This story happened whilst I was living in Mexico. The company I work for had offices in Los Angeles, Houston, and Phoenix. I had moved to LA 18 months previously and almost immediately found employment with my current firm.
My family background is from a conservative small town near Fresno in California. It was a predominantly white area of the world, and I grew up on a farm miles from anywhere. As a consequence of the isolation, and being the eldest of a large family (I have 6 younger siblings), I had a fairly stunted social maturity. I found it hard to make friends in LA, and so tended to put in long hours at work, which of course then impeded further any chance of developing much of a social calendar.
I fairly jumped at the chance to get out of LA, even if it meant moving to Mexico. Our company had begun aggressively marketing to the Hispanic community in California, and had grand visions of expanding south of the border. A small office had been set up in Acapulco and soon I found myself settling into a fairly quiet existence in a small villa on the outskirts of town that my Western salary could afford.
One thing I loved about Mexico was the clear warm nights that occurred most of the year round. Another thing I enjoyed was watching the Mexican men. Perhaps perving would be a better word. I quickly discovered that I was a bit of a sucker for the dark handsome looks of the locals. Even the women, I had to admit, were amazing, with their smooth olive complexions and curvaceous figures. But I was strictly hetero in those days, and found myself often engaged in “man-watching”. Indeed, I probably could have listed it as one of my hobbies at that time.
Not that this helped me meet any good men. I enjoyed looking, but I didn’t really like the way they treated their womenfolk. This was still very much a male-dominated and chauvinist society. Though I lived alone I was rarely lonely. Book-reading was my passion, and I liked nothing better than to sit under my verandah in a comfy chair on a warm evening with a good book in hand. I was even contemplating writing one myself.
One Sunday afternoon I was doing some laundry when I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised since I wasn’t expecting anyone and I hadn’t heard a car arrive. I opened the door to a young man wearing a dusty suit and perspiring in the heat. I judged he was a couple of years younger than myself. He took off his hat as I opened the door. I noticed a horse tied up to my verandah post.
“Excuse me, senorita.” His English was heavily accented. “You interested in vacuum machine?”
Now as it happened I didn’t really need a new vacuum cleaner, but I felt sorry for him. It looked like he had been out in the heat trying to drum up business. On horseback no less! My house was on the outskirts of town, and I wondered if he was allowed to take the animal any further toward the city centre.
“I sell you good vacuum cleaner,” he said earnestly. “Very nice. Very good job.” Sweat was trickling down his face.
I invited him in. He wiped his face with a red bandana and stepped inside with me. The ceiling fans were on, and it felt at least 10 degrees cooler.
“Come and sit down.” I gestured toward the front sitting room. He took a seat on one of the low sofas.
“What’s your name?” I enquired.
“Fernandez. Yours?”
“Louisa.” I gave him the Spanish version of my name. Everyone referred to me like that down here.
He smiled at me and I couldn’t help thinking that he looked damn cute. His suit was stained from all the riding and appeared to be a size or two small. It made me wonder if he had borrowed it for the day in order to look “professional”. He had tousled black hair and a smooth, clean-shaven face. It looked like he had a strong, powerful chest but his hands were delicate, almost feminine.
“Would you like a cold drink?” I asked.
“Oh, yes please, senorita. I been to…” he paused and frowned, “sixteen houses today. It very hot.”
Now it was my turn to smile. “I’ve got some water in the refrigerator.”
In the kitchen I poured two tall glasses of iced water, then returned to the sitting room. I bent slightly to hand him his drink and I saw that he gawked unashamedly down the front of my top. I felt my cheeks flush and my nipples stiffen, and I quickly straightened up. Fernandez acted like nothing had happened and so did I.
I went to sit on the lounge chair opposite him. I was aware that he was speaking to me, but my mind drifted off into why I was so flustered by this young man checking out my ample bosom. I didn’t see myself as a sexual prude, but I had to admit my sexual experiences were very limited. There had been a couple of months of heavy petting with a boyfriend in my final year of high school, which culminated in the uncomfortable loss of my virginity in one of our hay barns. There had also been the unsatisfying penetration at a Drive-In by a blind date that I hadn’t been able to say no to.
Despite these paltry experiences, I told myself that I had a normal female sex drive. So what if I wasn’t in the sack every weekend? I’m just more selective than some others I knew. At least I masturbated, and surely not all girls did that. Yeah ok, so it was only once every couple of months, though perhaps more frequent than that since I had been in Mexico.
I admit I am very plain in appearances, but I liked to think I had a pretty good pair of breasts, and have been known on occasion to flaunt them. By habit I am a very conservative dresser, but today I happened to be wearing a fairly low-cut loose summer dress and I’m sure Fernandez would have got a good eyeful of my white lacy bra.
Suddenly I snapped back to the present and realised the young Mexican was winding up a big spiel about the glories of this new vacuum cleaner.
“So. What do you think?” he concluded.
“I, ah…think it sounds great,” I bluffed. “Very, um, impressive.”
