Slow Dancing in Lago Agrio

Lisa couldn’t remember the last time she had swayed her hips with such seductive abandonment and so close to a gorgeous young man. It felt so easy, so natural and so, so tempting.

She had stopped counting the beats of the music, mouthing the numbers in Spanish “uno dos, tres cuatro, cinco” and the faster “seis, sete, oche…” so much in tune was she now with her sexy dancer.

And she had become oblivious to her surroundings, that if it were not for the odd sound of gunfire punctuating the atmosphere, for the few brief seconds of silence when the music changed she would have forgotten she was on the Columbian border in the rather infamous drug dealing town of Lago Agrio.

It was just her and her beautiful young lithe dancer Miguel.

They had barely said two words to each other since meeting in the restaurant across the street from her hotel. But now here in the Salsa bar they had found a way of communicating that defied words.

After her initial reluctance and shyness to even step on the dance floor, they were soon in slow dancing embraces, drawing each other together and then flicking away and in Sevilliana swirls to meet again in each other’s arms. Her hips sashaying like a young precocious teenager. Enticing young hot males to her mercy.

As the first refrains of “Amor de mis Amores” played out, Lisa was lost in the moment.

The room was full of Salsa dancers but they receded into oblivion as Miguel teased his hips close to hers and their body heat was the only thing between them. By the time “I like it like that” was being played Lisa realised that yes she did indeed “like it like that”.

Occasionally there was the applause of fellow dancers and laughter rang through the hot smoky room. The sound of shoes taping on the wooden floor.

Only stopping for mojitos, laced with salt and lime, they danced late into the night and finally it was the musicians who stopped playing and Lisa saw that she and Miguel were the only two left in the bar. The band packed up their instruments and made a very swift exit from the back of the building. Avoiding any possible involvement with the drug fuelled actions going on in the main drag of Lago Agrio.

It was then for a split second Lisa felt vulnerable. But that was easily swept away like tumbleweed as Miguel with traditional Spanish machismo put a protective arm around her. With a casual “Haste Luego” to the owner of the venue Miguel led her out back into the main drag of the town to her hotel.

Once back in her hotel room they continued their slow, slow dancing. While the bright white neon light of “Hotel Agrio” flickered and buzzed outside the bedroom window, they slowly undressed each other, peeling of the final traces of any of her middle aged inhibitions.

Miguel was a hot Latin lover and he took Lisa greedily and selfishly. She enthusiastically clung to his warm, soft brown body. Fluid hip gyrations and slow twirls gave way to a more frantic rhythm, rigid back arches as Lisa dug her nails into Miguel’s muscular back.

She licked the final traces of salt and lime from his lips, from the mojitos that they had drunk so easily earlier in the evening.

Twenty years of marital boredom was shed away from Lisa in that first tryst. All those years of clinging to the sham of her marriage, to his cold, cold lies. Like a snake peeling skin to be regenerated, Lisa felt her old self go with her moans of sexual delight. By the time she reached her climax all traces of any remorse for her cheating ex-husband Alex had gone too.

When she awoke a few hours later, he had disapeared, and for a moment she thought that she had dreamt him. But she could still smell his body on the sheets, and a faint tang of salt on her lips. In the shower she sighed almost with pain as she watched the water take the final invisible traces of Miguel from her body.

Her slow dancer had gone from her life, Salsa’d away from her in Sevillian swirls and now all she had was the memory of his hips as he had led her so deliberately in the dance.

She fell back onto the bed, her arms outstretched, slowly a grin formed at the corners of her mouth. There could be many more Latino lovers like Miguel before the end of her trip. More slow dancing like at Lago Agrio.

Perhaps life as a divorcee would not be so bad. The memory of Miguel was already fading, as was the taste of salt and lime on her lips.

 

 

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