Learning theSpanish Way

George Meyer was pissed. Plenty pissed. "Fifty two fucking years old!" He ranted. "Twenty two fucking years of my life to finally get to the home office and now they want to fly my ass to Colombia? Fuck that!"

He crumpled the e-mail which his secretary had printed out for him and hurled it at the wastebasket. As usual, it missed, joining the other missiles that lay on either side of the yawning opening.

The office was roomy and comfortable as suited the Director of Marketing for this large international furniture company. George was smart, personable and tireless. He moved from General Sales Manager for the Midwest Region to this position two years ago. His three kids were grown, his wife died of cancer two years ago.

But now the company was expanding as manufacturing moved to China and they wanted an international footprint. So, George Meyer was asked, well told, to get his ass to Bogotá, Colombia to train the Central American sales force.

George spoke no Spanish. None. But as he had been told at the meeting he would have a fully bi-lingual sales manager who would help him with the training and the company had arranged for a Berlitz crash immersion Spanish course for him starting that evening.

Despite his growling and bitching, George Meyer was a good soldier and of course, he would go to Berlitz, take the fucking six-week course of private tutoring, then go to fucking Bogotá, and do a sensational job.

He wheeled the Lexus into the spacious parking lot of the office building that housed the Berlitz School, sighed a sigh of resignation and lifted his six-foot, one hundred eighty pound frame out of the car. George was an avid racket ball player, half marathoner and swimmer so at fifty-two he was still buffed and energetic. George had a rugged face, not bad looking but not magazine cover handsome. He had salt and pepper hair, cut short and tended toward blue or tan blazers and slacks.

He took the elevator up to the fourth floor, looked at his watch and realized by the time he left here he would have been on the go for over fifteen hours. "So, what else is new?" he muttered.

He introduced himself at the small front desk where a rather plump Spanish looking lady in what he guessed was her mid fifties, smiled at him and said, with a slight accent, "Have a seat Mr. Meyer, Mrs. Penuela will be right with you."

"Why do all Spanish broads have to wear clothes that show half their boobs?" George wondered to himself. Not that he minded, he thought. But that one could lose twenty and be a knock out.

As he completed the thought and sat down on a slim couch with very thin cushions, a girl spun through the door next to the desk that George assumed led to the classrooms. "Speaking of knock outs," George continued his thoughts. "There is one in the flesh."

She had long, shoulder length black hair, a skirt that ended just above her knees, huge brown eyes and a smile that looked like halogen lights turned on high beam. She was about five four, he figured. She had on a red V-neck sweater that

showed an ample bust line that just had to be natural. Her waist was trim and she exuded energy.

"Senior Meyer?" She inquired in a deep voice with a lovely Spanish accent. George felt it from his cheeks to his crotch. This one was special!

"Uh – yeah! Right!" He stuck out his hand and she took it in her small one. It was electric to the touch and he knew he was blushing, if ever so slightly. "I am so glad that you picked Berlitz, Senor Meyer. This is for business, yes?" Her voice, as she spoke English had no trace of an accent whatsoever. He couldn't even place it in the U.S. lexicon and he was pretty good at placing accents on a regional basis.

"Where you from, Mrs. Penuela?" He asked politely as they went through the doors and down a narrow hallway.

"Ah, Senor Meyer, in here call me Senora! I was born in Colombia, but came here at twelve. We lived in California until I got married and moved here."

She opened a door and ushered him into a small office. It had a white board, a table with two chairs on either side and a tape recorder on the table. She pointed to a chair and she sat on the other side of the table.

She handed him a sheet of words in Spanish with their English translations. They started with simple words, many of which were similar to English. She had this sparkling personality that drew him out of his usual gruff demeanor. He laughed as he struggled with pronunciation and she laughed back.

After two hours, he was pretty well exhausted. All through the lesson he had been semi-distracted by her. She would lean over the table to point out a word or phrase and as she did, her V-neck sweater would fall away a bit and he got a glimpse of well-rounded breasts enclosed in what looked like a semi-bra of blue lace.

They stood and she came around the table and took his hand. "Very good for a first lesson, Senor Meyer!" She said with genuine enthusiasm. He felt the electric shock again as they touched.

He looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock. They walked together to the front desk. The plump lady called to him. "Mr. Meyer! I have your work books here."

She handed him three ominous looking tomes. He frowned. Maria Penuela laughed. "Senor Meyer, do not look so disturbed! They really are simple and I will go through them with you. Next week we begin to use them."

"Well," he shrugged, "anything I can do in the mean time? I'd like to get ahead on this stuff."

"Of course!" She exclaimed. "Come, sit on the couch and I'll show you."

She sat down on the same thin couch he had encountered on his way in. He sat gingerly next to her. She reached over and took one of the books from him and her breast brushed his shoulder. He felt that shock again, stronger this time.

She was looking at him, smiling, but the smile seemed fixed. Her eyes on the other hand were searching his. He smiled and turned sideways on the couch.

"Well then," she said primly. "Why not try these first three vocabulary lessons before Wednesday, okay?"

He smiled at her, his steel blue eyes fixed on hers. "I'm game if you are."

She smiled the halogen smile again. "Always game, Senor, always game."

With that she rose and went to the front desk, exchanged a few words in Spanish with the lady there and headed for the door.

George was putting the books together and got to the door right behind her. "Hey!" He called.

She turned, half way to the elevator. The smile was in full evidence. "Si, Senor Meyer? You have another question?"

He smiled back. "Well, yeah. Look I know this is stupid and you have to get home, I'm sure, but..."

"But what, Senor Meyer?" She had stopped in the middle of the hall and faced him, legs apart, hands on hips.

"Well, it's damn near nine o'clock and I haven't eaten and I wondered, well, could I buy you a drink or something? – Look no strings attached, just well..." He had no idea where he was going with this or why. Damn! He made is living being glib and articulate and he felt he was fumbling like a teen ager.

"Strings, Senor Meyer? For dinner?" And she laughed a full, complete laugh, right from her gut. He felt it in his.

He laughed back, came up to her, took her arm and pushed the down button on the wall. "No m'am. No strings, unless you want Italian and strings means spaghetti in Spanish."

She smiled at him and led him into the elevator. In the lobby he asked "take my car? I'll bring you back for yours."

"I take the El home, thank you, Mr. Meyer."

"Oh – okay. Shall we go?"

She smiled the smile again and they went into the lot. He opened the door to the Lexus and watched her get in. He got a glimpse of strong, long legs as she swung into the seat.

As he went to his side he told himself "easy, George. Don't get carried away and for God sake stay politically correct!"

He drove about eight blocks to a little Italian restaurant he went to about twice a month. George had dated three or four times in the two years since Cassie

died, but nothing came of them. They were forty to fifty year olds very, very desperate for a full relationship. He had been to a couple of conventions and had been laid three times in three years at these conventions. Once with a five hundred dollar hooker – big mistake – and twice with girls from vendors of his company. Damn near charity fucks - for both of us, he thought at the time.

The sat on the outside patio. It was late May and the Chicago weather was being kind. He ordered a bottle of Chianti Classico Piccini and they talked. He told her why he had to take the course and that he was widowed. He told her about his three grown children and even pulled out the pictures.

She told him of her eight-year-old marriage and one child. How she was the only one in her family left in California and Felipe was a family friend and was always just there. They went shopping together, to concerts which he did not seem to enjoy, out to dinner which he did not seem to enjoy, and finally as she said "out of sheer boredom or momentum, we moved in together. Then I got pregnant so we got married, moved to Chicago," she shrugged her shoulders, "and here I am."

"Happy?" He asked and poured her third glass of wine.

"In my work, yes."

The waiter came by and he ordered for them. Penne pasta, artichoke salad and garlic bread. "Will your husband mind the garlic?" He asked.

She gave him the full-throated laugh. "He would not notice if I came home smelling of pig sty! Besides, he is at a web designers' convention for three days – in Denver."

"Oh." Was all George could manage.

She leaned across the table toward him, the wine glass in both hands. Her elbows on the table, arms close together so that they pushed her breasts up to the top of her V-neck.

"Thank you for taking me here, George. May I call you George?" He nodded. "I have not been out to dinner in months. My mother lives with us, but Felipe does not like to go out."

"And I thank you. I have not been out except for business in a long time." He reached across the table, took one of her hands and kissed the back of it. The waiter arrived before she could react and the conversation drifted back to her work at Berlitz and his youth on a farm in Ohio.

He ordered amaretto for both of them as the waiter cleared the table. When the drinks arrived, she looked at him with her eyes half closed. "You know the story of amaretto?" She asked.

He nodded. "It is a drink of love, right?"

She nodded back and ran her hand through her thick black hair. "A princess long ago loved a prince and he died and she made this drink from almonds to remind her of the sweetness of her love. At least that is the story as I heard it. But, either way, it is sweet and delicious. As this evening has been."

She moved her glass toward him and he clinked with his own. They sipped and he called for the check. They walked out into the warm night, towards his car. "Do you have to go home now, George Meyer?" she asked in a low voice.

He stopped, startled. "Why no, Maria. Home is a condo with a fireplace and a view of the lake. Nothing and nobody else."

"Can we go there for a little?" She almost whispered.

"Is it all right?"

" I'll call my Momma and tell her I am with my sister."

He didn't say another word. Took her hand in his and led her to the car. He opened her door and got in. He looked over at her. She was staring straight ahead.

He reached over and took her hand. Squeezed it. She turned to him. There were tears in her eyes. "Kiss me, George Meyer," she said. He reached across the seat and put one hand on her cheek and kissed her tenderly.

She kissed back gently then more fiercely. Her tongue sought his. He leaned further across the seat and took her head in both hands and kissed softly and then hard.

She was breathing hard now. His hands slid from her face to her shoulders. He slid his hands down to her waist and under her sweater. He brought them up until he felt her firm breasts straining against that tight bra he had glanced in the classroom. It seemed days ago.

She took his face in her hands and smiled. "Soon." She whispered.

He drove carefully, with one hand, gripping hers with his right. The drive up the Lakeshore drive did not take long. They did not speak. He pulled into the garage of the condo tower at the edge of the lake. He opened the door for her and still, not a word.

They went up to the twelfth floor on the elevator and into the hall. A few steps later they were at his door. He opened it and led her in. She walked ahead of him from the hall into the living room. With the lights off, the lights of the city blazed before them.

She walked to the floor to ceiling windows, the center of which was a patio door. She stood there as he came up behind her. He put his arms around her waist and she leaned back against him.

He slid his hands under her sweater as he had done in the car. He felt her breasts swell under his touch. She brought her hands up and undid the clasp in front of her that released the bra. It fell away.

His hands reached up and cupped both breasts. Her breath was coming hard now. He solely rolled both nipples between his thumbs and middle fingers. She took his hands and pressed them closer. Her nipples were hard and long.

He turned her to him and she reached up and took off her sweater. In the half-light form the outdoors he saw the beauty of her body. He felt himself get harder than he had in years.

He slipped out of his blazer and she began to unbutton his shirt. They had not said a word since she had whispered "soon" in the car. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. She traced her finger down his chest to his stomach. With a weird thought he was happy that his abs were buffed. She looked him in the eye and undid his belt. She reached for his zipper and pulled it down.

Her hand found him and he felt a little jump right there. She breathed out between her teeth. She slipped inside his jockeys and kneaded him. He felt his knees getting weak. He reached over and pulled her skirt down to the floor. He grasped her hips above her bikini bottom.

He suddenly yanked her to him as he kissed her and took a handful of her hair in his other hand.

He backed off and her hand came out of his shorts, He took that hand and led her to the couch that faced the floor to ceiling window. He stepped out of his jockeys and pulled her bikini bottom off. He laid her on the couch and began to kiss her from her face, across her breasts and down her stomach. His tongue made little trips from breasts to navel and back.

She writhed on the couch and made that hissing sound between her teeth. She reached down and took him in her hand. He had pre-cum at the tip of his penis. She stroked him and he became even harder. He reached between her legs, gently and fondled her. She was wet.

He reached gently inside until he found her clitoris. He stroked it with his thumb. She writhed even more and gripped his penis in a chokehold. Suddenly she swung her legs off the couch and wrapped them around his waist.

"Now, George Meyer!" She whispered in his ear. "Now!"

He came up just a bit to position himself. His knees on the floor, her back against the back of the couch, her legs on his shoulders now, he slowly guided himself inside her. It was hot and wet and delirious. She shuddered as soon as he entered her.

Oh God!" She whispered, leaning into him as he stroked back and forth, grabbing her ass cheeks and moving them with him. He stroked for about thirty seconds and then felt her tighten against him and begin to thrash her head around.

"Now!" she whispered. Then that hissing sound again as he felt her vagina contract and her legs thrust even higher on his shoulders. "Now!" She thrust at him and her hands dug into his hair and she bucked her entire body up and down on the couch and moaned a moan of a woman lost on an island and searching for her love.

As she began to descend, he thrust in her farther and came himself in a shuddering gasp and a release of semen that he thought would never stop. He thrust again and again and she hung on him and continued to moan that moan.

Finally, finally, they both stopped. Her legs swung slowly from his shoulders. He backed off and knew he would have strawberries on both knees come morning. She lay on the couch almost in fetal position, with one hand still stroking his hair.

He dropped his head onto her waist which was covered with love sweat. "Was, was it all right?" He said softly from the gentle heaving of her stomach.

She hissed once more and almost whispered "It has been a long, long time George Meyer. Thank you."

"No, sweet lady," he said, still nuzzling her stomach, "thank you. It has been a long, long time for me as well.

She took his head in both her hands and swung her long legs off the couch. "You don't have a woman?"

He smiled at her. "No Maria, no woman in my life now. Since Cassie, until now, even sex has not been a big deal. And, lovely lady, I am not just saying that. You are a wonderful lover and a charming person to boot.'

She smiled the thousand-watt smile. She took her hands away from his face and stood. She stretched and again he marveled at the magic of her body. She walked long, cat like steps to the glass doors.

"How beautiful!" She exclaimed. He came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. He held her very close and felt his member begin to harden once again. He was pressed against her butt and she flexed it as he tightened his grip.

She reached behind her back and took him in her hand. He got harder, once again. She turned to him and smiled. She kissed him, held on to his hardness and went to her knees. She looked up at him in the half-light. She smiled and then took him gently in her mouth. He felt the electric shock run through his body.

She began to pull back and forth, slowly and then faster and faster. He thought "fifty two years old and hard again so soon? Don't ask questions George, enjoy."

She slipped up to the tip and flicked her tongue around it. She held it in both hands and looked up at him. Make love to me again, George Meyer, please. Right here."

He slid down beside her on the floor. She pushed him back on his back and swung one of those magic legs on either side of him. Slowly she lowered herself on to him and began the hissing through her teeth again.

She lifted herself and dropped, lifted and dropped. He reached behind her and took her ass cheeks and guided her in and out. She slowly increased the rhythm. Faster and faster, she swung her head from side to side, her hair swirling about her face.

Then, at the top of a particularly deep thrust, she stopped and shuddered. She began to moan again. She slowly lowered herself and he felt her tighten around him. She shuddered again and launched into a long moan, lifting and dropping. He felt it coming and they both climaxed together for what seemed like an eternity.

They lay beside each other exhausted. She snuggled against him. Soon, he felt her deep even breathing. He lifted her gently in his arms and walked to his bedroom. He lay her on the bed and took the covers down. He lay her on the pillow and went into the shower, quietly.

He turned on the hot water. It was a large shower with a bench at one end and multiple showerheads, although he was using only the one at the top. He began to laugh quietly to himself. "She's got to be no more than thirty five, man!" He thought. "And look at you!" He was startled by the shower door opening. She slipped in and moved her body against his. She kissed him and took the soap from him.

She began to lather his body from top to bottom. He winced as she grabbed his penis and pulled on it. It was really sensitive. She turned him around and lathered his back, down his legs and then turned him again. "Your turn, George Meyer." She said softly.