Except for grunts and sighs, neither of us had said a word.
“Ay, Chico! What are we going to do with you?” she said as she rolled off. Apparently, “Chico” was to be my bedroom name.
She lay in the crook of my arm as my breathing returned to normal. Then she took my hand and showed me how to pleasure her. “With your hands, Chico, with your fingers!”
“Más alto, más abajo,” my lover commanded in Spanish as her passion increased. I did my best to accede by moving my fingers higher or lower. Her face began to get red. Her legs began to quiver. “Now con la lengua,” and just in case I didn’t understand the noun she grabbed my hair as she pushed my mouth into her crotch. She screamed something in Spanish and grabbed a pillow to cover her face and then screamed again. A flood of female juices covered my face. I tried to pull away, but she grabbed my head and returned it to its assigned position. Then her whole body quivered again and then again.
“Enough,” she said and let me come up for air.
The room smelled funky. Her side of the bed was soaking wet.
I didn’t know what to do or say. Okay,it happened, but now it has to stop. How do I ask her to get dressed and return to her own room? But I didn’t ask her to leave. I just lay on my back and said, “Wow.”
She laughed and said, “Wow indeed.”
We showered together. First, I stood behind her and rubbed the soap over her breasts. Her nipples hardened delightfully under my fingers. “I must have the cleanest breasts in Washington,” she said.
We switched positions. I faced the wall, as she washed my back and stroked my penis. Then one of her fingers, lubricated with soap and warm water, found its way into my behind. Her left hand strummed my front while her right hand provided a counterpoint against my prostate. I became a musical instrument, and she became the maestro. I leaned against the wall and tried to remember to breathe.
The crescendo occurred when her head found its way under my left arm. I thought she was coming up for a kiss. Instead, her teeth grabbed my left nipple and bit it hard. The shot of pain got confused with the pleasurable sensations from my front and rear. Combined, they unleashed two tsunamis. One started in my toes and traveled upwards while the other started in my head and traveled down. Closer and closer they came and then, finally, crashed together in my center. Then the waves parted for an instant and crashed together again.
Unable to stand, I collapsed in the tub, surrendering to the colossus standing over me. From my position, I saw her oak-like legs, her bulging vulva and then, further upward, her breasts like two horizontal hills. Maria’s face looked down from somewhere in the stratosphere — a glowing face framed with very wet, very black hair. She laughed. I smiled. I didn’t have the strength to laugh.
“Did you like that Chico?” she said.
I didn’t have the words or the strength to respond. I thought we were done for the night. Then, Maria squatted slightly and used her hands to spread her lower lips bringing her open genitals just inches above my face. “Look at me Chico, look at me!”
I looked. For a moment nothing else happened. We were frozen in place. My entire field of vision was absorbed by her womanhood. Then, without a word of warning, she released a flood of urine in my face.
“You’re mine, Chico. With this I mark you.”
Chapter 10
What now?
The bathtub wasn’t designed for two adults. Maria left, taking the hair dryer with her. I stayed to wash my face and hair thoroughly before wrapping a towel around my middle, and re-entering the bedroom.
I found Maria, naked, drying her hair. Her full breasts swayed back and forth as she moved the dryer from hand to hand. Her nipples, bright pink in contrast to her brown skin, seemed to wink at me from their reflection in the dresser mirror. Once again, Maria ignored my stare.
“I’m going to spend the rest of the night in my room so you can get some sleep,” she said. She walked over to the desk and stepped into her skirt. “I know you need to work tomorrow.”
I turned my back to her as I pulled on the boxer shorts I normally wear while sleeping. “Maria, you know that I’m married, don’t you?”
“Ay, Chico, of course, I know you’re married. You told me you were married when we first met. Someday you will tell me all about your wife and how much you love her.”
She secured the zipper on the side of her skirt and continued. “But tonight was not about your wife. It was about you and me — two humans who found each other in a hotel room at a moment when we needed each other.” She donned her suit jacket directly over her naked breasts.
“I like you, Dan,” she continued, “but tonight wasn’t about love. We needed to be together. That’s all.”
I sat on the bed mesmerized by this reverse striptease. “Will I see you at breakfast? Do you need a ride to work today?”
Maria could switch from sentimentality to practical matters in a heartbeat. There were so many questions rolling around in my head. The first and most important: Will we do it again?
“Yes, let’s meet for breakfast. No, I don’t need a ride.”
“Great, 7:30?” I made a move to hug her, but she turned away. “Not now, Dan, I’ll see you later.” She blew me a kiss and was gone.
I set up a 7:00 a.m. wake-up call and tried to go back to sleep. The sheets still held her smell. Her last words in the bathroom still echoed in my mind. “You are mine. With this I mark you.”
It was scary and exciting at the same time. It was exciting because it was scary. The sheets were a poor substitute Maria, but they were soft against my hardness. They were sufficient. The heat flowed from my head to my groin. At first, I fought against the impulse but finally surrendered to oblivion for the third time that night.
***
I awoke on Thursday feeling spent, guilty and giddy all at the same time. My back hurt from the bathtub experience. There was an unfamiliar tenderness in my groin.
Was I unfaithful? I didn’t want to confront the question. On the one hand, I did have sex with another woman. On the other hand, it was not as if I planned it. It just happened. It was her fault.
I knew that the argument was bullshit. Of course, I was unfaithful. I put the issue into a compartment at the back of my mind for later examination.
I made a cup of weak hotel-room-coffee and retrieved my voice mail messages. There were three, all from Beth. In the first one, she sounded annoyed. The second sounded more annoyed. By the third message, she had reached new heights of annoyed-ness. And she had a good reason for her attitude. I hadn’t been communicating with her during her very trying time.
Beth picked up on the first ring.
“Well, it is about time. Where the hell have you been? Where are you anyway?”
“Beth, I told you. I’m in Rockville. I had to attend a working dinner with a prospective new client. I didn’t get back until late. I sent you a text. I didn’t want to …”
“You didn’t have time for a phone call? Your daughter’s in the hospital, and you all you could do is to send me a bullshit text?”
I gulped. “You’re right. I should have called. How are you?”
“Fuck you. If you cared about me, you would have called yesterday.”
There was silence.
“Beth, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I just walked outside to get some air.”
“How’s Amy?”
“Amy will be in the hospital until tomorrow. They have her zonked out on pain meds. I’m exhausted. I slept in a chair beside her bed last night. I’ve been drinking too much coffee and eating too much crap food in the hospital cafeteria.”
“How’s Sara?”
“She’s okay, I guess. She stayed at a friend’s house last night. She keeps nagging me about the cell phone and …”
Silence again.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, God damn it. I’m here. I just found a bench to sit on. My hair’s a mess. I need a shower. When are you coming home?”
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“I’ll be home Friday. I’ll try to leave early. Go buy Sara her cell phone. We have the money. I got an advance from my new client and …”
“I thought you said that it was a prospective client?”
“Yes, well I guess it’s for real. We’re still working out the details, but they gave me a substantial retainer. I deposited $5,000 into our account yesterday.”
“Well hallelujah. What about the plane? Did you sell the plane?”
“No, I … ”
“Did you at least place the ad like you promised?”
“Not yet. I may need the plane as part of this contract and … ”
“God Damn it, Dan. You promised!”
“Yes, I know but this new contract … ”
“Dan, I don’t have time for your bullshit. You’re lying about something.”
“Beth, I’m … ”
“Save it. I’m going. Bye.”
I said “Goodbye” to a disconnected cell phone.
***
Maria wasn’t there when I got to the restaurant. Thankful for a few minutes alone, I scanned the local pages of the Washington Post for the story I dreaded finding. It was on page three, in the local section. The headline read, “One Dead on Northern Beltway.” The rest of the article was taken from the police report. A car went out of control and smashed into the guardrail, causing a chain reaction of fender benders. The driver of the car that caused the accident was found dead at the scene. His identity was withheld pending notification of family members.
I could feel the sweat breaking out on my forehead. Was it Richard? It was certainly his car. Maybe it was stolen? Maybe he loaned it to a friend?
You’re grasping at straws. Of course it was Richard. The chain of events was obvious. Richard left the hotel, drove on the Beltway, lost control and died from blood loss. What do I do with the cocaine?
Richard had my business card. Did he have it on him when he died? His blood was all over my airplane. Should I contact his sister? My breath came in short gasps.
Maria arrived. “Good morning, Dan.” Her voice was bright and overly loud. Several diners looked in our direction. I was certain that the men were jealous. I moved my left hand under the table to hide my wedding ring.
Maria, oblivious to the reaction, sat down and added the word “again” softly. She wore dark slacks and a gray sweater that seemed a size too small. When she moved in a certain way, I could see her nipples poking against the fabric. Her familiar gold cross rested in the valley between the two mounds. Was the religious symbol a warning sign — a sort of “X” warning me to keep away — or was it an arrow pointing downward to the delightful places that I explored just a few hours ago?
We just smiled at each other. I said “good morning” in a nonchalant way. Maria ordered her food. I drank my second cup of coffee and continued to scan the newspaper. Finally, I gathered my courage and spoke. “Maria, are you free tonight? Do you want to see me?” I was as shy as a teenager asking for a prom date. She smiled and touched my wrist.
“You’re such a child, Chico,” she said in a whisper. “Is this the first time you have been with another woman since you were married?”
I nodded.
“Yes, I am free. Tonight you will take me to dinner — somewhere very romantic. Before we meet, you will call your wife and take care of all of your business. We will have a lovely dinner and then return to my room. You will be with me, and I will be with you, and we will forget about everything and everyone else.”
***
A half hour later, I nervously walked to my rental car wondering if I would find it vandalized with the trunk ripped open. Instead, it sat undisturbed in its assigned place. As casually as possible, I opened the trunk. The duffle bag of narcotics stared back at me like a kidnap victim.
I decided that if the bag were still there when I finished teaching that day, it would be a sign from God that I was doing the right thing. God and I didn’t talk together on a regular basis. I was quite willing to assume that He or She either didn’t exist or was too occupied with other events in the universe to hear my pleas. That day was different. I was dealing with things I wasn’t used to dealing with. I was flying blind and looking to a higher power for guidance.
Maria gave me a set of orders. I was looking to God for a second opinion.
***
“Hi Dan, do you want me to teach today?” Michelle asked as I entered the classroom.
“How about I teach the morning, and you teach the afternoon?” I replied. “I need to leave early to visit a potential client.”
“That’s fine. Here is where we stopped yesterday.”
“You got that far? You must be very good.”
She smiled and said, “I’ve learned from the master.”
I had a hard time at first. But after the first half an hour, I found my rhythm and the class went reasonably well. I was gratified to see Michelle taking notes.
She came to my desk as the class broke for lunch. “That was great. I liked the way you used humor to make your points. I need to do that more often. Would you like to have lunch together?”
We took the elevator to the basement cafeteria, a huge windowless room with food and drink stations at one end. Michelle went to the salad bar. I opted for lasagna. After paying, I found Michelle waving at me from a far corner. She was sitting at a table with two strangers.
“Dan I want you to meet my friends Mike Henderson and Phil Swanson. They both work in the building. Mike, Phil, this is Dr. Dan Goldberg.”
“Call me Dan, please,” I said extending my hand.
Michelle continued the conversation. “Dan wrote a textbook on applied statistics. He has been teaching here for the past six months.”
I looked at the two men. One word described both of them — large. They were over six feet tall with very broad shoulders. Mike sported a blond crew cut. Phil was bald. They were both wearing sports coats, which I thought was unusual. The cafeteria was hot. Summer was only two days away. Everyone else, including me, wore only the bare minimum.
As I started to eat, I asked, “What do you guys do? Do you also work with the FDA?”
Mike responded, “No, we’re with the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA. We investigate narcotics trafficking.” He said this matter-of-factly as he used his fork to twirl spaghetti on his plate.
Oh, my God, I’m having lunch with men assigned to investigate me.
“Dan, are you ok?” Michelle said, “You’re not breathing.”
I gulped some water. “I’m fine. That sounds like exciting work.”
“Not really, for the most part, we sit behind desks and analyze data.”
“What kind of data?”
“We analyze all kinds of data,” Phil replied. “Right now we’re looking at data from the FAA concerning flights of private aircraft. We’ve been trying to correlate them with reports of drug deals, murders, stolen vehicles, etc. It’s tough going.”
Michelle, trying to be helpful, chimed in. “You know, Dan is great at analyzing data. Maybe he could help?”
Michelle, please keep your mouth shut. I don’t need a job proving I’m guilty.
Mike’s eyes brightened. “Do you have a card? We might be able to use your expertise from time to time. There’s so much data. We have trouble keeping up.”
I handed a card to each of them with a shaking hand and, in exchange, received theirs. I couldn’t eat. The remaining lasagna suddenly smelled like manure. I’m sure it showed on my face.
“Dan, are you sick?” Michelle asked, “Is there something wrong with the food?”
“You know, there might be. I don’t feel well. I might be allergic to something. I’m going to leave now. Michelle, can you teach the rest of the class?”
“Don’t worry. I think I can handle it. Go back to your hotel and rest.”
I rose holding my tray. “Thanks, Michelle. I’ll see you in the morning. It was nice meeting you, Mike and Phil.” The two just stared at me, and I was
sure that they were trying to memorize my face.
I stopped in the men’s room and washed my face. I made a mental list of all the things that could be used to trace the murders back to me. The most damaging item was Richard’s blood all over the inside of my plane. Like Macbeth’s wife, I needed to erase the blood as soon as possible.
Approaching my rental car in the parking structure, I was certain that someone was watching. I didn’t open the trunk. As casually as possible, I got into the car and drove out of the parking garage keeping one eye on my rear view mirror.
Chapter 11
Into Hot Water
On the way back to the hotel, I stopped at a McDonalds for a quick lunch. There, I watched a two-year-old climb up and down the indoor playground as his parents applauded his accomplishments.
Beth and I felt the same way when our first daughter was born. I was a graduate student then. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment decorated with yard sale furniture and books. Compared to our current lifestyle, we had nothing. Yet we were happy. Every smile and gurgle that came out of Sara’s mouth were gifts from God. When did we lose that feeling? Why was I risking arrest just to get more money to get more stuff? And when did I get so horny?
A part of my mind could rationalize that first night with Maria. I was drunk. But now, completely sober, how could I justify a second date with the lady?
I put the unanswered question in a deep, dark part at the back of my mind. Maybe some questions are better left unanswered?
With Maria out of the way, my mind wandered to the duffle full of cocaine. Maybe I should just take the dope to the nearest police station and confess? I’d return to my family, sell the plane, and look for a job. But will I be able to lie well enough to turn in the drugs and keep the cash?
I tried to imagine interrogation. I’m in a windowless room. There’s a one-way mirror on the wall. A metal table and two chairs, all bolted to the floor, are the only furniture. Two detectives enter. One is black. One is white. The white cop hands me a Styrofoam cup of weak coffee.
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