tatiana de la tierra
She has huge tits and I wonder if they’re soft like mine or duras como el mango verde. I’m thinking about tasting them.
“¿Quieres bailar?” I have to get into her face to ask her to dance ‘cuz the music’s so loud. She shakes her head, won’t budge. Sips something or other. Keeps her eye on the dance floor while I keep an eye on her. Es una noche de salsa y merengue, with some 70’s and techno thrown in. A Saturday night in Miami.
I have all night to get her.
Meanwhile, my lover takes me by the hand, drags me practically, a bailar. I’m sorta pissed off at her ‘cuz she was rude earlier, and I wanna make sure that she knows it, so I dance, playing aloof. Ella marca el ritmo con su cadera, presses into me and I let my body respond in sync, but I refuse to make eye contact. I focus on las otras mujeres bailando, glance at the ceiling, watch the bartender. I’m spinning and doing ese un-dos-tres, digging Guayacán, snarling and being a bitch all the while. My lover, she knows what’s happening, y le importa un carajo. That’s what I like about her.
And then I catch that woman watching us intently; she’s shifted her stool around to face us. Sits with her legs open and smokes a cigarette. Does nothing but watch. Turns me on.
I face my lover and go full force con el Grupo Niche, let my pelvis loose, let her lead me into her and away and around and back again. Es la salsa, I think, it’s so powerful. Y es mi amante, she’s such a galán. Pero también es the audience, esa mujer watching us con sus ojos claros.
“I found someone,” finally I tell my lover. We’re dancing slow and close to one of those old-time boleros. She has a firm grip on me and I’m fluttering into her like silk sheets strung out on a line to dry. My eyes are closed and somehow my feet are still going with hers and for a moment there I think that yes, it’s unexplainable, but I am in love.
“¿Con quién quieres?” my lover asks. I point the woman out with a glance as we go back to our seats. She’s not smoking anymore and her legs are crossed.
My lover goes to the bar to get our drinks and I wipe the sweat off my face and strategize. It’s been a while since we had someone else in bed with us, and this woman, whoever she may be, is the one. It’s really not about her tetas, although they are appealing. Or her big Viking body. Or the golden hair that shimmers or the eyes that seem like clear quartz crystals.
She’s different from the usual in Miami. No painted nails, no high heels, no make-up, no perfume, cheap or otherwise. Just casual slacks and an oversized shirt that shows her cleavage. Sandals and a big woven bag. And just like that, plain as she could be, she’s alluring. Me intriga, that’s it. I want to crack her code and give her a show of my own sexual dance. I want her to watch my lover break me open. I want my lover to do her like she does me.
Rum and Coke in hand, I go over to her once more and leave my lover to watch. “¿Quieres bailar?” This time she smiles, gives me her hand and goes with me. Es un merengue and I lead. She’s sorta stiff at first, but she loosens up soon enough. I guide her side to side, turn her out and then back in. I keep a respectable distance. In the midst of our dance, her tits brush against mine. They’re hard. Like green mangos, I think. I want to taste them, just like I wanted to when I first saw her.
The song ends and another begins. I get close to her face and cup my hands around my mouth. Tito Nieves sings “I like it like that” with a techno-Latin thump thump, and I ask her, loudly, so that she can hear me above the music, “¿Te quieres acostar con nosotras?”
“All you had to do was ask.”
Her name is Mía and she’s from Buenos Aires. She’s catching a flight to Paris tomorrow afternoon for a queer youth conference, donde va a presentar some sort of manifesto. She looks like she’s in her thirties but she’s only twenty-two years old. She has a raspy voice and is totally unpretentious. We’ll never see her again. Perfect.
We take her home.
Upstairs we go, into the bedroom. “Me quiero duchar,” she says, and I show her to the bathroom, hand her a clean towel. She looks me in the eye, starts undressing right away, as if testing me. “Is this what you want?” Off with the shirt, bra, pants, así nomás. Before me is a fat woman from a Botero painting, big-breasted, big-bellied, big everything. Beautiful. La quiero chupar ahí mismo, but I don’t dare, not yet. I nod. Yes, this is what I want. I turn towards the door. “Venga conmigo,” she says, and suddenly, I am scared. I can only do what my lover allows; she has to direct me. Those are the rules. But she’s downstairs fixing us drinks.
Mía extends a hand. I don’t move. She takes a step towards me, stands at my back, and unzips my dress. Pulls the fabric off my arms, down my legs. Unhooks my bra, pulls my panties and hose down with two hands. Nudges my right foot in the air, flicks my pump off, repeats the procedure with my left foot. I am naked before her, and terrified. “Qué linda,” she says in approval, and I’m embarrassed. This was all my idea, but somehow she has the upper hand. “Ven,” she says, and this time I give her my hand and step into the shower with her.
My nipples respond immediately to the cold blast of water. I let the water drench my head, run down my body full force. Mía is behind me, pressing her warm panocha into my cold ass, wrapping her arms around my stomach, biting into my back. She takes my ear into her mouth and cruises the ridges with her tongue. Blows hot little breaths that give me instant goose bumps. Cups her hand so I can hear her whisper above the sound of the shower. “Esto es lo que querías, Linda?” Sí, es ésto, y más.
She tickles my armpit with strands of her long wet hair. Slides her hand up to my tetas and fondles me, making me spin like a record on the turntable. That’s it. Estoy caliente. I extend my back, push my ass into her, reach for her with my hands behind me until I’ve got her nalgas at the tips of my fingers. Already, I want to fuck. And then her body tenses up behind me, and the water stops abruptly.
“I see you have everything under control,” says my lover. She dries her hand on a towel, lights a cigarette, sips from a tall glass she brought up, puts the top down on the toilet and sits.
“She wanted to . . . She made me . . .”
“And you just couldn’t defend yourself, could you?”
“I didn’t know . . . I . . . Te quería dar la sorpresa . . .”
“Put your clothes back on.”
Mía watches, open-mouthed. I step out of the shower, dry off, and dress while she and my lover watch. Qué comemierda, I’m thinking, but I don’t say a word.
“Dry her off,” orders my lover. Mía asks me questions with her eyes when I face her. No hay problema, I want to say. This is part of the game. But all I do is smile politely while I dry her body, patting the cloth on her thick arms and legs, swiping it down her back, sliding it into her crack, drying her wet pubic hair carefully, drop by drop. It takes all of my willpower not to drop on my knees and eat her.
When I’m done drying her off, Mía steps out of the bathroom and I hear her plunk down on the bed in the next room. “Ya está,” I say to my lover, handing her the wet towel, as if her watching wasn’t proof enough. It’s my way of saying, I’ll be a good girl now, I promise. It’s my way of saying, I’m yours, I’ll do as you say. She knows all of this, and she could give a shit. These are all givens, anyway, not novelties.
Mi amante no dice nada. Instead, she smokes her nasty cigarette, knowing that it makes her mouth taste like toxic waste, knowing that it makes me nauseous. She pulls me to her with one finger placed behind my knee. She makes me sit on top of her on the toilet, my legs spread completely open, my dress riding up so that my crotch is right there, vulnerable to her whims. She drags on the cigarette one more time, sucking it as if it were the last smoke she was allowed before facing a firing squad. She forces her mouth on mine, slides her poisonous tongue in, insisting that I respond. And I do, of course, and it’s not only ‘cuz I have to. It’s just that all the while, she’s milking a tit with one hand, and letting the cigarette burn near my crotch with the other. Lighting my fire, you could say, coqueteando con mi concha. I grimace when I smell the stink of my pubic hair burning. I jump when she grinds the cigarette out on the delicate skin of my inner thigh. I gag as she continues to shove her tongue into my mouth. And then she pulls her mouth and hands away and orders me to breathe.
In the bedroom, Mía is naked, eating a green mango, one of the huge ones that they sell at the beach, hard and sour, with salt sprinkled on top. There is a small pocketknife on the night table. She is sitting on the edge of the bed, the contents of her big purse spilled out around her. Scraps of paper, a Pentax, passport, cigarette case, Chiclets y pintalabios. Ella nos ofrece a wedge of her mango and I wish I could go get the salt and suck on a piece myself but my lover says no, thank you, for both of us. She takes the pocketknife and Mía says, “Ay, estas mujeres estan locas,” exasperated, as if she were talking about other crazy bitches who weren’t right in the same room with her. But even so, she sits up on the bed, as if preparing herself for a private show, which is exactly what this is.
My lover takes me by the hair and pushes me onto the floor. I have not yet been properly punished for acting without her approval. Me preparo para lo que sea. The terrazzo floor is cold on my back and I hear the central air conditioning kicking in; I’m bracing myself.
“I am the only one who can take your clothes off. ¿No lo sabías?” She has me by the throat. I nod obediently. Yes, I know. She slaps my face. I close my eyes, turn away. She grabs my hair, slaps me again. I wince and swallow my cries as she slaps my body with her open palm. Face, tits, hips, legs. And then I moan, make the wrong noise. This is punishment; I should be thrashing about in pain, and nothing else. She rams my crotch with her knee. “Hay algo más que no sabes?”
I whisper a very long no, and then I realize that my sounds are all too prolonged, but I’m in no position to measure them. She throws my body this way and that, unzipping my dress in a fury, pulling it off, ripping the bra, jabbing my ribs, hurting me, repeating, in a super-controlled tone that always terrifies me, “I am the only one who can take your clothes off. ¿No lo sabías? ¿Es que no lo sabías?”
She stops to take a breath and I don’t give a fuck if I am being punished. I hump my papaya into her leg, squeeze, thrust hard, moan long, prop myself up on my elbow and suck on my own damn teta. Fuck her and the visitor too. I’m still only half naked but I’m one hundred percent caliente, ready to kill them both if they don’t fucking fuck me, and soon, hijueputas de mierda.
My lover laughs. She knows I’m ready to kill her. Takes away the leg that I am riding. Pulls my hands and mouth off my body.
“Deja eso,” she says. “That’s my property.”
Motherfucker. Well then do something with your goddamn property, I want to scream. Instead, I pant, pucker my lips, get ready to cry like a little girl who must have that cloud of pink cotton candy. Must have.
Knife in one hand, she grabs the crotch of my underwear with the other. Mía and I catch our breaths in unison. My lover pulls out the fabric, pierces it with the blade, rips a hole through the pantyhose and underwear, teases my exposed labia with the tip of the knife. I become as still as humanly possible, afraid of making the wrong move.
“Yo hago de ti lo que me da la gana,” she says, and I recite my motto for her: Do with me what you will. She smiles and kisses me on the forehead, flings the knife across the floor, rips the fabric completely open with her hands. Spreads my legs out wide, looks me in the eye as if to say, Aquí estoy mi amor, aquí siempre estaré.
Finally, finally, she fucks me. And I’m moaning now, all I want, singing the I’m-getting-fucked-please-don’t-ever-make-me-wait-so-long-and-don’t-you-motherfucking-stop-fucking-me-ay-mi-amor song. But you know, you gotta pause sometimes even with all that fucking and moaning ‘cuz you just might pass out then and miss out on getting fucked even more. It was during one of those pauses that I heard another woman moaning, just above me. Mía.
“You have a guest to attend to,” says my lover, pulling her hand out without finishing me off.
I am one horny fucking bitch as I get up from the floor, take off whatever clothing is still clinging to me, and eye Mía sprawled out on the bed. She’s all there, ready for me, legs open, stroking herself.
“Te estoy esperando,” she says in her low raspy voice. She needs me as much as I need her. I’m on my knees, finally sucking on her tetas, and they really are hard like I thought they would be. I watch her melt beneath my tongue, doing her woman swooning, her little woman whimperings. Finally get the sassy bitch under my control. She has twenty-two-year-old flesh, deliciosa. I brush her hand away from her panocha. Lick her fingertips and take in her aroma. She’s been working herself, pumping her juices while I was getting fucked on the floor.
For the third time in one night I ask her, “¿Quieres bailar?” Except now she has no choice ‘cuz I’m pressing my palm on her mound of Venus, on the verge of discovering her fat pussy, her plump lips, her enormous pepa.
“Let me have the pleasure of leading you in this dance,” I say, and she closes her eyes and opens her legs wider in response. She takes my hand, squeezes it while I caress her papaya with my other hand. We could be girls holding hands in the playground, but we’re hot dykes fucking for our lives. I make her clit hard like a pebble. Ella me aprieta la mano, digs her fingernails into my palm, moves her body from one side to the next, dancing for me.
“Ay mujer,” she says. “Fóllame, fóllame, fóllame . . .”
Inside I go. Two, three, four fingers. Slowly. Deeply. Lovingly. She wants it hard and rough, though. I can tell by how she milks my hand, as if I just couldn’t fuck her hard enough. I can tell by the way she’s breathing in hot fast spurts. I can tell by the way she’s dilating inside, making room for more, harder, bigger fucking. I lean into her, chupándole las tetas along the way to her neck. Bite her earlobe. Whisper, “¿Quieres que te coja completamente adentro?”
She nods, stills her pelvic dance. I keep fucking her slowly, side to side, opening her further. Tuck my thumb into my palm and carefully curl my fingers into a fist and continue fucking her, completely filling her inside. We are doing a slow and cautious fist-fuck dance, the two of us. We are embracing like lesbians in love do. “Ay, qué linda que eres,” I tell her. “Bellisima.”
It’s too intense, though, for both of us. Too much vulnerability, too thick a love haze. I uncurl my fingers, pull out, take her clit in my mouth. But she moves fast and furious, and so once again I go inside, fucking her hard like she always wanted. Fuck her to Paris and back. She’s so damn close to coming.
And then, I can’t help it, I have to stop. My lover is ramming into my panocha from behind and all I can do is drop my hands down on the bed and raise my ass and let her fuck me and fuck me. Mía is moving on the bed pero no me doy cuenta porque I am just a whore in heat and I’m getting fucked and nothing in the world can distract me. There’s a mouth on my breasts, a finger in my asshole, a hand slapping my ass, a polla in my panocha, panting all around me, a tongue on my pepa and that’s it, that’s it . . . “Ahí me tienen, hijueputas, ahí . . .” Me estoy corriendo and I’m still getting fucked and then I just drop right on top of Mía, pobrecita, she’s still toda caliente, and I lose all my decorum and fall on her, her cunt in my mouth. Bury my face between her legs and cry, long and soft. My lover strokes my back and Mía gives my panocha little kisses. I drift away, I don’t know for how long.
When I awake from my orgasmic daze I am still in bed with two women, the one who owns me, and our foreign playgirl. My lover is leisurely licking the visitor’s tetas. My lover is excitada as hell, I know, because soon she is grinding her extremely wet papaya on my ass, humping me with precision, making sounds as if she may finally break, stone butch that she is. I brace my arms firmly on the bed while my lover is getting off at my back and focus on our guest’s papaya. It is gleaming, beckoning, pleading, urging that I attend to her. Entonces me la como. Suck each lip luxuriously, dip my tongue inside, make circles around her pepa until it grows huge and hard again. I spy the mango pit on the night table. Big, hard. I take it in my hand, plunge it inside her, fuck her with the seed, lick her. At my back my lover is grinding with that final rhythmic rush she gets before coming. She stiffens and sings, “Mariconas, que mariconas que son, sacándome la leche, grandisimas putas.” Se está viniendo with a violence that I just fucking love. Fast and furious I eat our visitor’s bulging clit. She screams once, twice. The playgirl slices her nails into my back while her papaya contracts in delicious waves. My lover falls on top of us both.
We are all silent except for our heavy breathing. The mango pit is still inside the playgirl’s cunt. I take a bite.
“El Baile (The Dance).” Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2005. Ed. Nicole Foster. Los Angeles: Alyson, 2004. 284-292.