VIVA EL JEFE!
A lone sweat droplet snaked its way down the 7th storey window of the building that formerly housed the Embassy of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela. Tied to that droplet by tis trail was a roughly triangular-shaped pool some millimeters above.
Lawrence had stepped back a bit to once again take in and admire the naked body of the young woman who had made that sweaty impression on the glass. He was glancing over her shoulder, still close enough to hear the mix of pants, sighs and occasional moans that signified her utter fulfillment and satisfaction. He leaned in briefly to plant another oft kiss and the juncture of her neck and shoulders, eliciting another honeyed moan and a smile from her. He returned the smile as they each spared a glance at the party in full swing down below. “Goodwill,” Lawrence thought to himself, “is the best credit.”………
5 Days earlier….
Lawrence had long since run out of negatives to describe how badly this day had gone. A bounced cheque (people still did that?), two cancelled appointments – one on the very stroke of the set hour – and an overheating radiator (which fortunately, he dealt with without too much hassle). Those were just the highlights.
He was really hoping that this security guard now seated between him and entering the screening area for the Film Festival – an annual event of which he had only missed two over the last 15 years……..
“Is really cum you gwain mek me cum again?”
The question was of course, rhetorical.
She was standing over an ottoman, one bent knee touching the soft upholstery, hear head facing the floor. Lawrence was the beneficiary – from behind – of her voluptuous form, and he was taking full advantage, gripping her lush yet firm hips driving himself into her in a variated yet insistent rhythm……
“Sorrry sah,but ah is just doin’ ma job”.
“But I’m telling you, they know me in there, I teach English as a foreign language totheir colleagues. I’ve been to this event countless times.”
“I don’t care if you teach Chinese,” came the counter, snappy enough to suggest he had rehearsed it to himself a few times. “ My orders say, no pass, no….well….you cyaan pass, so if you would just step aside for me.”
Flabbergasted, Lawrence inched to the left, where several Latin-themed tapestries caught his eye. He became so engrossed in them, in fact, that he failed to hear the security guard trying to get his attention until the third call.
“So, baas, you say you teach English to these – I mean the Latinos?”
“Yes, he replied, sensing the beginnings of victory. He drew himself up to maximum height.
“So you go to Venezuela too? You meet El Jefe?”
That second question unfailingly gave him some measure of pause….
Her first orgasm was approaching. Lawrence, his face now buried in her mound, felt it simultaneously as she announced it with a super-breathy “I’m gonna cum”. Spellbound by the many delights of her body, he had lavished kisses all around the base of her clitoris and exhaling on the tip. Through licks, breaths, kisses and outright he had moved her again past arousal and into a relatively long plateau, grasually increasing the tempo and intensity.
She rewarded him with long moans and raunchy encouragement, anchoring his head in the back of one well-manicured hand, locking him in ahead of the impending cataclysm….
“Muchas gracias amigo”
That by-now famous rasp authenticated his gratitude (not that it was ever in doubt). Lawrence had just completed a three-hour audience with Hugo Chavez, a feat made all the more remarkable by the fact that the original booking allowed “no more than 30 minutes of El Presidente’s precious time.”
In that span, they had covered vast intellectual and socio-political territory. The President was more expansive than he had ever recalled seeing him, not that he had huge experience. His only previous direct contact had been as part of the general media crush (it was a group Press Conference, Q & A) as part of the President’s visit to Jamaica.
All of which had made the initial all from the Embassy more than a shock: Would he be willing to fly to Venezuela as a guest of the President for 7 days, accompanying him on various tours across the Republic and also sitting with him for a brief but exclusive interview?
Would he? Hell, yes!
And so had his southern Continental odyssey began. Sweltering days and sultry moon-kissed nights, bumpy rods, mansions and hovels and microphones and bullhorns – and the women……
He had taken his time undressing her, as was his wont and truly, she was dressed to facilitate that deliberation.
First, off came the supreme oddity: a scarf – in tropical paradise no less. In fairness, the advent of April had brought the proverbial showers and a consequent cooling, but really, it was more a welcome accessory than a noted necessity.
He unfurled it slowly, like a flag in a ceremony. Each silken inch like a number in a combination lock, revealing just that bit more of her as she accommodated with deft turns of her head. Micro-essences of Christian LaCroix wafted upward with each turn.
Her neck was a beacon, a siren, singing the invitation to kiss. He started slowly, breathing in the perfumed heat of her desire each time he lifted his head. In his hands ,the thin-strapped blouse snaked upward scaling the curved heights of her breasts, drawing an involuntary sigh in the process.
The mocha bra, unhooked, followed in similar fashion, signaling that much time would have to be spent on those breasts, the nipples already dominant and rigid from the base of dark brown aureolae.
By the time he got to unbuttoning the denim shorts (with the obligatory rip just below one thigh), a film of sweat had already moved like a glacier across her forehead, and her constantly open mouth had responded like a radio beeper to his ministrations on her breasts, emitting moans and gasps in almost rigid counterpoint…..
“El Jefe, I don’t know if I can accept this. It’s just so……”
“What I know is that you must” came the raspy counter. “You must know that my time here is not long. When I depart this life, there are a few that I have chosen to ensure that the world knows the full and proper story of what we have done and sought to do in this beloved country. You are one such”.
2 Days Earlier…..
Lawrence stood patiently as the security guard, whose name he had learned was Duffus, pored excitedly over the cache set before him.
He had deliberated long and hard over parting with his Chavez documents [interviews and diaries] but “Bra D” as Duffus now insisted on being called, had made such an intensely passionate case as a “Chavez-phile” that in the end it seemed inevitable. He did, however, save EL Jefe’s gift of a finely crafted sword, and retain a digital copy of the interviews that at least he would save for his “grands” – if he ever got to that stage.
Suitably impressed, Bra D not only apologized for his tough stance of afew days earlier, but let slip the following tidbit.
“Missa Larry” [he had reluctantly allowed it] “you know the view from up the Penthouse is sumting else, you know, especially at night.”
“I can imagine” he had casually responded, not sure where the security guard was leading.
“Might be just the kinda sight to get a likkle filly over the hump, if you know wha’ amean”
The lascivious grin that punctuated the statement left no doubt. Lawrence was intrigued.
“But, how would I get----“
“With security clearance of course,” Bra D interjected. Again, that grin.
“Ah jus need you to keep phone on and in reach in case you have to, you know….evacuate early.”
It was Lawrence now who was grinning from ear to ear. “Bra D, you sir, are one of the great ones. I’m gonna have need of your – ahm – clearance night after tomorrow, during the Hot Wuk party.”
“Dat is exactly why I suggest it , Missa Larry.”…………..
“So, how your firend cup full and you don’t even have anything in your hand?”
She was standing about a foot away from a Hennessy-swilling quartet – 2 girls and 2 guys – the benefactor sporting a thick silvery rope resting on a black turtleneck, an equally thick watch in rose gold adorning one wrist.
“I don’t know, I just don’t feel for it” came the semi-resigned reply, just audible above the seemingly interminable mix of early Vybz Kartel tunes and the selector’s ragged exhortations.
“Maybe it’s the atmosphere, “Lawrence stated, beginning to make his move, closing the distance between them.
“Maybe”
“What if I could give you a different perspective on this whole thing, a more elevated perspective. Would you be in the mood for a drink then?”
“What you mean? Talk English”
Taking her hand, he asserted. “Come”
She glanced back at her party in momentary hesitation. To drive home his point, Lawrence took her chin gently in one hand and guided her view slowly skyward.
“Over there” he said, pointing at the high-rise. “How’d you like to see this event from up there?”
“What?”
This time however, her face registered full understand and – more importantly – approval. She let herself be led, the both of them smiling, even as they passed a certain security guard who, with a smile of his own, deftly tipped his cap.
Everyone smiling, even the crescent moon, greeting them as they alighted from the elevator, with a smile.
----end---
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