had been years, and thinking of it again was bittersweet, but I couldn’t deny how fitting it was. I thought of the antique round oak table in my old classroom at the college and how it had been my habit to walk the perimeter of the room as I read out loud while my students followed along in their books.
“The speaker wants to seduce a virgin, so he tries to persuade her by reminding her that as mortals, we’re all short on time.” I kept my eyes closed and recited the parts I remembered.
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain...
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
Rafa’s hands went to my eyelids, my forehead and my breasts. He wanted me to show me he understood, and although I knew the poem well, I’d never experienced it
precisely in this way, not just because he was touching me, but also because for the first time I identified more with the speaker than the virgin. I continued as Rafa’s hands roamed my body.
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near...
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv’d virginity,
He moved the sheet aside and began to stroke between my legs, but I had to put my hand over his to still it because I knew I wouldn’t be able to go on if he continued. We remained this way, his hand on me and mine on his, until I finished the poem.
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am’rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp’d power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
The Cuban Page 3