There is a lot you can tell about a man from the first glance. It’s in the eyes, where they fall on a woman. This is the first thing I notice.

The club is dimly lit and crowded. It’s a typical San Francisco up scale dance club. The DJ is spinning erotic, pulsing drumbeats designed to loosen the inhibitions of uptight 9-5ers. The usual cast of characters can be found here: Leering, staggering drunken young men in prime rutting phase, trying every empty line that has ever been used, hoping to hit the mark with that one naïve girl who’s drunk enough to believe it.

 “You have such a pretty smile.”

”Really? Wow, thank you!”

Flirting gaggles of A-list bleached blond females and their chestnut counterparts show the soft glow of freshly scrubbed and scented arms and legs, manicured toes and the latest Banana Republic outfits, hinting at the delights of a freshly waxed pussy.

This is what I see when I look around me, bored by the whole scene, immune to the come-on lines and cookie-cutter monotony. I have come only for a friend’s birthday party and am the odd ball out when it comes to trends of the young and yuppie. Being a musician I am most at home in a dive bar wearing a broken in pair of blue jeans and boots- I suppose even that is cliché, somehow. Still, I clean up nicely and look lovely donning a spring-green silk Indian-style wrap camisole with a fitted waist, dark low-hipped, long legged blue jeans and slip on strappy sandals with a heel. My hair is loose. I have had my share of male interest from the room this evening, but have managed to nod and smile my way out of any kind of lengthy conversational commitment, being as I can tell no one would really be listening even if I were interested in talking.

I have always held the intrigue of men. Being mixed (my mother is black, Polish and Native American, my father is white- or Jewish, as he prefers) my skin is the color of coffee with lots of crème and my eyes are large and almond shaped, green with flecks of blue, prone to changing shades with my mood or the weather; neon green when I cry, light blue in the sun. Bedroom eyes. I have a darling little pert nose, a pouty upper lip and high cheekbones. My fathers blonde pronounces itself in the tips of my brown wavy hair, which rests somewhere between my shoulder blades. So, yes, I am interesting to look at, but rarely does a man hold my interest, because I was raised with books and as an only child I shared the company of adults at social gatherings and holidays. My mother  and father’s friends were a very eclectic and international mix of folks. Many were physicists or biologists, teachers and scholars. I am the type of woman who finds intellectual conversation the foreplay to any other kind of interaction. This is harder to find than you might think. Then the man needs to be physically appealing to me as well and finding both brains and looks is a slim chance indeed. A tasty debate is more appealing than any Abercrombie and Fitch jock in a dress shirt with a sprits of Tommy Boy and his dribble after swallowing sake-bombs all night. Having made that mistake (and I only needed to make it once) I have not had sex in quite a while.

I stand alone in the corner of the dance floor near the DJ booth, avoiding the crowd, while I survey, with sincere interest, the albums he is spinning. The selection of the moment is a middle-eastern groove with heavy bass and tabla drumming. I begin to move my hips, remembering the one belly-dancing class I took a number of years back. I have always been a great dancer. In fact I think I may have missed my calling. Letting go of my body is easy to music and it has been a pride of mine to never let myself feel shy about dancing in public. People even frequently ask me if I am a dancer because of my build and the way I hold myself.

I begin to shake myself gently to the rhythm, lifting one hip then the other and feel the sensual nature and momentum of the movements. I let my head relax and roll my shoulders, falling deeper into the music’s trance.  That is when I see him watching. He is standing at the bar cradling a glass of red wine comfortably in between his fingers. His eyes are on my hips and his lips hold a delicious smirk. He is absolutely, undeniably, outstandingly gorgeous. His hair is golden blond and somewhat long compared to the rest of the men in the room. He is impeccably dressed in black slacks and a maroon button-down shirt, the cloth, cut and style a generous compliment to his prominent stature. His shoes are black leather, funky and tasteful. He is tall (about 6’ 2” or 3”) and stands out of the pack in every way. This is no overgrown boy trying to relive his college glory days; this is a man; a VERY sexy man.

I pretend not to notice that he is staring at me, which is easy since his eyes never leave below my waist. I feel a quickening to my pulse and welcome my handsome audience. I close my eyes and let the music take me over; arms and wrists move above my head, I showcase my body, which is toned and sleek from yoga and biking. In my imagination I pretend that I am a dancing girl and he is a king, fallen under my gypsy spell.
 

I turn my back to where he is standing, happily ignoring the room and sway my behind back and forth. I suddenly feel a hand on my waist and open my eyes to see a red-faced 20-something frat nightmare grinning into my face while trying to get into my space. I tell him I actually want to dance alone, backing up and he tries to amicably argue with me all the while moving closer, pelvis first. I decide I might be done dancing for the moment and walk away from the whole scene. No sooner do I reach the edge of the dance floor, the king is there.

“Bonjourno”, he says to me in a warm Italian voice. He smells like sex.

“Bonjourno”, I repeat and smile, letting him know that he is welcome in my personal space.

“May I buy you a drink,” he asks, his eyes smoldering, all the while looking as though he were tasting something delicious. I am convinced at this point that it is probably his tongue.

Over drinks I learn through his thick accent that his name is Nazario and he is a lieutenant in the Italian army visiting America on vacation, or “holiday” as he put it. I tell him my name is Nicole.
 

“Nicole, you are very beautiful. I like the way you, mm, dance. It is very nice.”

Somehow, it doesn’t sound like a cheesy line leaving his succulent lips, which seem permanently curled in a gracious smile.

“You know you are the most beautiful woman in the room, Bella?”
”That is a matter of opinion,” I state surveying the packs of men hoarded around each blond female.

 “But even so, what’s in a beautiful face?” I ask looking directly at him, with a somewhat cocky challenging grin, regaining a bit my good old feminine defiance.

At this he seems impressed and he raises his eyebrows as he laughs before saying,” This is very true, Nicole. You are not only extremely beautiful, but wise also, I understand.”

Ok, now he has me roped and hog-tied.

We are standing very close talking for good long while and the heat between is so apparent that when he asks me to leave with him I immediately accept. I find my friend who is plastered and dancing in the center of a group of her friends, sporting an askew party hat, and tell her I am leaving. She begins to make noise about it, but I carefully point out Nazario who is getting his jacket and she coos with delight while giving me her blessing and two thumbs-up.

Nazario leads me out the door and into his rental sports car, gallantly helping me into the passenger side. The fact that he could be a serial killer or rapist is so far from my mind that I am now almost ashamed to think back on it- almost.

He drives me to a high ridge overlooking the city. I am amazed at his resourcefulness as we step out of the car to take in the breathtaking view. He throws his coat around me even though I am wearing a jacket and we sit on the warm hood of the car.
 

He comments on the beauty of San Francisco and how it is his favorite city so far. Staring out at the lights of the bay, he tells me some about Italy and the army, his battalion, his friends. Every word from his lips is like a savory dish and I listen eagerly taking in the flavors. He sounds so passionate about everything he is saying and I realize that this is man who really enjoys a good conversation; he isn’t being smarmy or superficial. I am creaming from just listening to his voice, when he turns and looks into my face before leaning in to kiss me. His lips are thick and smooth and he slides his tongue fully into my mouth without hesitation. This man is not shy. His hand comes around to the small of my back and I suddenly feel very petite and feminine. I loosen my lips, fully running my tongue along the length of his. The kiss lasts about 15 seconds and he pulls away just so our noses are almost touching.

”Nicole, I would like very much if you would sleep next to me tonight- would you like that?”

Oh, yes. Yes I would.

On the way to his hotel he stops to pick up a bottle of Italian wine. He then takes me the Ritz Carlton where he is staying. I keep telling myself this not a dream but a reward for having not been laid in almost a year, and having the last guy I fucked be a drunk playboy that came in about 3 strokes- but it’s just all too unbelievable. In the elevator he puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. I feel completely at ease leaning into him.

In his room he takes my jacket and hangs in the closet. He opens the wine and pours it into water glasses that resemble thick-stemmed wine glasses. We each take a sip and then he pulls me close laying another kiss on me. The wine mingles with our kiss and the sensation is immediately intoxicating. He sits me on the bed and kneels to slip my sandals from my feet taking a moment to massage each foot and then kiss my toes. I giggle loudly, something completely out character and then he sits down at my side. He looks at me taking in each feature of my face separately, lays me back on the comforter and then unties the strings of my blouse, sticking his tongue into my belly button. I am silent as he kisses my belly along the rim of my jeans and undoes the button unzipping them to reveal the thin gauze of my g-stringed panties. He expertly slips off my pants leaving the panties in place. Laying beside me again he kisses me and I feel his fingers lightly slide along the seams and then slip in between the lips of my vagina, which is quite wet. I moan gently into his mouth at the glorious sensation rippling through my belly. He is sliding his fingers around my clit just barely touching me, playing with the slipperiness. I spread my legs wider welcoming his touch. I reach my hands around to his back, which is well muscled and slide them down to the back of his slacks and his rock hard behind. I reach up and unbutton his shirt, sliding it back off of his shoulders. He is wearing a white wife-beater undershirt and his shoulders and arms are toned and cut, a bonus of military life. We part lips to remove our shirts simultaneously. I am lying in my bra and underwear and he seductively takes me in with his eyes.

“Ah, Nicole, you are gorgeous.”

 I was just thinking the same thing looking at his chest. I smile up at him and place my hand over his cock, which is soldier stiff in his slacks. Nazario grins back and coolly locks my gaze as I unhook his belt and loosen his pants from his hips. He removes them himself to reveal his boxers, which are black silk. I reach in and gently release his penis from the folds of the fabric and he moans at my touch, closing his eyes and shuddering. Long and thick in my hand, his cock quivers and grows harder still. I bring my hand to my mouth and slicken my palm, returning it to his erection to firmly stroke it from his balls to the tip.

He says something in Italian and places his mouth over my nipple through my bra, returning his fingers to my moist pussy. We stay this way for a long time, stroking each other, while he tugs gently at my hard nipples with his teeth, dampening my bra. His fingers never enter me until he pulls the panties off completely and kneels between my legs. I feel the roughness of his five o’clock shadow graze the inside of my thighs while he kisses and licks them, working his way closer and closer until his lips are hot on my clit, pushing the lips apart to circle the swollen mound with his tongue. He slides down each side and then into the pool of liquid at the opening. Making a yummy sound he begins “eating” me, lapping, tasting, drinking me. I whimper as he slides two fingers deftly into my eager hole, curling them up to tickle the g-spot just a couple of inches on the inside. I can’t help but move against him, the sensations filling and overwhelming me. My toes are pressed firmly into the carpet, pushing my crotch up against his chin, which is scratching perfectly against me, mingling with the softness of his tongue. His breath is hot and cool at the same time.

He sucks and then a quick light tongue and then sucks again. I feel the urge to pee and realize I am about to cum. He is unerring in his touch and I am quickly climaxing. I feel my juice running down my ass cheeks to the bed and fuck his fingers and mouth with abandon, writhing, trying to stifle my cries of joy as the first wave hits me and sends my thighs shaking and steals my breath. He instinctively lightens his touch without stopping, drawing from me the most exquisite orgasm of my lifetime. I throw my legs open arching up off the bed, eyes closed, lights flashing behind the lids, mouth wide open with no sound but my gasps for air.  My nipples become so hard they ache and my pussy tightens, almost cramping around his busy fingers. I lay back again, a rush of pure ecstasy in my veins, barely able to move as he laps up the fruit of his labors with slow sensuous kisses and slowly withdraws his fingers.

Kissing my thighs and belly he pulls himself up to the edge of the bed and I see he has produced from his slack’s pocket on the floor a condom. Taking a tense nipple into his mouth I hear him unwrap it and a moment later he is over me, hands on each hip, mouth devouring my kiss, which I return tasting my sweetness on his lips, pulling him down. I find his prick, silky and hot, with my hand and guide him. The condom has a nice texture to it and I stroke him a bit on the way. Even with the slickness of my cum his penis tip is very large and he slowly has to work it’s way into my underused slit. He is careful and gentle, each push of his hips a new awakening of pleasure. It takes a minute -a fantastic, long, painful minute- and then he is inside, fucking me with grand, long strokes. I explore the striations of the well-formed muscles of his back, ass and legs, exalting in the grinding motions and the feeling of a man inside me. Not just any man either, but a living god, thank you, fucking me after giving me the most outstanding head I’ve ever had. Amen.

Nazario grabs a leg under the thigh and pushes it back with some aggression as a sensation close to pain hits my belly and I realize he hasn’t been all the way in until right now. I cry out at the sudden shock and he slows looking gently into my face.

“Are you – comfortable”, he pauses looking for the right word, his forehead wrinkled in true concern, blond hair framing his face. I nod my approval and give him a sly grin. He kisses my face around my eyes and cheeks, then my lips. He places his lips next to my ear.

“Your pussy is so sweet and strong, Bella”, He says with a dirty growl pushing my leg back further and thrusting into me with vigor. I answer him by lifting my other leg, throwing my arms over my head and letting him have me, with abandon, hard and deep again and again.

The bed is hammering the wall with his pounding and it’s so fucking exquisite I practically scream until my throat is dry. I can feel he is overly excited as he stops suddenly and shakes his head, as if to clear it. He then peels my back up off the bed and unclasps my bra, which has been on the whole time. I wrap my legs around his back as it curves, while his mouth finds one breast and then the other, tongue dancing over the excruciatingly sensitive tips, and then sucking the whole areola roughly.

He moves more slowly now, creating a new sensation, rediscovering each minute stop along the way. He lifts me completely and moves me back further onto the bed. I take this opportunity to roll him over onto his back letting myself slide off of him with a groan. I lick his neck at the jaw line and tickle him with my tongue down to his nipples, where I suck and bite gently for a moment to his surprised gasps. Sliding my tongue down his washboard stomach to the muscle at his hip and groin, I bury my face and let the flat of my tongue run slowly along the definition there. I grab him firmly around the base of his swollen dick with one hand and cup his balls with the other and slide my lips tightly over the tip, all the to the bottom and back up the top and off again.

 “Ahh,” he says in a tone that sounds close to tears and then mutters something again in Italian as I lick all the way around the mushroom tip and stroke up and over the top with my hand, brushing the tip and outer ridge lightly with my palm and I come back down the other side in one long stroke.

Placing my mouth back over the top, I follow my tightly cupped fist up and down, creating a rhythm, which his hips follow. I feel his hand on my shoulder urging me not to stop and I hear his breath shorten. I suck him hard a few more times and then feeling his balls tighten, pull my mouth off to let my hand do the rest of the work. I smoothly jerk him off to cries of pleasure and his cum shoots from him in powerful spurts onto his belly. He shudders as I place my mouth over the tip to catch the last couple of sweet shots of cum and loosen my grip.

“Ohh, my god, Nicole. Bellissimo…”