Chapter 15 – Part 2, Liberated

This is chapter 15, part 2 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 15 – Part 2, Liberated

My sexual relationship with Rosa had progressed from the first awkward fuck into the slow, sensuous, highly orgasmic love making of the last encounters. Rosa revealed an unlimited fountain of pleasure to me, and I began to look closely at other women, even those attractive women we passed on the street. I wondered if they were all as ‘ricas‘ (‘rich’ as in rich chocolate) as María and Rosa.

And then it hit me – I realized María was an extraordinary gift to men, her expert lovers would experience María in the same way I explored and enjoyed Rosa, with cariño, thoroughly, deeply and intimately. Every time I knew another man fucked María, I felt the sharp stab in my groin of envy, of loss, that something was being stolen from me. Rosa taught me the source of pleasure that issues from a woman is without bound, not a zero-sum loss. I could no longer be envious of those men; I couldn’t justify denying them the pleasure of María if she desired them. I felt somehow liberated, that the crush of culture and societal rules that tries to entrap women in slut-hood, with all the disapproval and ostracization was somewhat lightened.

But then, the inverse side must also be true – those dozens and dozens of her lovers, their penises and testicles, sperm and semen, mouths and bodies were the same gift to María. She explored these men, savored their differences, consumed their richness, just as Rosa did with me. I realized María’s vagina must grab their penises as if to trap those valuable objects inside her body. I saw the more sensitive men discovered if they nibbled María’s earlobes, she would convert her body into a giant funnel into which they could pour themselves.

I was depressed to realize I had no claim on María, she was as free as she chose to be, and I was lost in wondering to whom or to what I could thank for her presence in my life – a gift from the gods? A dice throw in some game of fate? The men she fucked were often more handsome, richer, stronger, or intelligent than I. Many were better lovers to her than me – Why did she chose me, why was she still with me, an ordinary guy? When would she disappear?

I saw my hold on María was no more than a piece of paper, the marriage contract, and shared parentage of our son, two fragile bonds, but primarily my position to addict her with cariño, the tactile, deeply affective bond was all that could hold her to me. I resolved again her lovers would always be casual, never long-term, she wouldn’t arrive at the cariño stage with them. I feared a serious, long-term lover would indeed steal her from me.

María, unthinkingly and unknowingly, was naturally liberated from the sexual mores of American, Mexican and Guatemalan societies. Fucking was as natural to her as breathing, talking, eating, urinating, walking – she needed no one’s permission to fuck, only the immediate consent of her next partner. Sex wasn’t dirty, wasn’t special, except to avoid the negatives of disease and untimely pregnancy. She didn’t flaunt the conventions of society – she simply ignored them as ridiculous and irrelevant as an adult ignores the trajectory of wind-blown litter. The entire edifice of morality designed to control a woman’s sexuality, enforced by societal disapproval, was unimportant for María.

Although I could formulate these rational notions in my head, I never really assimilated them, never stepped completely outside my gringo/Latin cultural box, never accepted her liberation of and for myself, and it broke me in many ways. Yet I’ll always be grateful, until my last day on earth she broke me so completely.

* * *

After Rosa left us, I began to study every attractive woman that passed by: their dress, cleavage, panty lines, bulges of sanitary pads, protruding nipples, protruding vulvas, everything. I looked through their clothes, undressed them, imagined their bodies, wondered what delights they could exchange with me. I became the detested ‘viejo cabrón’, ‘viejo verde‘ (dirty old man, lecher.) Their age, race, or marital status didn’t matter. I kept notes on the women I saw frequently, noted their enlarged breasts and sanitary pads, trying to estimate when they would be in heat. I approached some of these women when in heat, with compliments about what I perceived were their vanity weak spots. Incredibly, many of these women responded favorably, I took their contact information, but went no farther – I didn’t have María’s permission to seduce them.

I felt more attracted to the married women, those that lived with their husbands, with or without children. They possessed a quality of maturity of sexuality the single women didn’t have. They were also forbidden territory, perhaps even dangerous to seduce. I remembered how men had paid more attention to María after we married. They approached her more often and tried harder to seduce her. I felt the same attraction and thought it must be some warrior testosterone impulse to cheat and defeat another man and steal his most valuable possession – his woman. Married women responded positively to my advances in the same measure as the singles, hmmm…

I was also interested in women of other races, especially attractive black women – when they were attractive, they were very attractive. I saw how María had pursued and seduced black men after her first nude dance and sex with a black man from the salsa club many years ago. María had fucked many black men since then. She said they had some mysterious quality that attracted her, and she loved the contrast of skin colors and their often larger penises. A good black lover always gave her intense and multiple orgasms. I wondered if the black women would have the same effect on me. There were very few attractive black women in Mexico, and those I found weren’t interested in my advances.

There were also many, so many women that were not striking beauties, passably pretty, yet I could see a quiet sensuality in their faces, their hands, their body movements. I knew with the right approach and handling, they could and would be as rica as María and Rosa for a good man. I knew their beauty would grow in the hands of a good man.

Then I saw the women my eyes never saw before, the women I never thought were even pretty. Maybe they were heavy, had uneven teeth, poorly dressed – ordinary, like me. They walked alone, or with friends, their mates or children. Some carried babies. Most had kind faces, smiled as they greeted strangers. Their partners had seen their beauty, their kindness, their humanity, their vulva essence. How had I missed it?

I felt at first I swam constantly among intensely sensual and sexual women, then I was drowning in them. My impulses to speak with them, to touch them, to caress their faces and bodies, to kiss them, to fuck them, gnawed continuously at me. Bunk and Josey fought constantly among my neurons, I felt confused, my sanity slipping.

I had to stop looking, María was right, I couldn’t handle it, and I resolved to stick to our rules.

* * *

Two of these women I approached became friends and confidantes. Both were doctorate students, highly intelligent, single, quite pretty, and acute judges of character. They sensed something ‘chueco‘ (twisted) in my personality and drew me out over otherwise mundane café talk. As I cautiously revealed parts of my story with María, they were fascinated by María’s open lifestyle, perhaps imagining their own liberation in her example.

One of them suggested I write about all that had happened, that I write an article or book, and so this book you are reading took shape. It was easy to write – I simply wrote my story in haphazard format as my memories led me. I already had dozens of emails and written letters between María and I that I had conserved. I produced perhaps 50 pages of notes within three days of keyboarding, about half in English and half in Spanish. Writing the story was therapeutic. I began to see patterns and flows in our lives I overlooked in the day-to-day life hum-drum.

As I began to understand myself and María better, I grew to admire María more and myself less.

My confidantes read and edited, helped me reorder the story, and made many suggestions. The most compelling suggestion, really a requirement, was I hide the identities of all the people in the story. They were sure none of the characters, including themselves, would want to be publicly associated with a story so explicit and deviant. As we thought through these issues, we realized we would also have to change the location, cities and/or countries, and certain events and timelines to fit the new locations. Even the ages of people would have to slide to fit the new timelines. This re-ordering of my story took twice as long as the true-story draft. Thereafter, I continued to document past and present experiences.

My confidantes became more than friends and editors to me. Their lives, discussed freely with this ‘chueco gringo‘, provided insight to my understanding of the vulva essence. They possessed the spirit of a María, even if they weren’t among the world’s great beauties. They didn’t overwhelm me as María had, rather they distilled and clarified me.

End of book content.

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