Have you ever been with a Colombian woman? If so, you know what I’m talking about. If not, you’ve still got time. First, Colombian women are drop-dead gorgeous. Second, they’re totally feminine. Third, they love to make their man happy. All of this I found out in my travels through South America shortly after I divorced Little Jim’s mother. It was in Cali, of drug cartel fame, that I met my second ex-wife, a smoking little brown-eyed chica. I dragged her back to the states where she quickly became a chubby, unhappy, complaining wreck of a woman. That’s a different story.
About a month after my adventures with Little Jim and Jade, I got a call from my Colombian ex-wife, who’s now living in Boca with some pointy-headed, born-again corporate accountant type. Her nephew, Angelito, was arriving in Miami from Colombia in a couple of days. Could I pick him up at the airport and put him up for three or four days until she and Pointy Head, CPA, returned from their last minute trip to Las Vegas. I agreed. Angelito, she told me, had some problems but he was a nice boy. I didn’t ask for details, so long as he was house-trained and ate with utensils he was okay by me.
So, the next Thursday I drive over to the airport around eight at night to pick up Angelito. I’m waiting down by the baggage carousel when I see hordes of gorgeous dark-haired, dark-eyed women passing me by and I know the plane from Bogota has arrived. As I’m scanning the cuties flowing around me, I lock eyes with a slender, long-haired guy who’s craning his neck to search for someone. I wave. He waves back. Must be Angelito.
You didn’t need a PhD in psychology to figure out what Angelito’s “problem” was. He was five or six inches shorter than me, built slim as a supermodel, wearing tight jeans, high-heeled boots, a sleeveless t-shirt, and a pair of rose-tinted glasses. He approached, and I stuck out my hand to shake. Instead, Angelito raised his sunglasses and gave me a hug and a peck on each cheek.
“You must be Uncle Jim,” he said in an incredibly effeminate voice.
I said I was and he smiled. Angelito had those big, soft brown eyes like his aunt. He had high cheekbones, wide, full lips, a slender nose, and dark, lustrous black hair pulled up into a ponytail. He practically twirled on his heels with happiness at meeting me.
“My god,” he hissed. “Tia Janet was sssssoooo right about you.”
He put his hand over his mouth to suppress his giggle.
I grabbed his bags off the carousel and we made small talk. About the family back home, about Miami, about his trip. As we headed for the car, he looped his arm in mine and chatted on in Spanish and English. As we drove out of the airport, he complained that he was “sssssoooo” thirsty and asked if we could get a drink. I agreed and we ended up in a bar near the airport. I ordered a bourbon on the rocks. Angelito drank mimosas and I lit his Virginia Slims with my lighter. He was having the time of his life, swinging back and forth on the bar stool, emphasizing everything he said with grand sweeps of his arms and hands. At some point he shook his hair out and it flowed, like a dark, shiny river down over his belt.
Angelito liked his mimosas. I lost count after his seventh or eighth. After nursing my second bourbon empty, I knew it was time to leave. I pulled Angelito along and he staggered out the door beside me.
We got in the car and I cranked down the windows. The breeze kept blowing Angelito’s hair across his eyes and he pulled it back with long, langorous gestures.
“Tia Janet must be such a fool,” he said, leaning next to me as I drove.
“How’s that?” I asked, as I felt his hand snake onto my thigh.
“Because,” Angelito said. “You’re so big and good-looking!”
I felt his long fingers beginning to massage my thigh. And I felt my cock start to respond. I spread my thighs to let him know I was enjoying myself. Angelito needed little encouragement. His hand moved further up my thigh.
“What have here, Uncle Jim,” he said with a mock gasp as his fingers ran across my cock. “Wow . . . what a nice big cock you have.”
I laughed and Angelito leaned over to work my zipper with both his hands. Soon, I felt the humid air on my dick and then Angelito’s two smooth hands grappling to get my dick out of my pants. He pressed his lips against my ear and flicked his warm, wet tongue around my ear lobe as he began stroking my cock.
“God, Uncle Jim,” he whispered. “It’s been so long since I found a real man.”
I answered by taking one hand off the steering wheel, wrapping my hand in his soft hair, and pulling his head down to my cock. His lips surrounded my cock head and I heard him grunt with pleasure as he began to slowly swallow my dick. Angelito was a skilled cocksucker, and I moaned with pleasure as he licked and sucked my cockhead and then began bouncing his mouth up and down my hard cock.
I drove down the highway with Angelito’s hot mouth wrapped tight around my dick and his hands kneading my thighs. His panting and mumbling supplied the soundtrack to a very enjoyable blowjob. By the time I got the car in the garage, I was ready to blow a load. But, as I turned off the ignition and pushed both hands through Angelito’s long,thick hair, he suddenly sat up.
“Now, Uncle Jim,” he said, playfully smacking my chest. “I just got here. Give a girl a minute to get herself ready.”
I laughed while Angelito rearranged his hair and wiggled his ass in the car seat.
“Let me at least freshen up,” he continued with a wicked grin. “Before you ravish me.”
He opened the door and pulled his long legs out of the car. With a sigh, I zipped back up. I carried his bags into the house. Angelito gave a little squeal of delight when he walked into my living-room.
“How gorgeous,” he said. “How wonderful. How macho. Where’s the bedroom?”
I motioned down the hall and followed his long legs and curvaceous ass along the hall. I pushed open the door to my bedroom with a suitcase and Angelito slipped in ahead of me. He pranced around the room, admiring the bed, the furniture, the big television.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “I do need to freshen up.”
I pointed to the bathroom door and dropped the suitcases. He grabbed a small carry-on bag and headed for the bathroom. As Angelito freshened up, I snagged a bottle of whisky, some glasses, and ice from the kitchen. I settled onto the bed, awaiting Angelito’s entrance.
It was everything it promised. Angelito flung open the door and strutted out, dressed in a pair of high heel pumps, a black silk thong, and a black bikini top. Wow, he looked good. He had long shapely legs, smooth and brown. The thong curved over his hips and I could make out the bulge where his cock pressed against the thong’s triangle of sheer nylon. He had a firm, round ass, and his smooth upper body, while not muscular, was definitely toned. I smiled. Angelito did a twirl with the carry-on bag in one hand, then sat down at the bureau left over from my last ex-wife.
He dug into his bag and brought out a perfume bottle and a hairbrush. He turned toward me and began dabbing perfume all over his body in slow, sexy movements, running his finger up his thighs, across his belly, and then along his collarbone and up under his ears. I watched his long fingernails, shiny with clear polish, run along his smooth brown skin. The perfume was sweet and heavy.
Angelito turned and sat with his back to me while he brushed his hair and watched himself in the mirror. He ran the hairbrush in slow, even strokes down the length of his silky, black hair. He smiled at me in the mirror.
“Well, papi,” he whispered to my reflection in the mirror. “This won’t take long at all, and then you can really enjoy your little chica . . . Angel.”
I smiled and began pulling my shirt over my head.
