Post Love Thirty Five
It was Giseles’ last night in town. She had finished her Masters’ and was moving back home to start a career of some kind. She was a friend of Esthers’ that I’d met about a year prior to her departure. She was hard to miss. A six foot tall brazilian model that dressed like a vietnam vet in her spare time. Her big burning brown eyes had glanced at me across the room a few times that night, and her forward smile held no secrets from anyone. I love that about women from warm places. They skip the meek, detached flirting and go straight for the gold. No man has ever wondered if a brazilian woman was hitting on him. And I would have been glad to return the favor had I not been so wrapped up in Esther at the time. Amateur mistake. Instead, me and Gisele became good friends. She was a fun girl that liked to drink and talk about the same things I liked to talk about when I was drunk. We spent a night or two out with friends, my denial of her subtle but clear, and soon after she started dating a guy named Mark. Even him I got along with. It’s a rare thing when that happens.
We were a fun bunch for a few months. Got into trouble, long summer laughter late at night, doing things we weren’t supposed to do in places we weren’t supposed to go, and just like that it all died out and gave way to academic careers and future prospects. Mark and Gisele studied some kind of subject while I studied the effects of alcohol and drugs on my system, and we all ended up with Masters’ degrees, I believe. Mark left after he graduated, but Gisele decided to stay the summer. She travelled in and out of the city, walked into rooms and corners, and I’d never given much thought to the fact that she was here and he was not. I knew Gisele liked me once, but who knew it had lasted. Girls change like the weather, and after all, she was Mark’s girlfriend. But it turned out Giseles’ opinion of me remained unchanged, all the way up to that last warm summer night together.
I hadn’t planned anything but getting drunk with friends and giving Gisele a good hug goodbye. And I did just that. Except when it was done, at the dead end of her going away party, just us and a few drunken stragglers, as I gave her that good hug I knew I had now completed my plans. What now? There was a tall brazilian woman in my arms. I let go, my hands slid down, and I don’t know if it was an honest slip up or a dishonest drunken move, but my hands brushed against her ass. In my defense, I’m not used to a womans’ ass being that high up, nor stick that far out. Her big brazilian ass bursting out of her skintight jeans at all times, bulging with every step, it was hard to miss. Just a week ago, after Mark had left, she had gone on a drunken monologue, a forward speech addressing her love for anything anal. Gisele loved it in the ass. Ofcourse she did.
So with all that alcohol, prior knowledge, and brazilian anatomy, who is to say why my hand touched her ass? While still standing close to me, she called me out in a quiet voice. “You just touched my ass”. Lovely woman, throwing it out in the open, making the move, smiling. Surprised and unprepared, I mumbled something about being drunk. “That’s okay” she said, “you can touch my ass”. I didn’t think about it for a second. I put my hand back on her big ass and squeezed it. A palm full of horny brazilian flesh, we walked out arm in arm. Then she finally put it into words. “I’ve always had a crush on you”. I smiled. “I know”. Alcohol in motion, the end of the night proving full of possibilities, I called an afterparty at my place. Her and some of the stragglers ended up on my couch. I typed out a text message to Gisele. I’ll come to your place in a bit.
I waited until I saw her looking at her phone, smiling, until I made an announcement to the group. “I’m going to pass out soon, guys. I need to go to bed”. The drunks started to put on their shoes, and I checked my phone. I don’t think Mark would like that. I started typing. He doesn’t have to know. Gisele left with the rest. I sat and waited for the reply, put my shoes back on, ready for the okay.
My phone lit up. There it was. Have a good night. Son of a bitch. Like a much needed slap in my drunken face, I realized that an invitation to grab an ass did not equal an invitation to fuck an ass. No matter how big and luscious it was, no matter how drunk we both were. I liked that about Gisele. She was forward, she was honest, she didn’t mind a bit of friendly flirting, but she was no slut. She had a man, and she had given me just enough to feel good about myself. The hot model let me grab her ass. The hot model would fuck me if she was single. It was the most pleasant denial I’d ever been subjected to. The good ones always have a bit of acceptance in them. That, and the knowledge that some crushes outlast some relationships. I’m a patient man, I thought. I’d be happy if Mark and Gisele stay together for good. And I’d be happy if they broke up, I’d be happy to shoot a load of warm cum into her brazilian guts. Either way, I felt good about Gisele. I started typing. Good night.
