If I would say I had any "guilty pleasures" at all, they would have to be hip-hop video vixens. As a teenager, I'd turn the TV on to the rap stations almost every day after school. I didn't care much for the music in mainstream rap videos at all, but the attractiveness of the women had me glued to the television screen. I could hardly believe such women even existed—they blew all the girls I knew out of the water.
Of course, I didn't think any girl like that would ever be interested in me, though. I wasn't a rapper or athlete, and I didn't have large amounts of money, luxury cars, jewelry, or designer clothes. That, and they probably liked the bad boy personas most rappers had much more than they liked the more introverted nature of a guy like me.
Thus, I didn't place much effort into getting to know women like that. I'd still catch the occasional rap video, and even check out the occasional magazine, though.
One day, as I walked home from the gym, I noticed some flyers advertising a weekend party at one of the local clubs attached to some cars and on the ground. Seeing things like that was nothing new; a few times throughout the year, some famous women came to my city to host parties in night clubs (or even gentlemen's clubs). Going to one might have been a good opportunity to interact with a hip-hop model, but I never paid them too much mind.
That, and parties weren't my thing.
As fate would have it though, I wouldn't have to attend one of those parties to meet one of them.
On Saturday evening, I decided to go out for pizza. I went to a place near my apartment which, in my opinion, served the best in the city. The place also had a bar as well, and even though I wasn't much of a drinker, if I wanted one, I'd get it there.
The place usually wasn't too busy around this time. I walked inside and greeted the woman at the front, then requested a table. She walked me to a table near the front of the restaurant and handed me a menu, even though I knew I wanted a grilled-chicken salad and a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms and peppers. Still, I asked the hostess for water to drink, and she brought it shortly after. I ordered my food, then she told me it wouldn't be long.
During my wait, my eyes went over to the bar in the center of the restaurant, where a few people sat and drank. I looked at each of them, my gaze lingering on a woman sitting in the corner seat sipping a drink of some sort. The woman in question, who was of some Hispanic origin, had beautiful, tanned skin and long, brown hair that went down to her back. She wore just the right amount of makeup, enough to enhance, but not draw attention away from her fine facial features. Though she was dressed casually; a white T-shirt and unhemmed jeans, there was no denying that she was extraordinarily pretty.
Not only was she visually appealing, but even across the room, she had the energy of a woman who enjoyed sex. Some dismiss those who say they can feel other's energies and auras, but I believe there's validity to those claims. I can usually sense which women are passionate about fucking.
While such desires are not racially exclusive, I have noticed a number of women who genuinely enjoy the intimacy and wildness of sex are Latinas. Most of them are very sociable and passionate, and the zest for life they have usually carries over into the bedroom. It's no wonder why many men tend to like them, myself included.
However, I tend to be intimidated by such women in most cases. I spent much of my early years not pursuing them, but recently I have approached some Latinas and had positive interactions with them. In some cases, much more.
To my surprise, the woman sitting at the bar locked eyes with me, staring at me for a bit. She gave me a warm smile, mouthing a quick "hi." Nervously, I did the same.
Despite my bubbling anxiety, I knew I'd never be able to forgive myself if I didn't go up and talk to her. I stood up and walked a few feet over to the bar area, stopping right in front of the empty seat next to hers.
"Hey, how are you this evening?" I asked.
The woman smiled. "I'm pretty good. You?"
"I'm doing well." I decided to cut to the chase. "My name's Martin, may I ask yours?"
"Julissa," she said. Her accent was noticeable, but she was easy to understand. I extended my hand, and she clasped it and shook it, then complimented me on my firm handshake. I thanked her, then decided to get right to the chase.
"I have to be honest with you; I saw you from across the room, and I had to come over and talk to you. Not only are you exceptionally attractive, but you seem like a very interesting woman, Julissa."
"Thank you," she said with a smile.
"If you don't have anything to do, I was wondering if you'd like to come sit with me? We can share my pizza."
"That'd be great."
I took Julissa's hand and helped her out of her chair. Right away, I noticed her figure. Like most Latinas, she possessed a curvaceous lower body, yet despite having wide hips and a round ass, her waist was small. An utterly eye-catching physique, I thought. While sneaking occasional glances at her body, I led her to where I sat and told her to sit next to me. Shortly after we did so, my server brought a large salad for me, then brought some silverware for us.
Julissa and I grabbed forks and dug in. "Thank you so much for inviting me to eat with you, I really appreciate it."
"No problem. Are you from around here, Julissa?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm from Mexico; or at least I was born there. My parents came here when I was a little girl. I'm in town for work."
"Really? What do you do?"
"I'm a model," she said, proudly. "I'm here hosting a party tonight. I've actually been in a few music videos and magazines."
"Really?" She nodded, then went into her pockets and pulled out a flyer mentioning that she, Julissa Herrera, was indeed hosting a party at a lounge along with some other models. Julissa was definitely beautiful, but I hadn't expected her to be an actual model, let alone one who's famous.
"You must not follow a lot of popular rap music," she said.
"Not really. I usually listen to the older stuff. Still, that's really impressive."
Julissa, in turn, asked me what I did. When I told her I wrote for a living, she expressed some intrigue, more so when I told her some of my writing included romance. While we waited for the pizza to come, she asked me more about myself, listening attentively as I told her about my upbringing and hobbies.
"You're a pretty interesting man, Martin," she said.
"Nah, not really. I'm sure you live a more exciting life than I do, especially since you travel to host those parties. You probably hang with celebrities and things like that, too."
"Sometimes," Julissa admitted. "But it is nice to be somewhere more low-key, which is why I'm here. It's not too far from where my party is, but it's not too crowded."
In the midst of us talking, the pizza came. Julissa picked the mushrooms off of her pieces, admitting that she wasn't a fan of them, but nonetheless, she found the pizza delicious. Once again, she thanked me for sharing with her.
"It's no problem at all. You're good company," I said.
She smiled. "Are you doing anything later? How about you come to my party? I can put your name down on the list so you can get in for free if you want."
