We were on a last-ditch trip to Havana to try to save our marriage. The humidity hit us the minute the passengers stopped applauding the landing and the air crew opened the plane's door — heat, sun, salt air. Our mood improved and by the time we got to the grand old hotel, with its cast iron chandeliers, winding staircase, cracked but still elegant marble it felt as if we were in a Graham Green novel.
The damp-stained paint, noisy plumbing and lumpy mattress couldn't dampen the romance of the room — or our ardour. The thin, icy air of Calgary and the easy oil money that had ruined our marriage was a continent away. We ripped off each other's clothes and fucked ourselves silly.
A couple of days later, the novelty had worn off, though we'd already had more and better sex together than we had for years. We ordered a taxi for a tour of the Malecon, Havana's gorgeous waterfront drive, and planned a dinner at a little bodega serving local seafood with a huge helping of extra-hot Cuban salsa music.
The concierge got us a driver named Tico, who showed up in a beautifully painted baby-blue and white '57 Chev Bel Air. We piled in beside Tico, with Donata in the middle.
She was on the cusp of 50, but most days could pass for a slim woman in her thirties. Today especially. She was wearing a halter top with a slight v-neck and one of those gathers between her breasts that drove me wild because it meant she didn't need a bra. Its colour complemented her shoulder-length auburn hair and dark eyebrows, and showed off the freckles across her nose that ran teasingly down to the yellow fabric stretched across her breasts. A mid-thigh madras checked skirt and sandals completed the outfit. No question about it, Nata was hot.
But we'd been bickering over lunch, one of those goofy spats that held the possibility of turning into raunchy make-up sex or a serious fight. She was laughing, and joking with Tico because he was wearing an elegant white Cuban guayabera shirt over skin-tight swimming trunks.
I laughed and joked that I bet she'd like to pick up a handsome young Cuban and fuck him in the Chevy's wide leather back seat while we drove. A flush rose up her neck from the V of her top toward her face, but I realized it wasn't anger: never one to pass up a dare, she was going to do it. Her jutting nipples were hard little pebbles that cast shadows on the stretchy yellow fabric of her top.
Tico picked up the thread of the conversation very quickly, and slowed down as we cruised along the Malecon. "That one!" Nata cried out suddenly. Tico wheeled the big Chev around in a U-turn and jumped out to talk to a tall, thin man of perhaps thirty-five, with dark, burnt-toast skin. He was very handsome.
As soon as we stopped, Nata jumped over the seat into the back. After a minute or so, the man grinned and got in the rear door as Tico resumed his place behind the wheel and pulled us out into the traffic. I saw him discretely adjust the angle of his rear-view mirror.
Nata pulled up the man's shirt and admired his flat, muscular belly. Suddenly she lay back on the long bench and slid her skirt up around her waist and yanked her flimsy panties to one side, giving us all a view of her luxurious, fiery red bush.
The man unbuttoned his pants, pulled them down his thighs and exposed a long, dark, very hard penis standing up at a forty-five-degree angle. Not as thick as mine, but a good two inches longer, I guessed. Slowly leaning forward over her, he poised the tip at her swollen pussy lips. Nata gasped: she was so wet his erection slid in all the way to the hilt at his first shove.
She writhed and arched her back as he pumped in and out like a steam engine gathering speed. Little cries came from her lips and grins and grimaces chased each other across her face. When he slowed to catch his breath, Nata rolled him to one side and climbed on top, giving Tico and me a better view. Her pussy clamped tightly around his long, curved erection with wisps of damp, red hair peeking out around it. The dark skin glistened with her juices as she rocked back and forth.
