Monday, 16 April 2012

Cristina, Part Four

Thus it came to pass that three choppers were duly sucked by three whores, leaving three men very happy indeed. The trollops then went off to do whatever such girls do when their mouths are full of cock oil, the two cops went off to continue protecting the streets of Mexico City, or not as the case may be, and I wandered off to get a rather late lunch in one of the local eateries. I can remember that I went to an Argentinian steak house as a tribute to the little banger who had taken my meat in such an expert way, but I have to be honest and say that as I drove my way wearily home at the end of the night the incident was beginning to fade from my memory. Within a few days I could not remember Cristina's name, which caused me a moment of embarrassment when she called me the following week.

The nice thing about contract work is that if you are not being paid for an actual hour's labour then you can pretty much do as you want. I had taught a group in the late morning and did not have anything else to do until the early evening, so I was sat in a bar nursing something long and cold when my mobile 'phone began to make an insistent ring.

"Bueno," I answered in the usual Mexican way.

"Hello, it's me," replied a female voice. I do so hate it when women do that as I invariably have no idea who the hell is calling me. It should have been easy to spot the Argentinian accent, but the bar was busy and I had to hold a finger over my free ear to keep the noise under control.

"Great to hear from you," I lied, glibly. "How have you been keeping?"

"I'm fine, and I've been thinking about you," said the disembodied voice.

"Funnily enough I was just thinking about you this very moment as well," I said. Trust me, when it comes to lying through my teeth I can do it with an ease and fluidity that sometimes persuades even me that I am telling the truth.

"Really?" The voice turned into a squeal of delight as its owner digested my news. "Are you free this afternoon? Want to meet me? Why not come over to my place?" The words tumbled out in a flurry, and for just a moment the bar became quiet and I could hear the girl's accent. So she was Argentinian, was she? Now where the devil had she come from? Of course - the trollop form the week before! Now what was her name? I left the girl to prattle on as females are wont to do whilst a name was conjured up from the memory hole.

"Cristina," I said, eventually, "why not just give me your address and let me pop round there? Are you alone?" I glanced at my watch. Yes, I had three hours free so if madam lived in the area I could pop around there and get my knob polished before returning to teach. It was obvious to me that she was after something, but rare is the woman who does not use her pussy to get what she wants, so that did not trouble me. Just let her be enthusiastic as my cock was being driven into her and the rest I would worry about after my wad had been shot.

As luck would have it, Cristina lives in a well-known block of flats only about a mile or so from where I was sitting. After telling her that I would be there in a few minutes, I called for the bill and asked to waiter to whistle up a taxi for me, before setting off to have my middle leg stiffened.

To be continued.

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