Blushed and Flushed: 12 erotic short stories for women

by Maria Diamante

  Blushed & Flushed

  Twelve Erotic Short Stories

  Maria Diamante & John Rowlands

  Table of Contents

  1. The Busker

  2. The Aerobics Class

  3. The Hammock

  4. Solo Journey

  5. The Living

  6. Poetic

  7. Together and Apart

  8. Hormones

  9. Change Room Convergence

  10. Double life, single need

  The Busker

  Lisa heard the music before she saw where it was coming from. She stepped around the corner of the subway tunnel to see a man playing and singing in front of the station. Usually she hated buskers. They should all be gainfully employed, she thought.

  She never dropped money into their instrument cases or stopped to listen. Instead she always chose to walk on, determined and left wondering why she worked so hard when others didn’t.

  But this music captured her. It transported her back to her teenage years in Spain, traveling with her parents. Her dad took a teaching position in Malaga, and looking back, she was so grateful for his transfer. The music was in the style of Flamenco and the performer sang in Spanish.

  Lisa looked at him and his face exploded into her consciousness. He was a tall, muscular young man, with shaggy dark hair and a distinctly Mediterranean look. He was wildly handsome with a gypsy appeal that caused her to stop breathing as she stared at him. He reminded her of a tall Spanish Johnny Depp.

  And the music he played on his weathered guitar filled her head with memories of adolescence. Spain…what a wonderful place for a woman to blossom, surrounded by sunshine, olives, oranges and sexy Spanish men who pursued her with passionate kisses and promises she vaguely understood.

  But even at that age, Lisa was wise enough to know their words were empty. They were just looking for summer flings. The idea of one of these men wanting a serious relationship with a girl from Canada was out of the question. Their families would never approve of a woman who had no intention of staying home with babies or helping in the olive groves. Nope, no Spanish love story there. But it didn’t bother her because she had bigger plans.

  Lisa knew from an early age that she would be a psychiatrist. Her life would be spent helping others and she would live in a big city, wear stylish clothes and drive a fancy car. She was determined to become independent and professional. In that regard, she succeeded.

  Swaying unconsciously to the music, it triggered vivid memories of the country that still caused her to heart to beat wildly whenever she heard Flamenco.

  Her eyes met the dark, bold eyes of the busker, who nearly played off key as he looked at her. Lisa smiled, knowing Spanish men made it their life’s mission to seduce every woman they encountered. She knew not to be too flattered.

  Still, the music was sexy and passionate. And yet for the busker, creating such sweet sounds seemed effortless. Lisa was mesmerized and stood swaying with her eyes closed.

  Suddenly aware of herself, Lisa felt a bit uncomfortable. She rarely allowed herself the luxury of wild, uncontrolled feelings. Now a respected therapist finishing her PhD, unbridled emotion was not something she encouraged.

  She lived in a small condo in a fancy neighborhood and loved the fact that she was professional career woman. Always careful, controlled and subdued, she was a little cold towards romance and dating. She had no time nor interest in possible traps of the heart to distract her from her career goals.

  She opened her eyes as the music stopped and the young man flashed a brilliant smile, dripping with lust. “Que Hermosa,” he said as he looked at her.

  Loosely translated, it meant “how beautiful.” That’s what Spanish men breathed into the ears of innocent women who melted at such words. Lisa straightened up and smiled, proudly, and even a bit arrogantly. She would never be fooled by any man. That smile was nothing more than a ploy to get her to drop hard-earned money into his battered guitar case. That smile probably worked on many a lady.

  During the next song, the busker closed his eyes and began to swing his own hips to the music. The move was obvious to Lisa, but she was still impressed by the tightness of his shabby jeans and the package it contained.

  Lisa’s eyes were drawn to his crotch and she imagined he didn’t care for underwear. She pictured his package would be hairy and musky, but beautiful.

  His body appeared chiseled, not from the gym, but from some kind of outdoor labour and from holding his guitar for hours without a strap. Traveling around, never settling down, eating what fruit and vegetables he could afford, and drinking homemade red wines and organic teas. That was her 30-second image of the man.

  He started to play another song, one Lisa remembered from Spain. She was hypnotized. Her summers abroad included a teenaged infatuation with a young gypsy who smiled at her every day from his hut on the beach when she and her family went to the coast to play tourist.

  He never dared approach her, as the gypsies were often run out of town. Being seen harassing a young white girl would have been instant grounds for trouble. But Lisa remembered the look in his eye as she daringly walked towards him. Though she carried a few extra pounds now, she was once lean and tanned in her bikini.

  Her parents warned her about gypsies and she was a good girl who obeyed. But she secretly watched him from behind sunglasses. She watched him swim in the ocean and emerge from the water, slicking his long hair back from his face.

  Soon after, she felt an unknown feeling well up inside her abdomen, causing her to want him to touch her. Of course she never acted on those feelings. But she could easily recall that was the first time in her life she truly felt and understood desire.

  And as she watched this busker play and sing on this winter evening, that same feeling of lust, so dormant for so many years, had suddenly come to life.

  She imagined him between her legs, rubbing his hardness against her now soft, wet flesh. She pictured the contrast of their bodies. Her white skin pressed against his olive-toned muscle. Her white thighs would envelope him. He would gaze down on her milky skin and his eyes would burn with lust.

  Lisa snapped out of her fantasy and tried to appear casual as she pulled out a ten dollar bill. She forced a nonchalant expression as it fell into his guitar case. He looked at her in surprise and gave a quick nod in thanks, but managed to continue singing.

  Lisa wanted to stand and listen to more but had to leave. Friends were expecting her for drinks and she needed to change into something casual. As she walked into the subway station, she gave one last look at the busker who was staring at her with a hint of sadness. His pained expression was almost enough for her to turn back.

  But Lisa looked away and realized she was not behaving properly. In fact, she was a little ashamed for making what she thought was a public scene, though no one around her noticed. He was nothing more than a fantasy, a handsome man who sparked memories of a teenage crush, she decided. Still, it was nice to know she could still feel that carnal surge.

  Once in her building, Lisa hurriedly changed into her tailored jeans and leather boots. She grabbed her wool coat and walked briskly through the lightly falling snow towards the Rose and Crown pub.

  She regretted not needing to take the subway. Another glimpse of her handsome gypsy busker would have been nice. But the snow probably drove him indoors. She let out a long sigh.

  She wasn’t really looking forward to her evening. Her friends tended to talk about their practices since they were all therapists or psychologists. Though she cared about them, work was all they had in common.

&n
bsp; The bar, just a few blocks away, was pleasant. It was safe and civilized, attracting a professional crowd. Though hours would pass, none of them ever had more than two or three drinks.

  Walking slowly along the sidewalk, Lisa thought her life was safe, dull and boring. She kept flashing back to Spain.

  She pictured the young gypsy on the beach that captured her heart without exchanging a word. How things had changed. She never realized being a successful professional would come at such a cost.

  She passed an ethnic restaurant that always intrigued her. The window was full of patrons who sat at a counter facing the street. It was an ideal spot for people watching.

  She had never gone inside because it looked a little seedy. But she loved the idea of eating her meal while watching people stroll past. She thought it funny that sitting behind a window makes gawking at strangers perfectly acceptable.

  As she passed, she did a double take when she realized her gypsy busker was sitting at the counter with a group of men and women. They were all equally wild and shabby looking, and he was saying something that caused them all to erupt in a full belly laugh.

  Telling the story and waving his arms violently, one woman clutched her stomach in laughter-induced pain. His story told, he turned his head turned and noticed her standing in the street staring at him.

  His face softened. He smiled and motioned her to come inside. Feeling terribly rattled, Lisa felt a surge of adrenalin. She blushed, shook her head, looked at the ground and hurried along.

  Once her pace slowed, she thought about what she had seen. She saw warmth, life and energy. She and her friends never laughed like that. She found it symbolic that she was on the outside peering into something she wasn’t really connected to – an all too common theme.

  She tightened her scarf and hurried to the bar where her friends welcomed her, but teased her for being late. Lisa was quiet while her friends chattered away. She mentally summed them all up.

  Each was a “good girl” who never did anything wild or outrageous. Responsibility and sensibility reigned supreme at this table. She felt each of them was especially boring and dull that night, and she continually fought off the urge to yawn.

  Most of them had boyfriends or husbands who were equally uninteresting. She went over the list of their professions – lawyer, accountant, financial planner, software engineer, human resources analyst…

  She marveled at the lack of passion or adventure and wondered just how long she could be entertained with stories of psychological analysis, or new tiles for the kitchen.

  Quietly aching for something out of the ordinary, someone came up beside her and whispered “Que Hermosa” in her ear. Lisa jumped and turned to see her handsome busker. Now he was dressed in a black leather jacket, having lost the rather ragged-looking parka he had on earlier.

  Her friends went silent. They stared at him. No one moved. Collectively waiting for Lisa to tell this man to leave, the silence became awkward. She looked at him and he extended his hand. “Carida, my name is Paolo, what’s your name?”

  Lisa noticed a faint Spanish accent and a deep husky voice that matched his sexy look. Lisa hesitated. She firmly grasped Paolo’s hand and said “Ola Paolo. Yo soy Lisa.”

  Paolo’s eyes showed a happy surprise at her Spanish and he kissed her hand. “Wow, Lisa, your accent is very good. Are you Spanish?’

  Lisa shook her head and told him about her summers in Spain and how she absorbed the language like a sponge. Her friends remained silent and stunned. Each of them stared at Paolo’s handsome face. Some looked at him wistfully, while others glared at him, annoyed that he so rudely interrupted their evening.

  He pulled Lisa’s hand. “Come with me, Carida. Let’s get to know each other.” Her friends turned to one another in absolute shock. They figured that out of all of them, Lisa was the least likely to get up and walk away with a strange man.

  But she did. She took a deep breath and rose from the table, following Paolo to the bar where he helped her to a stool. He stood so close she felt his body gently pressed against her shoulder.

  Lisa felt so alive. Paolo bought her three drinks and rubbed her shoulders and arms, touching her often, whispering in her ear and drawing her hair off her face.

  She could tell from the distance that her friends were all staring at her, appalled. But she didn’t care. She started to tell him about her practice, but he interrupted. “No, Carida, tell me more about Spain. Tell me what you loved about it.”

  Stories about clients and billing turned to tales of sunsets, wine and art. Her eyes lit up as she spoke of such things.

  Listening to every word, he gently parted her thighs with his rough hands and stood right between them. With her seated on a high stool, his crotch was in direct contact with hers, and he pressed himself into her.

  Worried he might have gone too far, Lisa instead succumbed to the thrill of naughtiness and pressed her own body back into his. Paolo looked at her stunned and bit his lower lip.

  He leaned in and kissed her hard, a kiss that left her dazed and shaken, and left him with physical evidence of his arousal. Though surrounded by people, they were in their own space and no one could really see what they were doing, which added to the mutual arousal.

  Lisa leapt off her stool and almost violently grabbed Paolo’s hand. She led him along to the back door of the bar and opened it. Under a light shower of snow, she immediately pushed Paolo up against the brick wall, covering his body with hers, clenching his hands and lifted them above his head.

  Paolo moaned as she kissed his neck and jaw, and nibbled on his ear as she felt his growing erection against her hip. She raised her leg and wrapped it against his upper thigh.

  She began to thrust powerfully against him, clutching his muscular shoulders through his shirt. Her purse and coat fell to the ground as she ravaged his body.

  Not needing any further encouragement, Paolo reached for her jeans and undid the top snap, then pushed his cold hand into her warmth, causing Lisa to shiver and groan. He withdrew just long enough to pull down her zipper, and then returned and dug his fingers into her panties.

  Reaching first her downy hair, stroking it and pulling, he then burrowed his fingers into her slick folds, pushing deeper until his fingers were inside her, almost lifting her off her feet. Lisa responded by literally growling through clenched teeth.

  He rubbed and thrust his erection against her hip in time to the thrusting of his fingers inside her. Lisa moved her hips against him, squirming from his fingers, wanting him to make her come. He pulled his wet fingers out and easily found Lisa’s swollen clitoris that he rolled between his fingers, stunned at how large it had become. His soaked fingers stoked her clit up and down, sliding across it, pulling on it, rubbing it side to side. It was a frenzy of touching.

  Lisa threw back her head and lost herself in pleasure. She moaned in his ear, moving her body in a circular motion against his hand, pushing her toward orgasm. She grabbed the back of his neck with both hands looked deep into his eyes and said one word to him, half moaning. “Faster!”

  Suddenly Paolo cried out hoarsely, pushing hard against her hip. Lisa knew he orgasmed, and she loved the wet feeling from the spurts of semen that quickly soaked through his pants.

  Managing to keep this focus, his fingers increased their rubbing of her flesh until she too nearly collapsed from her release. All her senses disappeared momentarily except the feeling of his hand on her aching clit.

  She orgasmed so strongly, she bit into his leather jacket and screamed into it. Her muffled cry was heard in the bar. Paolo gradually slowed his rubbing her until she returned to reality, warm and grateful.

  He removed his hand and she kissed him deeply, their tongues mingling and dancing. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them, his eyes glued to hers as he tasted her. He kissed her again so that she tasted herself on his tongue.

  Their kisses grow softer and softer until they were gentle embraces. He smiled warmly and kissed her aga
in a few times. “Mi Hermosa,” he whispered and kissed her neck and stroked her hair.

  Lisa laughed and he looked at her in surprise. “I’ve been wanting to do that for about 20 years,” she said proudly, grinning from ear to ear.

  “If I ever meet that gypsy in Spain, I will be forever in his debt,” he responded, kissing her while doing up her jeans. “I’ve been lucky enough to taste the desire he created in you.”

  He led her back to the bar and into a private booth. Lisa waved to her friends with a mischievous look as she passed, and ordered the largest steak and baked potato. She was ravenous.

  He watched her eat with gusto and was happy to listen to her talk about her life and about Spain and the story of the young gypsy on the beach. He reached out to caress her hair and cheek and gazed at her as she spoke.

  The mood briefly vanished when Lisa spilled sour cream on her sweater, causing them both to laugh. A second round of laughter followed when Paolo examined the teeth marks on his coat.