Seventeenth Installment in the "Latina" Series of Erotic Tales
It was bad enough that Latina had been out of work for several months. At 49, she had long since reached that age when employers would pass her over for someone young and inexperienced, sacrificing the corporation's chance to acquire her expertise, just to save a few dollars on salary costs. At least she had been studying in state-funded computer training classes, to brush up on her skills for her next job. But now Frank had come home and announced that he, too, had been down-sized out of his comfortable corporate job. Being 44, he, too, would be passed over for younger job candidates; and already being a computer expert, Frank would not qualify for training classes, as Latina had.
It was a good thing that Latina had enrolled them both in weekly seminars about investment strategies. When either or both of them returned to work, they could use those strategies to build-up a financial cushion for themselves, against the next cycle of massive corporate down-sizing, which experience told them would be coming in about 3 to 5 years. They were learning a lot about investments in stocks, real estate, and many other areas, and about the importance of having at least 6 completely-different sources of income.
Latina and Frank had started to know a few of their fellow classmates in these Tuesday-night seminars, as well. One, named Jasmine, never seemed to be able to interest her husband in attending the seminars with her. It wasn't because he stayed home and watched the kids, as on several occasions, Jasmine had brought her two children with her, and had parked them in the back of the lecture hall. As they got to know Jasmine better, Frank and Latina imagined some horrible things about her husband, that perhaps he was out drinking and womanizing every night. They suspected that the truth was less shocking: he was probably just a workaholic, staying late every night at the office, not aware that he could be attending seminars, about how to free himself financially from the drudgery of corporate servitude. Or maybe he was just out bowling with his buddies.
Jasmine seemed to be a shy, and terribly lonely woman, in her late 20s to early 30s. Her apparent loneliness was too bad, for she was an exotic beauty, with a dark-tan complexion, and jet-black hair streaming down her back, to lightly caress the very top of her shapely derriere. Although they knew little about her, somehow, Frank and Latina instinctively sensed that Jasmine deserved a better relationship, than the one she had with her too-often- absent husband.
Then one week, after being out of work for three months, and after attending a dozen or more unsuccessful job interviews, Frank finally announced that he had a new job. As it was a Tuesday, that very evening, they had another of the weekly investment seminars. During the mid-meeting break, Jasmine approached Frank and Latina.
"You two seem to be in a much better mood today, than you've been in for the past few weeks. I could use some cheering-up myself tonight, so if it is not too personal, can you tell me what has put you two in such a cheery mood tonight? Maybe it will lift MY spirits, as well."
"Well," Latina chirped up, "Frank, here, just landed a new job, after being out of work for 3 months. It pays better than his old job, and is within walking distance of home. He couldn't ask for a better job than this."
Jasmine enthusiastically kicked up her right heel behind her, expressing that she shared their joy. She leaned in and planted kisses, first on Latina's cheek, and then on Frank's. Jasmine then wrapped her arms around them both, in a group hug.
"Thank you," Jasmine whispered. "It cheers me up, just to know that someone whom I know has good news."
"Why?" Latina asked, "What's wrong?"
"Oh, it's just that my husband and I had another argument, about him not wanting to come to the seminar AGAIN tonight. He can't seem to understand the value of investing, and he doesn't make an effort to share an interest in the things that interest me. I'm just a little depressed about our fight is all, nothing very tragic, and I'll get over it. Thanks to you two and your good news, I'm feeling a little better already." Jasmine hugged Latina and Frank one last time, before all three returned to their seats.
The following Tuesday, a very promising job interview opened up for Latina. She studied the book that Frank had given her, on interview skills. She also brushed-up a bit on her computer skills, to be sure that she would be ready for this interview. She also decided that it wouldn't hurt, to dress to impress. She put on her gray pin-striped business suit. Her conservative skirt, although very business-like, DID end halfway between her upper-thigh and her knee, letting a little of the natural beauty of her dark, shapely, well-muscled Hispanic legs show, while letting her look classy, rather than trashy. Her matching gray pin-striped jacket emphasized the outline of her generous 38-C bosom, without being the least bit revealing. Her simple, white-cotton, front-buttoning blouse, revealed just a hint of cleavage. In this suit, Latina would maintain her air of professional dignity, and not let the interviewer be distracted enough to miss her well-thought- out answers to his tough interview questions. But she could also let the male interviewer see just enough, to indulge his typical male-pig fantasies a bit.
Her carefully-planned combination of savvy interview responses, and choice of wardrobe, did the trick: after just 30 minutes of conversation, the interviewer extended a job offer to Latina.
That night, Latina didn't have time to change before the seminar. In their pale-purple Lincoln Town Car, as she drove, Frank sat beside her, and he kept stealing glances at her legs. Noticing Frank's attention, she shifted in her seat, causing her miniskirt to ride a little higher up her thigh. Frank reached over, and he began stroking her legs in a soft-as-a-butterfly caress. His fingertips touched her so lightly, like a wind-blown wisp of a baby-bird feather, very briefly and casually brushing against her skin. Except Frank's fingers were giving her that marvelous touch over and over again, not just a one-time glancing brush of a feather. His touch felt so good, in fact, that Latina began to squirm in her seat, in anticipation of where his ever-so- light touch might explore next. Latina's squirming inadvertently caused her miniskirt to ride even higher up her naturally bronzed-toned thighs.
Seeing so much of his wife's thigh exposed now, Frank let his light finger-tip touch move higher up her toned legs. Then in one swift, practiced movement, his fingers stretched under her hemline, to stroke the outside of her skimpy purple-lace panties (Latina liked EVEYTHING to be purple: clothing, car, and especially a certain engorged feature of her man's anatomy). Latina drew in her breath, as she began to tingle from head-to-toe inside. Frank took this as a signal to snake his already-stretched fingers just that tiny bit further, to slide under the side band of her tiny triangular panties. Frank could already feel a very few drops of moist dew starting to form, right along the gates of her paradise, which were just starting to open up to his touch. But his fingers would not get to explore any further just yet: their Lincoln pulled into the parking space, and it was time for Latina to once more become prim and proper, as she smoothed-down her short hemline. Now Latina strode confidently into class, her expression devoid of any hint of what she and Frank had just been up to in their car.
When Frank and Latina entered, Jasmine was already seated. She had on a man's sleeveless white T-shirt, worn as a tank top, revealing the sides and tops of her breasts, and a good deal of her cleavage. Her arms were clasped together behind her head, revealing her arm-pits, and the full side outline of her breasts. She was evidently not wearing a bra, as her firm nipples pressed prominently against the ribbed white-cotton fabric. Her tight, red jogging shorts, revealed very long, strong, mocha-toned legs. Jasmine wore a very wide brown belt, which seemed to emphasize the slenderness of her waist. Her belt's brass buckle naturally drew one's eye to the very top center of her tight shorts, and then downward, to where those shorts so perfectly formed around, and hinted at, every detail of her mysterious, silky triangle just beneath. Frank and Latina silently bet each other whether there was any room for panties between Jasmine's pronounced pussy, and the tight fabric of her shorts. Frank bet that Jasmine was panty-less as well as bra-less.
Jasmine had kicked off her shoes, placed another chair turned-around facing her, and had her legs stretched-out in front of her, her bare feet and ankles comfortably resting on the seat cushion. Frank and Latina noticed a youngish man a few seats to Jasmine's right; he had a great side view of Jasmine's legs and breasts, and he kept stealing glances toward Jasmine. Latina pointed-out to Frank, that Jasmine would catch this young man looking, and Jasmine would smile suggestively at him. Now they both speculated whether her revealing outfit and pose might be for his benefit. Although she was married, Jasmine obviously had a less-than-perfect relationship. Was she, Frank and Latina whispered to each other, looking for a fling with this classmate, or just flirting with him to make herself feel sexier, more desirable?
Before they could find out for sure, the investment-seminar instructor strode in, and he began lecturing from his prepared notes. Jasmine and the young man temporarily suspended their antics, to focus on the lecture.
As the instructor droned-on in his flat monotone, Frank stole a glance down at Latina's legs. Although Latina was 20 years Jasmine's senior, Frank pondered, his wife still equaled or excelled the younger woman, when it came to shapely legs. Frank rested his open palm about halfway up Latina's thigh, and from time to time, he gave Latina's thigh a gentle and affectionate squeeze. Latina looked over at Frank and smiled. The top two buttons of Frank's shirt were open, revealing just a hint of his thick, dark, luxurious carpet of chest hair. Latina looked around to see that nobody was watching, and she quickly darted her hand inside her husband's shirt, feeling the light sheen of sweat against his chest hairs. When Latina saw Jasmine looking her way and smiling, she quickly withdrew her hand from Frank's chest, letting her hand rest casually on his knee. Jasmine lost interest in watching Frank and Latina then, and she turned her attention back to the lecturer.
Jasmine looked down at her own dark, creamy legs, stretched- out before her. She had been jogging every day, and applying moisturizer to her legs twice a day. The combination had left her legs slender, but shapely instead of stick-thin, while giving her dark, coffee-and-cream skin, a healthy glow. She had to admit, at 28, she still had sexy legs. So why hadn't her husband noticed her legs, or anything else about her, lately? When they had married 8 years ago, she was 20 and he was 25, and they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Now she was 28, he was 33 and a slave to the corporate board-room, and she was raising their two children all by herself. She knew that two pregnancies had not diminished her beauty. Still, Jasmine couldn't remember the last time that she and her husband had made love, and she wryly wondered whether he would be able to identify her dead body at a police morgue, as it had been so long since he'd seen or touched any part of her body.
Jasmine glanced down at her revealing tank top, and she wondered how a man who had once been so lustful toward her, could now ignore her still-splendid breasts. They were still round, firm, and high, with big, jutting nipples, so why didn't her husband touch them any more? Jasmine glanced over at the young man who had been eyeing her, and she noticed him suggestively licking his lips. His tongue DID seem extraordinarily long, and Jasmine wondered whether such a young man might already have the natural talent to use that long tongue, in a way that a lusty woman like her would appreciate.
While Jasmine was thus absorbed in her daydreams, Latina had slowly, playfully, mischievously, and almost unconsciously, started to inch her hand upward from Frank's knee. When Latina glanced at Frank again, she was surprised to see that she had moved her hand all the way up to the top of Frank's thigh. If she stretched her fingers out a little, Latina realized, she would be touching the fabric that was covering the very tip of his cock.
