The Festival

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Brian Reese hopped on the Boonton train for Hoboken. He had heard that the Cinco De Mayo Festival in Manhattan was exciting and wanted to experience it for himself. The latin music, the food, the women in skimpy J.Lo’ish shorts and tank tops appealed to him. He wasn’t Spanish or Hispanic or the prevailing PR term popular these days – his dark hair and deep set brown eyes spoke of his Middle European decent- but that did not mean he couldn’t enjoy what they had to offer.

Brian was meeting a friend of his that was not Latino either but had more experience with the culture than Brian did. And he spoke Spanish. And Brian figured that an interpreter was an interpreter, and a friend was a friend, and that both properties rolled on in could come in handy.

It was when Brian received a voicemail message from his friend as he left the station that opened into Lower Manhattan that he heard the news: he would be solo in Manhattan at a festival he knew little about because of a problem about which he knew: Car trouble.

However, it was not as much of a problem as he had thought. He was not a virgin to New York or to festivals in general, and once he was on the main street, with the sounds of music, laughter, and the clamor of hundreds of people walking and shopping and bouncing to drums and a rather silky female singer, Brian forgot all about his friend bent over somewhere fuming over a flat tire.

It was hard for Brian to focus on anything for too long; as soon as something caught his attention, something else would catch his eye. Finding his way to a vendor singing the praises of a long dead Spanish hero, Brian found himself pulled toward the sight of a shirtless man showing off tattoos on his body and those he created on other people that hung as pictures on blocks of wood. (Apparently Foreheads and necks were his preferred choice of medium, with death –usually thin skinned- and women –usually thick skinned- his chief form of expression.) There was the woman selling large embroidered quilts emblazed in green and purple, and the balding, explicitly refined man who offered the only true hair restoration gel in existence with a horse-dung base. “Lather it on the problem areas and you will clamp your feet in excitement.”

And the food: The air was alive with a mixture of spices, meats, and sauces all designed to entice and attract Brian. He didn’t want to eat so soon, yet he quickly relented to the aroma of fried chicken and rice coming from a small square cubical between a demonstration of a car-wax product and two women in bikinis selling cd’s. A makeshift menu hung slightly askew below one of the flimsy support beams by string. It read in part:

CHURROS

AORROS CON PULLOS

ARAZCOS

FRIJOLES

He wasn’t quite sure what most of the words meant; The Spanish he knew amounted to what a person could gleam from one year of Spanish in High School, which amounted to “ponga la mesa”, “?donde esta la biblioteca?,” and “su pero esta muy grande.” The curse words fellow students surreptitiously taught him in class would add to his repertoire greatly, if only in whore houses or dark alleys in Mexico. As it was, the only word he was able to surmise was Frijoles - which was close to fries in for, and thus meant fries in function. He was studying the sign – slightly tilting his head to better align to it - when the large man that stood underneath it spoke.

“What are you looking for, friend?”

“Well I’m not sure. Something smells good here, but I can’t figure out from looking at the menu what it is.”

“You cannot read Spanish?” The gruff man said while scratching his round belly. His shirt, coupled with colorful stains, was worn around his stomach.

“No”

“Ahh,” the man smiled, scratching away. His eyes glinted for a second and he quickly started talking. “I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I will make you an ‘iro with chicken and a special sauce that will make you think you are in Mexico. Ok?”

“Sure.”

The man went to work and within seconds handed Brian a hero wrapped in tin foil. His grin was larger than before. “You will feel like a true Mexican after you eat this my friend”

Brian thanked him, walked, and took a bite, staying clear of the foil. He bit into chicken, a tangy sauce, some lettuce, tomato, and something that squished and flooded his mouth with hundreds of tiny lit matches that wouldn’t burn out in a vacuum of a closed mouth or to - Brian’s dismay - Pepsi.

He remembered some of the more virulent Spanish curses but they came out as gasps. His eyes welled up with tears.

Just then a woman’s hand came to rest on his left shoulder, startling him.

“That guy gave you hot peppers huh? The woman turned to the man who was now scratching his belly under his shirt and shouted in Spanish. The man yelled back and his fingers quickened their frantic pace.

“Common tall, dark and fiery, I can fix you right up.”

Her hand slid down his arm and came to rest on his tricep. Two sensations vied for his attention: the fire in his mouth and the cooling warmth of her skin on his. Brian tried to focus on her but all he saw was a female figure. One that morphed every time he blinked. She brought him over to a vendor and spoke quickly in Spanish to the figure standing there. The figure giggled, and after another few seconds of pain, Brian felt something cold and damp touch his finger tips.

“Here. Drink this. Milk counteracts spicy food while soda just whishes it around.” He never heard “Whish” sound so sexy before. He quickly wrote it off as the Nightingale Syndrome. He was just in love with his nurse. His protector, his “knight in shining, hip-hugging armor.” He was able to eek out his gratitude.

“That guy’s a bastard for doing that…” she held back a snicker, “but it’s kinda funny seeing your eyes bulge out like a reptile’s”

“Very funny” Brian replied, feeling the milk sooth the heat and pain. First she eases my pain, then she laughs at me? She must be the devil in disguise. He wiped his eyes and saw what she really was. She was smaller than him and he first looked at curly dark hair. It ended shoulder length in coils, like soft ice-cream in a cone. Or snakes that vigilantly slept.

He wanted to touch them. Watch them bounce. Constrict around his fingers in their softness. They framed her beautiful face like cedar wood framed a photograph. Her eyebrows were set above eyes so blue they were almost black. He couldn’t help to think about the movie Dune when he looked at them. He nervously looked away and found his eyes on a tight grey t-shirt that didn’t leave room for a bra. If he were a lingerie salesman, he would not have to use a tape measurer. They were large and full, and he would have given up his friends to caress them and kiss them on the spot. He heard that nipples were unique to the woman that carried them and had different sensitivities accordingly. He hoped hers were very sensitive. The rest of her was full bodied and she was able to carry her breasts well: Full hips and buttocks filled in tight jeans followed by open toed shoes and blue nail polish like the ones wrapped around his arm.

Brian’s penis pressed against his boxers. He blushed. He tried to turn his leg up and over his hard-on but didn’t want to broadcast this effect to its cause. She moved her fingers, tapping them on his arm, and he snapped his eyes back to hers. If he projected this internal battle outward, she didn’t show it. Her smile expanded and he smelled lavender and spice. He didn’t want her. He needed her. Her presence and touch made his masculinity vibrate and hum like a machine.

“My name is Marie.” She answered the question drawn by his eyes.

***

For the next two hours they walked around. They also talked: he of his job, his goals, and what he wanted in 5 years. Of his dog Dizzy; how he loved Metallica and Jimmy Buffet, and how that wasn’t a contradiction in terms. She spoke of her family, her apartment only a mile or so away and of living alone for the first time. The low paying job that she couldn’t, wouldn’t give up because it was so enjoyable and rewarding, and how his job would be better if he treated it like a passion. She loved her cats, and was astonished how they seemed to plan ahead when they attacked each other around corners, under the couch, and around every legged piece of furniture. Her words were melodic, her laughter, applause. He was intoxicated. He tried to get her to teach him some Spanish and purposefully fumbled on the r’s, making Marie roll her tongue and purse her lips repeatedly. `

She made him tell her about skydiving. She hung onto his arm and stared at him when he got to the plane’s platform: “I was scared. Very scared. But then I noticed that if I visualized all my strength, all my courage, rolled it into a ball of energy, and then placed that ball directly in front of me, I could jump. I didn’t jump out of a plane, I jumped into me.” Marie had hung there suspended. She almost tripped when Brian moved out of the way for someone in an electric wheelchair. She didn’t speak until he offered her a sip of Pepsi moments later.

All this time his erection ebbed and flowed like the tides. It subsided for a while until she strummed her fingers on his back or neck, or would talk of the passion she had for something.

Brian felt that the feeling was mutual. Marie leaned into his arms and cooed when they looked at ten dollar watches with names like Bovado, Prade, and Timec. She pressed into his arm and his felt that she was hard. When she moved away he felt her nipple run over his arm slightly like a passing thought. He put his arm around her waist and squeezed, then ran his hand up and down her lower back. She smiled back at him.

This is when he felt a drop of water run down the back of his neck. He laughed at himself, thinking that the phrase sweating over someone was now a true statement. Another drop corrected him as it hit him directly on top of his head.

It began to pour. People ran around, trying to find protectio. Brian enjoyed the sudden excitement and the adrenaline rush it provided. Marie seconded his thoughts and started running along side him, yelping and laughing all at once.

“Where should we go?” Brian yelled, weaving around those that suddenly got in his way. Marie, holding his hand, lagged slightly behind.

“I know where to go… Follow me!” She pulled him down one street into an alley, making a hard right forcing Brian to follow suit. Her hand clamped around his, and Brian felt his own hand react accordingly. They slithered around a large brown dumpster and strewn boxes with names like CHANG DYNESTY and COSMOS ELETRONICS. Marie’s fingers etched the brick inlay as they she hugged the side of a building. She stopped underneath a canopy. She leaned back against the wall and breathed heavily, her face turned toward the overcast sky. Brian faced her and placed his free hand close to her side and leaned toward her. His breath came in sharper, quicker, but soon matched hers.

The building jutted out on top and a gargoyle hung overhead, its gaze fixed forever toward the future as Brian’s was now fixed on Marie’s soaked grey shirt. His erection throbbed.

He felt dizzy. He turned his gaze toward her face. She now looked at the large pole that jutted north toward her legs. She looked up and Brian saw his reflection grow until he was a hair’s width away from her. Their noses touched and she tilted her head slightly, drawing her breath in anticipation.

He wasn’t about to let her down. The cock that pressed against his shorts demanded what her body now ached for, that filled her eyes with dark lust and heat from within.

Nothing was said.

His fingers circled hers and pushed against the brick. He ran his tongue over her trembling lips, tasting rainwater and strawberry gloss. His free hand came to rest on her breast. He pushed in, feeling her tenderness mold to his touch.

Marie moaned. Her legs parted slightly. She opened her mouth and pushed her tongue between his lips; he sucked on it slightly and returned her sounds back into her mouth.

His cock urged him on. It goaded him, talked to him in a language that existed before the first mammals left the security of the small niche afforded by those who shadowed above. It was a language not of things or objects or ideas. It was a language of verbs: touch, caress, suck, lick, fuck. It was syntax free of punctuation for the sentence never ended. It could end only when his cock finished its thought in a climax no exclamation point could emphasize.

Brian’s fingers closed around Marie’s nipple. They formed an upside-down pyramid and slowly revolved around it. He pulled them, squeezed them, and finally pulled her shirt up over her breasts and licked them. Marie pulled his head in and hung her leg over his butt and pawed at his back, fingers alternately squeezing and biting into his skin in tune with his manipulations. He sucked on her nipples, first the left, then the right. His lips popped when he removed them. They began tearing at their clothes like over anxious teenagers new to their overwelming urges.

He leaned, whispering to her in heavy breaths and muffled words audible only to her. She started pumping his cock. There was no priming. He slightly lifted her off the ground and buried himself in her. Marie’s walls gripped him like a vice. Fear entered his mind: Will I ever be free from her? He realized she could effortlessly hold him like that forever.

“Fuck me…Common, that’s it” She grunted to him, grabbing his hips, guiding him in and out. “Common honey, take me. Mmmffff.” She guided him until his body took control. He gripped her arms and pushed them over her head.

That’s it lover, take me how I am.” She balanced herself on her left foot while her right one pulled at his lower back. Her eyes smoldered, quickening Brian’s pace faster, harder, lifting her off the ground with every thrust.

They didn’t hear the people only a hundred feet away; they didn’t hear the laughter or the music or the vender’s songs of better soap or quicker buffing car wax as rain drizzled down their bodies from fabric holes in the canopy above. The rain struck Marie, ran down her cheek, and followed the impressions in the nape of her neck. It would stop there when Brian sucked it off or it would continue down her breasts to stop on her erect nipples. Finally falling, adding to the lubrication of sex.

They also didn’t hear the older couple that ran into the alley looking for what Brian and Marie did before falling under their mutual hunger. The couple said nothing but watched for a few seconds, transfixed. The older man leaned toward his wife and kissed her tenderly on the side of her mouth and told her that they should leave these people to their passion. She agreed and they disappeared around a corner. Brian and Marie continued, wisps of mist drafting over their bodies, unaware of their intimate exhibition.

Marie griped Brian’s balls and felt them first expand, then contract, setting off a chain of reaction that would end in flashes of light and energy behind their eyes: Completion.

Brian, first lost in the haze of his Steel cock nestled in her warm softness, became aware of everything around him that was Marie and himself: his Cock and her Pussy; the rain on his back and her fingers alternately draped and clenched on his back and ass; the odor of sex mingled with rainwater and the jasmine; the rays of light that shone on his muscular back and the sapphires that were languidly affixed on his face; finally the need the give everything to her in one last gasp and her utter, complete acceptance of it.

Marie came first, digging her nails deep into his back - making sure not to draw blood - her walls first tightening around him and then releasing the wetness over his cock and balls. Her spasming grip pulled him toward the cliff that separated being and nothingness.

Marie felt his need, and in one single movement, broke the bond between them, knelt and swallowed his cock, using her hand to bring him over the precipice. He fell long and hard, pumping five times into her mouth until there was no more to give, and then he kneeled down, drew Marie up against him and held her. He kissed her deeply, tenderly, and then whispered into her ear. Warmly, like a gardener tending to his most prized rose, Brian Reese pressed his hand against that which held him to her moments before.

She came again.

***

The rain stopped, and the sounds of people returned to the streets from under umbrellas and storefront awnings. Sounds of people shouting, singing Spanish love songs and negotiating came back to the festival. Everything bristled and moved again.

Brian and Marie walked back toward Main Street and reentered the crowds unnoticed. They still were within themselves. They did not notice the man who called for them to knock down milk bottles for a lovely prize for the lovely lady or the couple who passed them by with knowing grins.

“Are all German men as passionate as you?” Marie asked

“I don’t know. I never have been with a German man. I’ll let you know when I have.”

They walked slowly for what seemed like hours down the streets until they came upon a townhouse apartment on a side-street.

“We are coming up to my apartment” Marie said, motioning toward a window pane that held potted plants, and a brown-tailed cat who playfully pawed at an ant climbing up the glass on the other side.

“Really, oh” Brian replied. He removed his hand from around her and first looked at some children that ran down the street and then drew his eyes toward hers. He remembered her soft lips on his and tried to burn that sensation into his synapses.

“Marie… I … uh” her soft fingers pressed against his lips and he stopped trying to find the words that were lost. She smiled. “Brian,” she said to him “I can’t see you go back home” she looked him over sternly “…all wet and dirty from the rain, and I do have a shower, a dryer…” She leaned in close and whispered “…and a dozen or so walls.” Brian’s eyes lit up and, with her hand firmly replaced in his own, followed her up toward the large cedar door.