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There is a difference between having sex and making love. I would have been unconvinced of that, through any explanation or demonstration, no more than a few years ago. And not that there is anything wrong with having sex – I enjoy sex as often as I can, but making love is different. Making love is two souls touching, intertwined and wanting, until the wanting is so intense that the souls, even if for just moments, become one.

Rachel is a great example of a soul that, once touched, is now part of me. I carry a piece of her with me wherever I go. In the supermarket I sometimes wonder if she’s shopping for potatoes; at the racetrack I ponder how many times her sweet clitoris ever bumped a saddle horn; whenever I see a couple, happy and glowing, I think about her and I hope that she is happy. And so on.

Wherever you are, Rachel, I hope that you are happy. I hope you have a man that manages to touch your soul once in a while. I hope you have a man that massages your soul whenever you need it.

I want that for you more than I want anything.

* * * *

We met accidentally – or as she puts it, it was destiny, but she knows I see no difference between destiny and any other happy accident that occurs when we’re lucky. I was very lucky that day, if you believe in luck. I believe that luck is hard work that meets opportunity. Then, I reckon I believe that accidents occur when one works hard and looks to try something new and unique, perhaps. Or else, even better, I reckon that everything in life that happens to us is supposed to happen to us. That certainly explains the day I met Rachel.

San Diego is a beautiful city; it isn’t Baja, it isn’t Mexico, but so far as any city in the United States of America goes, it is certainly worth as many visits as one can comfortably manage. It was deep into August, the warm dry wind gently whipped the palm trees into a frenzied sway, dancing like hula girls for the tourists. When I go to San Diego, it is usually to see a ballgame or get some books, and that particular day in August I achieved both pleasures. I sat outside of the Wild Shamrock that afternoon, once one of the best pubs in the Gaslamp District, reading and drinking scotch and ale and welcoming the occasional interruption. Sucre d’oeil, eye candy walked by at tasty and unpredictable intervals.

Sometimes the eye candy came into the pub.

This particular sucre d’oeil came back out onto the front patio with a Guinness and sat two seats over and she watched Fourth Street and smiled. For the moment, it was just her and me. I pretended not to notice her, but that was impossible. She was polite, I know she observed my furtive leering eyes all over her sexy body. Tight jeans hugged her curves, low cut in the back revealing the small of it; and the strap of a thong teasing anyone lucky enough to stand behind her. Her tight fitting tank top was the perfect marquee for those huge, luscious breasts; her cleavage started high on her chest and ran deep into the top. I wanted to lose myself in there. I wanted to lick her body from the inside out.

“This is a beautiful city, isn’t it?” she broke out. Her voice was sexy, even when she probably didn’t want it to be sexy. It was a sultry voice, truth told. She was sultry.

“I was born here,” I told her. “But not raised here. I guess I’m just a tourist.”

She giggled. It was sexy.

“Actually, I’m just here for a conference,” she informed me.

She caught me starring at her breasts and then mockingly leaned back so I could get a better view. Then she giggled. I straightened up.

“Ah, the San Diego Convention Center,” I said catching her dark eyes. Eyes of every color, of all colors.

My eyes are mostly green and occasionally blue. I have no control over that. I also had no control over what happened next, but it was thrown into my lap. It was meant to be thrown into my lap. I have no idea why.

“No, actually, I am attending a conference in Tijuana,” she said.

It was my turn to giggle.

“Ah,” I said, “What a coincidence, I live in Baja.”

* * * *

The moon was almost full and the moon’s beam decided to do a little dance against her skin. Maybe that’s how the moon gets full, maybe its beam dances off of the sweet flesh of beautiful girls and beautiful women. Maybe the moon even wanted to start inside of that tank top, start from the inside and work its way out. I certainly thought about that, obsessively, and after a short while, the moon’s desire was no match for my own. There was something about Rachel that made me crazy. There is something about Rachel that will never leave me. Even now.

Rachel was complex, a lovely dichotomy of feminine aura; sensuality and sexuality shined from her spirit like the Sun’s rays in deep summer afternoons, and her form was inviting, even compelling. When she spoke, it was eloquent yet practical; and she could be alluring as a princess and flirty like a schoolgirl all at the same time. We drank and chatted and got close as the air began bahis firmaları to cool and the palm trees slowed their sexy dance.

I explained Tijuana to Rachel and we talked for hours. She would touch me on the hand and the arm just to make a point in conversation, and soon I began to respond with an erection whenever she touched me, and she would coyly glance away after noticing that she had achieved her objective. Once I had calmed down, she would start with the hands again, sneaking looks downward every so often, and it didn’t take much until my cock was hard, obviously straining to be let loose. Embarrassed at first, I stopped caring after a half-hour or so, she was obviously enjoying herself. And me? I couldn’t have been more turned on.

Conversations about philosophy, music, literature, and humanity mixed with my desire to devour her body and her obvious delight at completely turning me on. I was her toy, and I loved it. I never talked to her about that night, but I think she knew. How could she not know?

* * * *

I accompanied her to the border and we crossed like leaves floating on running water and made our way downtown into the center of Tijuana, into the center of the lovely dragon’s lair. I bought her another drink there and we sat, in a booth in the darkest corner of the cantina, and the small talk turned into something more interesting. Again, with her hand on my arm, so lightly, and then she wasn’t so shy about glancing at my jeans for a moment, and then she looked up at me and grinned.

“Aaron, you have me at such a disadvantage, ” her voice playfully teased as she then quickly took at peek down at her handiwork, and then looked back up into my eyes.

The bulge in my jeans was obvious now, and getting more obvious by the second. Her hand decided to stay on my skin, moving slowly and slightly, but moving.

“Rachel, I’d never take advantage of you.”

“I don’t know if that’s exactly what I want to hear”, she giggled. The she looked into my eyes, and her touch seemed to tremble slightly.

“Do you know how much you turn me on?” her voice almost quivered.

I squirmed next to her and my body tingled, unexpectedly.

“Now, you have me at a disadvantage, Rachel.”

Our faces were close, our eyes swimming in the same pool of raw libido. My cock was throbbing, straining, wanting. She was hot, her skin shining against the cool, dim background, her hand slowly moving down my arm to rest briefly on my hand before touching the outside of my upper thigh.

“The problem is,” I continued, “I can’t imagine anyone more turned on than I am at the moment.”

I gently touched her shoulder; her smooth, soft skin underneath my fingers and then I touched her lips, softly running my finger over them. I wanted to kiss her, and we came closer, and she slowly started to close her eyes as she tasted my finger, gently sucking on it, licking it, sucking it again. I wanted to climb out of my clothes, my other hand slowly caressing her cheek and moving down to her neck. She shuddered, her hand rubbing my thigh closer and closer to my aching cock. I wanted her to touch it, my cock wanted to feel her hand, and as if she could read my mind, her finger began to wander closer and closer to the swollen blood-filled head of my cock until finally…

“¿Unas mas, señor?” came a voice from another planet.

It was the cantinera, asking us if we wanted another drink, imperfect timing. I was practically panting and so was Rachel, and simultaneously we burst out laughing. As I politely refused and paid our tab, I noticed Rachel, admiring the result of her pretty dancing finger. She had brushed the head of my cock with her finger, and my tingling cock jumped as if jolted electric with anticipatory ecstasy, and, finding no spare room for that maneuver, spilled gooey precum onto my jeans half way up my thigh.

She excused herself to the ladies room, and I calmed down enough in the time it took her to return so that I could escort her out, onto the street, and I hailed a cab. I leaned into the window and paid the driver ten dollars and gave him instructions. As I opened the back door of the cab for Rachel, she stopped, and she looked at me and bit her lower lip.

“Come with me?” she asked.

I didn’t know what to expect but I did get into the cab with her. We rolled on, toward the twin towers of Tijuana. The night was still cooling, and the almost-full moon led our way and palm trees shivered a bit as we went east, her hair glowing. I was so proud of Tijuana that Sunday night. I went on and on about this and that feature of the city, the old bullring, still standing back then, is now gone. The old casino, gone except for a couple of landmarks, the new cultural center, she soaked it all up. And, too soon, we were there. We got out and I held the driver while me and Rachel faced each other.

We didn’t say anything, we just looked at each other. I stepped close to her, brushed her cheek with the back of my finger, down to her chin, and I kissed kaçak iddaa her. Gently, at first, slowly, our lips tasted each other’s, and then deeper until our tongues found their way into each other’s hot, wanting mouth, until our hips moved closer and I pushed myself against her so that she could feel my stiff, longing cock. We finally stopped kissing and stood there in a hard embrace, panting.

“I want you, Rachel,” I told her, looking into those eyes.

“God, I want you so much,” she said.

I looked up at the moon, then back into her eyes. The taxi driver honked, the meter was running. Without looking back, I held him still.

“We just met today,” I told her. “I don’t think you’re the type to sleep with a man the first day you meet him.”

Rachel grinned and looked up, probably at the moon.

“Aaron, I haven’t invited you in,” she said, grinning.

“Ah. Good point. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be presumptuous…”

“Shhhh!” she held a finger to my lips.

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, it’s a one day conference, it’s over at six, and my flight doesn’t leave until Tuesday evening,” she whispered.

She bit her lower lip. Again. I slowly pulled my hips away, I was getting hard again.

“Is seven ok?” I asked.

“Make it eight,” she said.


The taxi driver honked again, a longer pulse.

“No, the conference is taking care of that. Eat first!” she laughed.

She gave me her room number and I walked backward toward the cab and watched her walk up the steps and disappear into the lobby. She didn’t look back.

The cab rattled like the last car on a roller coaster. The taxi driver, his window open to the Tijuana night, hung his arm out and held on tightly to his cigarette. I had annoyed him, but it must have worn off.

“Que bonita, su novia, señor,” he told me.

“¿Así es, verdad? Ah, gracias.”

We chuckled and then things were all right. My girlfriend, he called her. I didn’t want to ruin his impression of us, so I let it go. The dust crunched underneath the tires as the driver pulled up and I climbed out of the cab, and I remember tipping the driver well. I keyed the lock on the front door of my house and went in, grabbed a beer, went to my bedroom stripped naked, lay back on the bed and starred out of the window. The moon had gone down. There were stars.

My mind raced and I caught myself masturbating, my cock was hard and longing for something on the other side of the city. I stopped myself and sat up and drank two gulps out of the bottle. Still erect, I lay back on the bed and slept that way, wanting, longing, and dreaming.


* * * *

I don’t know how I got through Monday, Rachel was ever-present in my head, and no matter how hard I tried to remind myself that I shouldn’t assume anything more than the company of a beautiful girl, I was handicapping and making wagers in-between erections and fantasies and all I could think of was that last moment in the cantina. All I could think about was that pretty finger drawing circles on my thigh, getting closer and closer to the head of my cock and I was consumed by our kiss in front of her hotel. But doubts managed to intercede at regular intervals; we drank a lot last night. I didn’t want her drunk or even half drunk; I wanted her relaxed.

All men who encourage women to drink enough to lose all inhibitions might want to rethink their strategies; there’s nothing more frustrating then the ironic disunion of someone who, horny like a cat in heat, comes into the act of scratching that itch already disassociated with consequences of actions from it — and madly driven for orgasm and unable to achieve it. One act should always lead to another, a tease, a compliment, a touch, a reaction, a laugh, a kiss, and so on. The acts of wanting and desire should break down the inhibitions if two people want each other; alcohol is only a vehicle, a slow-moving horse-drawn carriage.

Somehow, through it all I still managed to cash a few hundred dollars, a good enough haul for a Monday, but getting to eight o’clock took forever. I went to a bar near where Rachel’s hotel was at and I drained a scotch, and ordered another. I had a nice bottle of white wine with me, but I didn’t care if we drank it. I decided that I wanted to pour it all over her body and lick it off. But I really had no idea what she had in mind. I took my time with the second scotch and watched the clock. Tic-tic-tic.

The breeze was warm, maybe even hot, and I slowly walked down the street to see Rachel. The moon, now full, welcomed the twilight in the eastern skyline, and I made my way up the steps, into the lobby, into the elevator, and found her room. I knocked, and a moment later the door opened.

“I wasn’t sure that you would show,” she smiled.

She was wearing a pants suit, the stuff of conferences and conventions. She looked all business and I entered and closed the door. I’d never been in this hotel, the rooms were enormous, and the furnishings were lavish kaçak bahis by Mexico standards. There was even a couch.

“Um, I didn’t know what you might like to do, so I brought some wine to drink while we talk about it.”

“Oooh, that sounds good right now,” Rachel cooed, and she grabbed some glasses while I fought open the cork in the wine bottle with a pocketknife.

We slowly sipped wine and sat on the couch, talking away for a good while, and then the subject of what we were going to do came up. It turned into a whatever-you-want-to-do-is-great-with-me-fest, and I broke it finally by offering up the obvious.

“Rachel, I really enjoy your company. We don’t have to go anywhere unless you want to, I’m happy right here.”

“Honestly, Aaron, I’m happy right here too,” she told me.

“But since we’re staying in, I’d love to change out of the work clothes,” she added.

“By all means,” I said.

She went to change, out of direct view in the closet alcove. It took me a few seconds to realize that there was a mirror in back of her on the opposite wall; and for a moment, I treated myself to Rachel, beginning to undress, slowly as if she wanted to make sure that every piece of clothing received the proper care it deserved. And then I felt a twinge of guilt, that I was violating her privacy, so I reluctantly looked away and down beside the couch. Then I noticed something: The couch had been moved two feet from where, for who knows how many years, it originally sat. The footmarks were deep and the carpet a good shade lighter. And then I wondered, did Rachel do this? Am I supposed to be watching?

I glanced up just in time to watch her remove her bra and panties, and she stood naked, admiring her own form. She was stunning and my cock reacted instantly. I decided to make small talk.

“It was really hot today,” I said loud enough for her to hear.

“Really? I was inside all day, unfortunately,” she said, cupping her breasts and swiveling from side to side.

“Oh, you would have loved it outside, your skin soaking up the Baja sunshine,” I tested.

“Do you think I might need more sun, then?” Rachel countered, modeling every sexy aspect of her form in the mirror, obviously aware that I was watching, even looking at me now in the mirror awaiting my response.

“Oh, no, I think you have fantastic skin,” I said.

My cock was hard, not just from admiring her body, but because I was convinced that she set this scene up! I brought wine for us to relax, and she wanted me to know that it was ok to want her. And I did, as I watched her slip a flimsy sundress on over her head. She wore nothing underneath it. She walked out toward me.

“Much better,” she said, her body perfectly suited for the low-cut cotton dress, her breasts straining against the soft fabric.

“You look incredible,” I told her.

She smiled and I poured us each one more glass of wine. We sat on the couch and faced each other, inches away from touching. Rachel had glanced at my cock bulging from my denim and then looked away, grinning.

“To you, and you’re incomparable sexiness,” I toasted.

Our glasses clinked and we sipped.

“Funny, that’s what I was going to say about you,” she reflected.

We looked at each other and I had to kiss her, so I did. Slowly, sweetly, watching her close her eyes and accept my lips. I slowly stopped and backed away slightly, grinning.

“You know, I might never see you again,” I told her.

“Probably not,” she responded.

Rachel bit her lower lip and looked into my eyes for a moment. Then she slowly stood up and moved in front of me, took her dress from the bottom, arms crossed with both hands, and lifted it up and over her head. She stood there in front of me, watching me being turned on, looking at my hard cock in my jeans.

“You look a little uncomfortable,” she said, “I think you might want to slip into something more comfortable. Like your naked skin, maybe?”

I stood up and took off my shirt. I went for my pants, my cock straining due to my erection, but her hands stopped mine and went for my buttons in their stead. I was naked underneath, and she slowly undid the buttons one by one, and then spread my jeans at the top and let the pants fall free; except I was too hard for the laws of physics at that point, so she slowly slid my pants down at the sides, my cock straining against gravity. Slowly, she teasingly exposed the base of my cock and then more of it as the pants went lower, until she could see the top of my cock head.

“Mmmm,” she groaned.

Then, finally, with another inch lowered, my cock, so completely erect, sprang up so hard it smacked my stomach and then stood throbbing almost straight up.

“God you’re huge!” Rachel exclaimed.

Then she reached down with one finger and traced around my cock, which repeatedly responded with uncontrollable spasms of delight. Precum quickly appeared and she gasped, then moaned and touched the tip of my cock and spread the precum around my cock head. I was gently teasing her nipples, left handed, because she seemed to be favoring her left hand while gently teasing my grateful cock. I kissed her, deeply, our tongues in each other’s mouths, until I couldn’t stand it.

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