Mexico City has just about anything you’re not looking for. Lucia had been many times— had lived in the ghetto of Colonia Guadalupe Chalma as a child. She didn’t care much for the broad-shouldered city—too fast and aggressive. Given her past it was a miracle that she added Doctor to the front of her name. Lucia specialized in Topology—a branch of algebra so intangible that few women dare to swim its abstract waters. Lucia was in Mexico City to sit on a Masters exam panel.
She spent leisurely hours in the hotel room, resting, reading, and channel surfing. Flipping through options she paused at an advertisement for a blues concert at the convention center across the street. She walked to the balcony window and saw the billboard: Smokey Harris—One Night Only. Lucia owned several of his CD’s. On the announcement Smokey Harris stood tall and handsome—posing with his signature hand-made guitar. She thought to check if tickets were still available, yet felt too lazy. She returned her attention to the television. Smokey was singing a sad tune—eyes closed, swaying and lost in the music.
After a short nap Lucia showered and dressed in an embroidered gold and black Indian blouse, partnered with a pleated ankle-length skirt. As an afterthought she wore an ankle bracelet with semi-precious stones and tiny brass chimes that tinkled when she walked. She took an elevator down to the restaurant, sat in a dark corner, ordered a glass of white wine and a chef salad. With few other diners to distract she was soon covering a napkin with new Topology ideas. Shaking free for a moment, she reminded herself to call home.
Lucia was mother to a beautiful Four-year-old—married to an American writer she’d met by chance many years earlier. They’d lived in the States for nine years before moving to Mexico.
A lot of water under the bridge, she thought. Having Rita changed their lives. Her passion for Wyler was gradually replaced by her focus on Rita. They talked about how the fire was reduced to embers—yet Rita was worth any sacrifice.
# # #
Lucia’s focus changed when Smokey Harris and two others sat nearby. They didn’t appear to take notice of her—yet as he perused the menu, Smokey looked up, smiled and winked at her.
Lucia returned his smile with a corrected, “Buenos noches.”
He glanced at his watch and nodded, “So it is, so it is.”
After a waiter took his order, Smokey whispered something and gave a nod in her direction. The other men at the table shook their heads. A few minutes later a bottle of Dom Perignon arrived to Lucia’s table.
“From the gentleman,” the waiter gestured.
Taking his cue, Smokey walked over. His friends stayed put—one said, “You too much, man.”
“I took a risk that you might like Champagne,” he began.
She smiled, “An expensive risk, Mr. Harris.”
“And jazz too. I’ve heard you play both.”
“You know baby—jazz is just blues that’s tumbled down some stairs.”
Champagne traveled up her nose and she coughed as she laughed. Smokey patted her back and then rubbed the back of her neck.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You had me a little worried—thought I’d have to do some mouth-to-mouth.”
Lucia smiled and a swallowed some water.
“Coming to the show tomorrow night?”
She shook her head, “No—I don’t have a ticket.”
“Too late—all sold out,” he reached into his front shirt pocket, “but there’s ways around that.” He presented her with a ticket.
“Oh, that’s very nice of you, thank you.”
“That’ll put you front and center and get you backstage after the show. “
She touched a hand to her heart, “I don’t know what to say.”
“How ‘bout sharing some bubbly with ol’ Smokey?”
The waiter brought another flute without being asked.
“Here’s to beautiful Mexican women,” he raised his glass adding, “pretty lady, you got a million-watt smile.”
They touched glasses and sipped.
The getting-to-know-you chitchat ensued. She was teaching in Acapulco and last year he’d played on a cruise ship that stopped there.
“I watched those cliff divers,” he said. “That’s some scary shit.”
He learned that she was married and had a daughter. She discovered that he was between relationships—father of two sons from previous marriage.
Lucia’s salad arrived and Smokey leered at it with one eye closed.
“That all you havin’?”
“I’m not very hungry.”
She nibbled her salad while he waited for his steak.
“How’d you get cozy with the blues pretty lady?”
“I don’t remember—college I think. I like the sadness and passion—how the songs tell stories.”
“That’s right they do, and you know what?”
“You gonna leave me with some bitter blues if you don’t join me for a nightcap—might even play a song or two.”
“What is a nightcap?” She wasn’t familiar with the word.
“Last drink folks have before they call it a night.”
“Oh,” she nodded, “yes, and I’d like very much to hear you play.”
After dinner he signed for the tab and proffered Lucia the crook of his arm.
“Shall we?” He paused briefly to introduce her to his friends, who stood.
“Dorsey,” the first man said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Everett,” introduced the other, “you folks have yourself a nice evening. Don’t keep him out too late, young lady,” he wagged a finger.
“Later brothers,” the three men shared a special handshake. Smokey escorted Lucia to the elevator.
“Dorsey, Everett and me—we’ve been playing together since we were kids. Our first band was, The Smoking Lizards.”
# # #
He had rented an entire suite, replete with a lighted fountain in the living room. He flipped on the lights and rotated a knob to dim them down.
“My goodness,” she managed as she watched the fountain spring to life.
“There’s another one in the bedroom.” He kicked off his shoes, “Make yourself at home.”
Lucia lifted her legs to remove her sandals.
Smoky led her into the bedroom.
“This’s where I keep Baby Blue—my guitar.”
The bedroom fountain was a sculpted mermaid, emptying water from a giant shell into a waiting pond. A full bar took up space beneath a flat-screen television hanging on the wall.
“What can I get you?” He asked.
“Nothing for me, thank you—the champagne was enough.”
He gestured to the bedroom fountain, “Doubles as a Jacuzzi—feels real nice after a concert. I always get this room when I play here.”
The over-sized bed was covered with bright throw pillows and his acoustic guitar was leaned against a nightstand. He reached for it and motioned for Lucia to sit next to him on the bed.
“This song’s for a beautiful flower called Lucia,” and he began playing.
His fingers lifted, pressed and wiggled changing mere notes into his signature style of play. His song was about a woman he’d given his soul to—only to be left twisting. He played with eyes closed, peeking at Lucia now and again until the final note resonated, and faded.
“That was so beautiful,” she smiled.
“Let you in on a little secret,” he answered, “right this moment—nothing in this world’s as beautiful as you.”
Lucia didn’t resist when he touched her face, and kissed her. His lips were soft and she returned it with the tip of her tongue. The moist sound of subsequent kisses made her lightheaded. His lips journeyed to the bird’s nest of her throat—to her ear—delicate, slow kisses that made her wet. His strumming hand slipped up beneath her blouse to rub her smooth brown back. Then, with a deft twist of thumb and forefinger he released the catch and her tits sprang forward.
Lifting the front of her blouse he trapped a brown nipple with his front teeth. Lucia combed her fingers through his hair as he suckled.
“Beautiful,” he whispered easing her to her back. His tongue traveled to the softness of her belly. She lifted when his fingers hooked inside the waistband of her skirt and panties.
“Sweet Jesus,” he groaned as he peeled them down, “the Garden of Eden.”
Smokey knelt to spread her pussy lips with his thumbs—flicking his tongue over the hooded flesh of her tiny pearl. She responded with a melodious moan and thrust against him.
“Like honey,” he said, pausing to slipped out of his pants. Lucia gawked at his thick, attenuated cock pulsing like a separate animal. He returned, licking, sliding a long, tapered index finger inside and curling it upward.
“Ayyy, get inside,” she gasped, “Huh-huh-huh!”
Smokey scooted until his bulbous tip touched her outer pedals. Caressing up and down until it glistened—he slowly pushed inside. Lucia stiffened and then shivered with pleasure as her pussy sheathed his broad shaft.
“We’ll take it nice and easy, baby—that’s right—nice and slow.”
When his entire length was wetted, Lucia moaned, spread wider and squeezed his lower arms. He cupped his hands under her knees to lift them over his shoulders.
He saw that her pussy lips were stretched taut around his thickness. He gazed into Lucia’s almond-shaped eyes—glazed with passion—loved how she inhaled so deeply when he was slipping in, followed by a deep, satisfied groan when he was in all the way. She dug her heels into his shoulder blades as he moved. When he bent to suck a nipple she unhooked her legs and brought them around his back to set a counter-rhythm with her hips.
Her first orgasm surprised him with its intensity—rhythmic muscular contractions, desperate cries.
“That’s right baby,” he said as he pushed through each successive spasm.
“Oh-oh-oh—ayyy—ohhh, ayyy!” Her sea-gull cries filled the bedroom.
She twitched and squeezed around his cock as Smokey stroked relentlessly—kissing and suckling until another one took hold. She thrashed beneath him, lifting her ass, clasping his shoulders and rubbing her calves over his back.
She’s playing her song, he thought. Each woman he’d been with had her own distinct way. Lucia’s song was original and lovely to the ear.
Smoky plunged to the hilt, balls leaping.
“Jesus—awww,” he growled as he spurt, “awww—shit—aw-aw-awww!”
# # #
For a long while after he stayed inside—kissing her tenderly. The impressive size of his cock afforded the luxury of staying inside until he was ready to leave. When he finally did, the wet sounds of compressed air were followed by a splurge of semen.
His ebony cock was glazed and Lucia’s dark snatch was matted with leavings. Smokey hummed an appreciative, “Mm-mm-mm” and thought he’d never seen anything so wonderful in all his life.
Breathing slowed—the bluesman leisurely nibbled and left a mark on the skin around her nipple. Lucia felt so sensitive that she thought the slightest breeze would make her cum again. Her knees were still lifted and she rubbed a foot lazily over his hips. They smiled at the same time.
“That husband of yours is one lucky buck—waking up to a smile like that every morning.”
“You make love like you play guitar,” she answered.
Smokey kissed her. She smelled like cinnamon and sex. He had cried out for Jesus when he spurted. Must be a reason for that, he thought. Almighty must know that the secret to heaven on Earth is written between the parentheses of a pussy.
A short time later Smoky was ready to play another song and this one lasted much longer.
# # #
The next night Lucia phoned home before she walked to the concert. Smokey sent her a large bouquet of roses.
After the concert he welcomed her backstage with open arms, yet she saw he was already hooked up with another fan. Undoubtedly she would soon enjoy a free concert. Lucia was okay with that. She’d come to Mexico City without expectations and been privy to Smokey’s most intimate song—oh-so-sweet. Her memories would travel away from this city along with a pressed rose.
As she turned to leave Dorsey caught her by the elbow.
“Hey Lucia—where you goin’ girl? I was hopin’ you’d hang around, join me later for a little nightcap.”