There are about fifteen of us swarming the grounds of Mrs. Jackson's little house. Two weeks ago at work, Ellen and Chantal mentioned that some people from their church were volunteering to do some much-needed work for this elderly lady whose property is in disrepair, and a few of us from the office were half-challenged, half-encouraged to join. None of the others who signed up are from my department or even my side of the building, so I don't know anyone other than Chantal more than just with a passing familiarity. Maybe that's why I decided to come. It's not that I dislike any of them, but I guess I'm not the kind of person who wants to spend even more time around people with whom I spend my working days.

"Hey, buddy, would you hold it flush so I can tack it in?"

My attention is diverted back to my little corner under the back porch. I've told Roy three times that my name is Sebastian, but he keeps calling me Buddy. I don't really mind, since I don't really have any expectations for making new friends today.

I'm on the ladder installing a piece of corner trim over the siding he and I have just replaced, while his large belly and shaky knees are keeping him on the ground with the nail gun. He knows what he's doing well enough – it's just that I need to do the hauling and climbing.

I have stayed in decent shape as I've gotten older, half proud but half fortunate to still be able-bodied enough to be a competent contributor to projects like this. Though it's getting quite warm these days, late April is about the last opportunity I'll have to “enjoy” the outdoors before the melt-your-face-off summer Georgia heat returns. I've decided to treat today like recreation, getting some exercise early since I know I'll be sitting on my butt watching the World Champion Atlanta Braves this evening.

“Or would you rather be on the landscape crew?” Roy snickers.

Busted. Yes, I've been watching my coworker Estefania again, and Roy knows it. Since she started as a bilingual support rep (I have heard mention of her being from somewhere in South America) in the call center a few months ago, she and I have only exchanged pleasantries when running into each other in the kitchen or break room. Her few words are confident and personable, and she is fairly attractive, apparently in shape even though she doesn't typically dress to call attention to her body.

Today, though, she sure does have my attention, She has seemed like a natural since first thing this morning, having done some pretty hard work of digging out rotten, overgrown wooden borders that had once served to separate grass from hedges. She handled the removal of rows of landscaping bricks like a pro, as well as a few pieces of rusty metal junk that presumably were stylish yard art back in Mrs. Jackson's younger years. Estefania is dressed the part, in old jeans and heavy well-used work boots. Her thick denim shirt seems like overkill for working in the warm sun, but that and her heavy, worn leather work gloves were surely intentional protection for her limbs and torso when she dug into the scraggly bushes earlier.

I do love my morning coffee, but she is obsessed with whatever she's drinking. I recognize her colorful little cup and straw as probably the same one I've seen her use at work, and she has a large thermos she's used to refill it more than once.

Between pops of the nail gun, readjustments of the ladder's position, and being handed more trim pieces, I admire Estefania's strong, fit form, brown skin of her face and neck glistening with a sheen of sweat that the late-morning sun is drawing out of her. I bet she has nice abs, but that damn shirt is in the way. I catch myself wishing that she was wearing tiny shorts and a halter top, but the more I think about it, being adept at her task is somehow sexier than showing a lot of skin.

I also admire the way she works with her crew, not letting the other girls slow her down while she tries to teach them. Two teenage girls were assigned to her project, but they certainly would like to be working on their tans rather than on Mrs. Jackson's yard. Their tennis shoes and short shorts and big tee shirts and cotton gardening gloves aren't what are required for shovel and dry brushwork, but Estefania helps them where she can and tries to keep them engaged. And she's frankly holding her own with the guy on the Bushes Project, too – a guy maybe in his late fifties who's evidently kept up with himself, I imagine after having been an athlete or military guy when he was younger.

After another pour from her thermos and sucking her drink down, Estefania gets back to the fence and bushes. She argues with and pulls at the bushes for a bit, laughing with one of the girls about clearing the stuff out, then marches determinedly out of the backyard toward the front of the house.

“Hi, Estefania,” I call down to her as she's about to pass me.

“Oh, hello, Sebastián.” I pronounce my name with three syllables, the emphasis on the second, but I find myself almost seduced by the way her accent seems to correct it: four syllables with the emphasis on the last. “That looks very nice,” she adds, addressing both me and Roy as she shields her eyes and squints up at our handiwork.

“Aw, thanks,” I reply. My stomach has that weird feeling, like back in high school when the pretty girl in class actually acknowledged my existence in the lunchroom. “Those bushes are putting up a fight, I see.”

“But I will win.” She is no longer smiling, her countenance revealing the plans she has to vanquish them. “I promise.” As she continues toward the front of the house, I suppress my desire to steal a glance, not wanting Roy or anyone else to catch my head swiveling to her ass, which I just know would be a pleasant sight from this angle.

Something is damn hot about the scene when Estefania returns. I only see her from the back, her left hand holding her denim shirt and her right hand holding a long machete. She takes a long look at the bushes, feet set apart, hips filling out her jeans nicely. I was right about that ass. Her white tank top revealing toned brown arms and shoulders, she casts her denim shirt aside next to a shovel and stretches side to side, sizing up her nemesis.

The brush growing through the chain-link fence stands no chance against Estefania and her machete. Bushes and weeds and vines have been growing unkempt for years, perhaps decades, but today is the last day the unsightly mess will obscure the view into the pleasant wooded area beyond. Hack after hack, brown, dried, gnarled stems intertwined with snaking green leafy vines fall away, cast aside into piles for disposal. Estefania's thick, shiny, dark hair, secured behind her neck with a simple tie, bounces against her back and shoulders with each swing of her arm.

My trim pieces are fully attached now, so I climb down from the ladder, taking my sweet time gathering tools and scrap pieces and inspecting our work while I watch Estefania. In a few minutes, the ugly brush is mostly gone, and she encourages one of the younger girls to have a go at the rest. The girl, inspired by her impromptu mentor, takes some much tamer two-handed swings with the machete while Estefania acquires some trash bags and gets back to digging.

Estefania's “fairly attractive” look has received a deserved upgrade to “kind of fucking hot” over the past twenty minutes Although her ass looks nice in those jeans, she's quite a sight above the waist as well. Her tank top displays an alluring neckline, toned shoulders and biceps, and an athletic core. I catch myself wishing I could see her nipples, but the contours of her firm, jutting, slightly wobbling breasts are plenty enticing.

Before long, just after noon, the group breaks for lunch. Some people have to leave (or, say they do), so the crowd is thinned out, leaving most of us who know what we're doing to finish up in the afternoon. Estefania is sitting propped up against the fence on the side of the house in a small shaded patch, so of course, I approach and ask to join her.

“Please, sure.” She smiles, moving her bag and scooting over a bit so I can share her shade.

“You didn't know they'd be providing lunch either, I see?” She's eating some kind of golden brown pastry, not one of the sandwiches the organizers have supplied. I have crackers and cheese for my main course but did grab a napkin full of baby carrots instead of a bag of potato chips most of the others went for.

“No – and look at you eating all healthy too,” she smiles.

“What do you have?”

“Empanadas.” She allows me a peek inside.

“Ground beef?”

“Yes, and onion, potato, spices.”

“I appreciate them providing lunch and all. Glad for the carrots in addition to the chips.”

“Well, this is fried, I would not say not really healthy. Maybe I should have brought carrots, too.”

“Trade?” I eye at least two more empanadas peeking out from a napkin beside her. “A bite of empanada for some carrots?”

So that gets us chatting a little about food and fitness and such during our lunch, moving quickly to the basic get-to-know-you kind of conversation. We agree with each other that the cooler of water was a better choice than soft drinks.

“But I do have to have my morning coffee,” I admit. “And you, whatever you were drinking this morning.”

She uses a word that sounds like MAH-tay.

“Yes, my mate,” she smiles. “Traditional drink in Argentina.”

“Oh, you're from Argentina? Very nice. Mate is like tea?”

“No, not really.” She explains the process of soaking the ground leaves and adding hot water several times for several drinks, traditionally in social situations with certain etiquette involving a cebador who pours and passes it around to everyone who drinks from the same straw called a bombilla. “But we also carry around our own during the day many times.”

“I see you at work with it. Now I know, I'll tell myself, 'there's Estefania with her mate.'”

“My friends call me Estefi.”

“Oh, can I be a friend? Estefi is shorter. Es-te-fa-ni-a, five syllables, is a mouthful.” As soon as I say mouthful, my mind goes to perverted places, and I hope she either doesn't catch it or is on board with it.

“Oh, but I make my lazy friends call me Estefania Guadalupe Yesenia Marisol.” She and I both laugh.

“It's interesting, seeing people outside of work, isn't it?” Yes, I'm leading. I admit: I am trying to find out if there could be an opportunity to see more of her outside of work. Well, I mean “see her more,” not “see more of her.” Ha! Who am I kidding? By now, I'd definitely like to see more of her!

“Yes, you are right. For example, I did not think to see you climbing a ladder, pulling wood off, replacing it.”

“See, I'm not lazy. So I get to call you Estefi, right?”

“I think you can, yes,” she laughs. “Have you done this kind of work before?”

“A little bit. Some siding on my house, actually. And a fence, more than once, the fence posts and everything. I mow my yard instead of paying someone else. Lots of painting, things like that.” I seized the opportunity to compliment her. “And something tells me, today isn't the first day you have used a machete.”

“Ha, well, no, I have cut many bushes before.”

“And digging out the plants, and those bricks. You sure looked like you knew what you were doing. Dressing for it too – not just to be out in the sun, but for real work.”

“Some practice, yes.” She mentions that she grew up in the Northern part of Argentina, away from the big cities, always preferring to work outside with father and her two brothers instead of staying inside. “No one told me I had to stay inside, cooking, cleaning. Many girls are told that but my family was better, I think. And my mother had help from my sisters and I think she liked to see me doing activities, and work because I was happy.”

I wish I could stay and talk for longer, but we're finished and need to get back to work. I imagine what it would be like for Estefi and me to massage each other's tired muscles later that evening, removing clothing piece by piece. Our eye contact and lightheartedness tell me that she is comfortable with me, and I start making plans to try to find out just how comfortable, to figure out how to engage her in more conversation some other time.

Back in her long-sleeve shirt, she's hacking steadily between the bushes and fence while the guy helping her digs at the roots. She vaults the fence at one point and chops away on the other side, freeing the mess. The other two girls are gone, presumably having left at lunchtime, and honestly, I'm jealous of the guy because I'd really like to be working with Estefania. But I don't want to be too creepy, so I keep to my own stuff, helping Roy rebuild some of the porch. Someone ripped off all of the plywood while we were doing the siding earlier, so it's set for us to spend a couple of hours bolting on three new two-by-six frame pieces to replace the rotten ones and then cutting and screwing in new decking.

By mid-afternoon, the bushes are gone, and the chain link fence is free of all that unsightly vegetation. Gone also is Estefania's heavy shirt, revealing her fit, strong shoulders and arms shoveling away as she and her partner install a new timber border.

When the work is finished for the day and the yard is all cleaned up, Mrs. Jackson is beaming, thanking everyone, heaping praise upon all of us who took the time to help her out. Her lemonade is almost better than any payment – I have to stop myself after one tall glass. Sure, there is the satisfaction of a job well done, but the best thing about the day is that I have gotten to know and talk to Estefania a little bit, which I fantasize about leading to more conversations, and more than conversations, in the future.

Speaking of Estefania, she's a bit downcast now for some reason, looking at and tapping at her phone in an annoyed manner, messing with stuff in her bag. Of the few Spanish words I know, puta is not one of the good ones, and she's used it twice.

“It's been a good day,” I tell her cheerily, as Chantal and Mrs. Jackson are thanking her for clearing out that brush and her other landscaping prowess. “We'd have to come back and finish tomorrow if it wasn't for you,” I joked.

“Heh, thank you. I am glad to help.”

“And we're glad to have your machete! Clipping all of that with clippers or something would have been a nightmare.”

“Siempre pasa,” she mutters to her phone. “¿Cuándo no? Well, now my nightmare is driving three hours.” She was clearly upset.

“What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“My sister's. Later tonight I think, now. She lives almost to Athens. I was going to go directly from here, but she is coming back from a trip and messaged me saying she's delayed and it will be later.”

“Oh, so you need to go home in the meantime? Where do you live?”

“In Palmetto, so it takes like almost two hours from my place to hers.”

“Oh, no.” We're in Lawrenceville now, completely on the opposite side of Atlanta, so I do a quick estimate. “Wow, so you live like, what, an hour in the other direction?”

“Maybe one hour, yes. So I go all the way home, then all the way back. Ugh!”

“You could tell her it will have to be another day. That's way too much time driving – she would understand, right?”

“It's the only time I can see her and other family for a while. Besides, I am staying with her tonight, and then going home after asado tomorrow. It will be okay.” The other two ladies have left the conversation, so it's just me and Estefi now. Though I don't mind being the one to try to offer some comfort.

“You have a change of clothes, I assume?” I'm formulating a plan.

“Sure, yes.”

“Okay, well, I hope this doesn't sound too forward, but, you are welcome to come to my place for a bit. I only live fifteen minutes from here, maybe ten.”

“So I could just go to my sister's from there?”

“Yes, so you don't have to drive an extra two hours or more. You can get cleaned up and rest awhile, then leave when you're ready?”

“You would do that for me? Well, maybe.”

“I don't have lemonade like Mrs. Jackson.” She laughs and looks down, contemplating. “Or mate,” I laughed. “But I'm sure I have some tea. Maybe a beer or two.”

“Well, that would help me out, very much.”

“A beer or two?” I laugh.

She laughs in response. “No, resting at your place. A beer or two would probably not be a good idea. I might get... what is it, 'tipsy'?”

“Ah, not good for the drive, right. Maybe some tea, then.”

“For the drive?” She really is making me think that the 'tipsy' comment was meant to reference being alone with me, nothing to do with risking a DUI. Something in her smiling eye contact is flirtatious, I'm sure of it. I'm even more sure when she agrees with my offer. “Okay. If you are offering, I can rest awhile at your place until I have to go.”

So it's settled. We trade phone numbers just in case we get separated on the drive (that's the way I posed it, at least!), and say our goodbyes to the grateful Mrs. Jackson and Chantal and two more who are left. Estefi follows me to my house in her little white Nissan that surely doesn't need an extra hundred miles on it. I can't believe my good fortune, intermittently suppressing and actively feeding my desire to ravage my exciting Argentine coworker. I'm not going to make a fool out of myself if I can help it or cross any lines without being careful, but my dick stiffens at least twice on the drive as I play over and over in my head scenarios where talking and flirting lead to jumping each other and rolling around naked in bed.

When I get out of my car after backing into my garage, Estefania already has her bag, a different bag than the one that contained her lunch and stuff at the worksite. It suits her perfectly – a worn, plain canvas duffel bag slung over her shoulder in an “I got this” kind of way, so I figure it may even be an insult to offer to carry it for her. But I do open the door for her to let her in the house, of course admiring her ass as she passes through the doorway in front of me.

There's more to admire as she drops her bag and bends to untie her boot laces. I try not to ogle her, but am sure looking her over, as her mass of shiny wavy black hair, released from the tie that held it earlier, sways over her toned brown shoulders and arms.

“Oh, you don't have to take your shoes off, it's okay,” I tell her.

“I tried to get the mud off, but there is still some. No problem, it feels good to get out of them.” She stands, stretches in her socks, and then rocks back on her heels and wiggles her toes.

There's much more I'd like her to get out of, but I'm going to try to play it cool and hope for that to happen eventually, reminding myself not to act like a fool. Besides, she may have a hunting knife in her bag ready to defend herself against unwelcome advances. “Whatever you need to do, make yourself at home for the next little while. Rest, take a shower, whatever. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I just drank my whole bottle of water on the way over. I think a shower. But I just may fall asleep if I sit down!”

I don't offer her the guest bath, but rather lead her straight to the master bedroom. Not the tidiest it's ever been, but at least there isn't anything embarrassing lying about. “Well, I'll leave you to it – you can get cleaned up first. I'll be out in the kitchen or living room.”

“Oh, such a gentleman. Thank you.”

“Please, just don't fall asleep in here! Come get me when you're done so I know it's my turn.”

“Ha ha. I won't.” She smiles and lets out a laugh. “I mean, I will. I will not fall asleep. I will come get you.”

With that, she closes the bathroom door and I retreat to the kitchen. I think of the typical scene in the erotic movies where the woman leaves the door open while she's bathing or changing, half wishing that would happen with us, but am content knowing she is accepting my hospitality and hoping things are on track for something more.

After checking on what there is to eat and drink and returning some messages on my phone, I sit at the kitchen table, my mind wandering. I'm getting quite a boner thinking about Estefania naked in my shower just three rooms away, her hands gliding over her bare, wet skin, and imagine what it would be like to walk in there and have her welcome me in with her.

It doesn't take her long to shower and dress. I didn't figure her for the high-maintenance type, and not surprisingly, she appears within just a few minutes, head sideways to dig a towel into her wet hair, dressed in a smallish yellow tee-shirt that rides up to almost expose her midriff when her arms are raised. I swear those subtle swells at the center of her breasts are her nipples – is she not wearing a bra? Her navy blue shorts certainly aren't tight and aren't particularly short, but it is exciting to see her bare legs from about mid-thigh down. They're everything I would have expected: the same smooth, brown texture and color of her arms, lean and toned without being overly muscular.

“I found a towel in the closet,” she said. “Is this okay?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. I guess if I was a better host I would have shown you where they were.”

“No problem. Not difficult to find. I am smart like this.” We both had a little laugh.

“Okay, my turn. Make yourself at home. I would show you what's in the refrigerator and pantry if you want a drink or a snack... but, you're smart, right?”

“I am! So if you take too long, I may go looking.”

I retreat to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of shorts, boxers, and a polo shirt along the way. I leave the bedroom door open, closing myself in the bathroom even though I admit thoughts about the cheeky leave-it-open scenario run through my head. Once I have my clothes off, I open the shower door and am greeted with a pleasant scent. Not overpoweringly girly, but as I turn the water on, I breathe deeply a few times, taking in the subtle feminine fragrance of whatever soap or body wash or shampoo my alluring guest has just left behind. Along with the products she's left neatly on a hand towel on the counter is a purple toothbrush, which prompts me to brush my own teeth. I don't expect any intimate contact, but I want to do everything I can not to be a turn-off.

In the shower, I can't help but get super turned on by the thought that Estefi was right here, water and suds cascading over her naked body, just a few minutes ago. The thought of her slipping in here to join me, teasing that we need someone to wash our backs or something, gets me mostly hard, and I can't resist the urge to stroke my cock, imagining her hand gliding up and down the shaft while I finger her pussy and caress those perky breasts that held my gaze more than once during the day.

After showering and drying off, I get dressed, lodging my persistent half-boner into my boxers and shorts before walking out into the bedroom.

Maybe I left the bedroom door open because I half-hoped that Estefi would come in, but I'm still surprised to find her there. She's lying on one side of the bed, face-up, a towel folded in half under her head, eyes closed.

“Oh, hi there,” I greet her.

“Mmm, hello,” she responds sleepily without opening her eyes. I pretend to be folding socks or something while looking at her breasts rise and fall slightly with her breathing. They do look firm, spread to the sides somewhat but not flopping, nipples not prominent, but certainly visible.

“Well, I did tell you to make yourself at home.”

“I know, and thank you. Your couch is not so comfortable.” She opens her eyes. “I am sorry.”

I don't think the couch is that bad, but if she likes the bed better, I won't argue. “Right, I hear you,” I respond in fake agreement. “I'll rest with you here.” I recline on the bed too, hoping to find something to talk about, but her eyes close again and I don't want to be annoying. Tired from the day's activity, replaying the machete scenario in my head, I sneak a peek or two over at those toned arms and enticing breasts before closing my eyes and imagining them receiving my touches and caresses.

My eyes pop open and I raise my head, surprised that the room seems darker. I'm on my side now and turn over slowly to find the clock on the other side of the bed.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Estefania says. She's turned my way, so when I'm on my back and raising my head to look over, we're facing each other. “I think I hit you when I turned, I am sorry.”

“Oh, no worries.” The clock says 6:16. “Wow, we've been here for over an hour, must have fallen right asleep.” It's not dark outside by any means, but the sun has moved noticeably so that not as much direct sunlight is streaming in the windows.

“I guess I made myself at home,” she smiles.

“Well, I'm glad you didn't have to drive all the way back home, then two hours back. Happy to have you hang out here a bit.”

I thought our conversation would be awkward, but it's not. We settle into the pillows, rather close, facing up at the ceiling. Instead of being nervous at the prospect of a woman to whom I'm seriously attracted being alone with me on my bed, I'm quite comfortable just getting to know her. We talk freely about our past experiences with little projects that make us suited for work on days like today, a bit about family and where she's from, and her experiences with moving to the States.

After a few minutes, we hear her phone ding. “Julieta, probably.” She gets up and retrieves her phone from her bag, looking and tapping a message in before setting it on the table on her side and lying back down. “She said she will be home in a few minutes.” Julieta must be her sister.

Fuck! Rather than sounding like I'm prompting her to leave, I ask, “Aw, you don't have to go yet, do you?”

She smiles. “No.” Then she snickers. “She made me wait. She can wait too.”

Music to my ears! So we get back to our conversation. When the talk inevitably turns to significant others, we both candidly and confidently affirm that we're single but don't discount, or would even welcome, a romantic partner.

“So, how was your last girlfriend like?” She asks. “What is the type that you like? Tall and blonde, with big boobs, like all American men like?” She sounds like she is teasing, which was kind of fun.

“Sure, blonde is fine. But I'm actually not into big boobs so much. Someone athletic is more my type, and I guess that usually means smaller breasts. But more than looks, someone I can be active with.”

“Many men would like to be very active with big boobs!” She laughs, catching herself. “With a woman who has big boobs!” I can't help but notice that her boobs are active with her giggling.

I laugh too. “And your type?” I ask her. “Tall, dark, thick mustache, big muscles?”

“No mustache. You think all South American women like big mustaches?”

“Like American men aren't all the same, liking tall blondes with big boobs!”

“Okay, no stereotypes, okay?”

“But you didn't say 'no' to tall and big muscles.”

“Big, who cares? If he's not, bleah-” she holds her hands at her stomach- “out of shape, and knows how to use them, that's important.”

“Right. Taking care of yourself, staying active.”

“What kind of 'active', with your small-boobed blonde woman?” She actually looks down, pulling her shirt snugly over her breasts. Is she doing that on purpose, or just innocently smoothing out her bunched-up shirt? If she's trying to seduce me or at least gauge my interest, she couldn't be doing better short of pulling it off completely. Her breasts aren't exactly small, maybe a C cup and nicely pert. And those are damn sure her nipples.

Okay, I'm going for it. I'm not exactly thinking with my dick, but it's certainly aware of the situation. I turn toward her. “She doesn't have to be blonde. Having really dark hair may be just perfect.” I brush a swatch of hers off her shoulder.

“Oh?” She smiles, turning to face me.

“And for the activity, getting sweaty and dirty, working outside in the sun, like we were today... I like that kind of activity.”

“Really? It's not gross? Unladylike?”

“Not at all. I think it's hot, sexy. You know, I'll just say it, honestly, I liked the way you looked and worked today.”

“Oh? Was it hot and sexy?” she teases.

“Honestly, yes.” She moves her hand up my arm as I move mine to her hip. We lean toward each other, and our lips meet in a firm but slightly wet and tender kiss. Parting for a moment, we look into each other's eyes.

“I did see you looking, but I did not feel hot and sexy. Sweaty, with big boots and big shirt and messy hair?”

“How do you feel now?” I caress her thick, shiny hair. It's still partially damp.

“Less hot,” she giggles. “But more sexy.” We both go back in for more kisses, hands roaming more, tongues testing after a minute.

Our activity steadily increases over the next few minutes. Exploratory pecks turn to passionate open-mouthed kisses, touching turns to grasping, and eventually, Estefi is straddling me, her perky breasts swiping across my chest, hair dangling in my face, and I know she can feel my hard-on as her crotch settles and moves against mine.

I slide my hand up inside the back of her shirt, and my suspicions are confirmed. Just bare, smooth skin with no bra to hinder my roaming fingers. As I hold her close, tongue exploring her mouth, I move under her, delighting to feel her stiff nipples dragging and catching.

Estefi pauses to look down at me. “You want my shirt off, yes?”

“I had thought about it. But I won't rush it.”

“I have a confession.” She smiles and shakes her head, tossing her beautiful mass of slightly-damp, thick, fragrant hair about. “When you invited me over, I thought it may be like this.”

“And you came anyway?”

“Yes, I wanted to see. I saw you looking at me and thought you liked me. We have not talked much at work, but today, I watched you too, and I thought, yes, I like you too.”

“Well, good. I took a chance asking you. I wasn't planning on this, but, I guess I thought about it too.”

“Maybe you felt what I felt? At lunch when we were talking?”

“Maybe. And now I feel something else, something nice.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” I move my hand up over her shirt and cover one of her hanging breasts, nestling the stiff nipple into my palm.

She laughs and leans down to kiss me again, wiggling on top of me. “And I feel something nice too.” Yes, she presses her crotch directly down on mine, grinding on my stiff cock. Her eye contact is less playful, less sweet, more animalistic, more blatantly sexual. Still holding a tit, I grab her hip with my other hand and raise my hips up into her.

“I guess we're okay with this?” I just want to be 100% sure, because if it continues, I won't be able to stop.

“Yes, I thought about it, then, and on the way. I am sure if it got to this, you would be safe, too, responsible.”

“Right, safe and responsible, always. That's me.”

If I wasn't sure she actually wanted to fuck before, I sure do now! I sit up and lean into her, pushing her back and climbing on top of her for a minute or so of groping and laughing and kissing and nuzzling her neck, giving her nice perky tits a feel along the way.

Rather than clumsily climb over her, I roll over and get off the bed on my side and walk around to hers, digging into the drawer in the side table to get a condom.

“Good you have that,” she tells me, “because I did not bring any condoms to our work day and to my sister's house!”

“Well, even if I didn't, we'd have to figure out something.”

Estefania sits up and runs her fingers over my cock. “A hand job would be nice, and if you did it to me, but not all that we wanted, right?”

“Right. I'd have to get some condoms tonight, and you'd have to stop by on the way home tomorrow!”

“I can not wait until tomorrow.” She unzips and unbuttons my shorts as I stand in front of her. I step out of them when they hit the floor, and she smiles and laughs as she lifts the waistband of my boxers over the head of my dick. Pulling them down, my raging hard-on springs forth, straining longingly toward her face.

Her hands are cool and soft and smooth, but still, the sensitivity of her touch makes me squirm. She grips my cock, making me wince, and then lets go, caressing all around the shaft with just a finger.

I pull away from her with a moan and then reach down to take hold of the hem of her shirt. As she lifts her arms, I pull it up and over her head, and am greeted by the sight of her lovely naked titties. Quite pert and a little paler in color than her chest and arms, they are peaked with dramatic brown areolae and darker nipples that stick out impressively.

Gathering both of Estefania's wonderful tits with my fingers, I lean down and give her some passionate kisses with plenty of tongue. Then, I push her back so that she's reclining on her elbows and proceed to move my mouth to her neck. “Mmmm, you smell delicious,” I whisper, tongue and lips working around behind her ear, breathing in the fresh, clean scent.

“Oooo, thank you,” she purrs, wriggling under my advances.

“I have to admit, I got this same scent in the shower when I went in after you, and it really turned me on.”

“Now you are turning me on,” she tells me. “See?” She circles and flicks her stiff nipples with her finger.

Since she is offering, I draw those succulent nipples into my mouth one by one, kissing and sucking back and forth between them a few times, leaving them wet with my saliva.

I grab the front of her shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping, and she scoots up as I pull them down. I am surprised, but not complaining one bit, when her beautiful thick dark bush comes into view – no panties! She's pulling my shirt off over my head while I draw her shorts down her legs and off her feet. I join her on the bed, both of us completely naked now, my aching cock pressed into her hip while I wedge a knee between her thighs, hold a breast lightly, and cover her mouth with mine.

After making out and grinding against each other for a minute, Estefania lowers her hand and encircles my dick, stroking my hardness and nudging my sensitive balls. Rolling on top, she straddles me, warm damp pussy pressing into my scrotum, and reaches over to pick up the condom. With a few smiles and bumps and grinds, she has the package open and is rolling the condom down over my shaft. I moan and squirm at the sensitivity, while she lets out a titty-shaking giggle.

When she leans down to kiss me, her hips come up, and I take the opportunity to slide my hand between us. As much as I'd love to skewer her immediately and slam her down on my cock, I make myself take the time to touch her first. My fingers are rewarded by the soft, velvety, very wet heat and slickness of her inner labia inside her plump, readied pussy lips. She plays with the tip of my cock as I finger her, slipping one inside easily as we both groan with pleasure.

My fingers give way to hers, and I reach up to hold her tits while she fingers herself open and scoots back to allow me to penetrate her. After a couple of nudges against her opening, I feel it give way and raise my hips to drive partway inside. She draws in a quick breath, then leans forward and settles back, then again, then again, until she can sit upright, taking the entire length of my cock up inside of her.

Estefania builds up speed sooner than I expect. Within a few seconds, she's riding me hard, gyrating and grinding her hips like an exotic Latin dancer, breasts swaying and hair swishing, giving me quite a show. Her abdominal muscles are flexing and clenching, and further down, her pubic hair is brushing into mine, glimpses of my slick shaft visible as she raises up off me occasionally.

I sit up and wrap my arms around my new Argentine lover, facing her, nipping at her lips. She adjusts, working her legs behind me to wrap them around my waist. Firm tits poking me in the chest, she sucks on my ear lobe and runs her tongue along my neck while I grab her ass to pull her into me. We are both groaning and huffing as we fuck passionately. Only two or three minutes into it, this is by far the best sex I've had in a long time, and she seems to be quite enjoying herself too.

This isn't going to last long unless I do something about it. I roll to the side and draw my knee up, turning so that she drops onto her back with me on top. All without my cock coming out of her! Success! I ram her deeply for a few strokes, but there's no way I can keep that up without blowing my load in ten seconds, so I start kissing down her neck and chest, my dick coming out of her as I sink lower. I look into her eyes as I take a nipple into my mouth, and she smiles and laughs while running her fingers through my hair.

On my side against her now, I suck and flick her close nipple with my tongue and give her titty flesh some nibbles with my teeth while I squeeze the other one, then drop my hand to caress her ass, hip, and thigh. Moving my hand to the inside of her leg is the signal she needs to spread wide, and in a matter of seconds, my fingers are sliding up and down her slit.

Still suckling a glorious teat, I finger her pussy, spreading it open and finding her vaginal opening. Alternately sinking one or two fingers inside and gliding them up to circle her clitoris, I listen to her moan and gasp.

I roll on top of her and position myself between her legs again. After more kisses, neither of us can wait any longer. I grab my dick as she fingers her labia apart, and I fit the head down into her pink juicy hole and push inside. Three or four strokes later, I'm balls deep again, driving into her as she pushes her hips up to meet my thrusts. We fuck, grunting and groaning, for a while, adjusting so that we can get our mouths at each other's necks and ears.

I raise myself off her, steadying myself with my hands on the bed on either side of her like I'm doing a push-up, our chests separated, looking into each other's eyes. I pump firmly into her, trying to come almost all the way out so that just the head is inside before ramming back in, watching her titties jiggling for a minute. As I continue to fuck her, the squishing sound of our sex gets louder, diverting my attention to her pussy. Thick vaginal lubrication is coating my shaft and making everything around it glisten, oozing from her labia and wetting her pubic hair.

“Ohhh, fuuuck,” I breathe. “Mmmm, Estefania, mmmmm, that's so good.” I lower myself because my arms are weakening, my chest brushing hers as she encircles my neck with her arms and wraps her legs around my waist. She is bucking hard now, and I feel her crotch grinding on mine now instead of my dick sliding in and out.

She straightens a leg and scoots out from under me slightly, turning me on my side. My dick comes out as she pushes me over, evidently wanting to climb on top. So I roll onto my back and she mounts me, grabbing and stroking my slimy condom-covered boner before positioning her pussy over it and sinking back down fully.

I know within a few seconds that this is it. Estefania's grinding and thrusting and bucking and bouncing are more intense than ever, and the look on her face is one of sheer determination. She is going to get herself off, and I ready myself for the experience. The familiar tingling sensation builds as this sexy woman goes wild on my cock, titties bouncing in all directions, hair flying and sticking in her face, hips almost a blur.

I can't hold it. I have to release. I just hope that I stay hard long enough for her to get off. I feel my balls tighten, and I hold out as long as I can, finally letting out my held-in breath with a loud groan. Semen streams forth from my balls in spurt after spurt as my cock goes through a series of spasms, my legs and core trembling with a mammoth orgasm. I let out two more long moans while Estefania's clenching pussy massages everything out of me.

Now she is moaning too, almost shrieking. Her movements become erratic, thighs squeezing and tensing, head bobbing, hips lurching, I swear my thigh and pubic area have just gotten warmer and wetter, and I feel warm fluid running down between my ass cheeks. After a minute when she calms and her gyrations become smooth again, her facial expression is less intense, radiating orgasmic bliss.

My new lover lies on me, chest to chest, cheek to cheek, as we both breathe heavily, trying to relax from our concluded vigorous activity. I stroke her hair, her back, her butt, gliding my hands over her warm, smooth skin.

After a minute or two, Estefania slides off and settles beside me, my softening cock coming out. I detach the slimy condom, trapping a large dose of ejaculate inside. It's almost dripping with her wetness on the outside as I turn to lay it on the table beside the bed.

“Oh, fuck, I needed that, Sebastián,” she declares as she rolls onto her back, looking up at the ceiling, obviously comfortable exposing her complete nudity after sex.

“So did I!” I plant kisses on her shoulder and neck, and, since she's making them available, on her breasts as well, swirling my tongue around her slightly softened nipples and tasting the flesh around them. We spend another minute or two making out, caressing, running fingers through each other's hair. My hand strokes her pussy, swirling in her damp bush, while her fingers fiddle with my messy cock and balls. “So glad we could see more of each other outside of work. Glad we could be here for each other.”

“I'm glad you took the chance to invite me to your house.”

“To clean up and to rest, right?” I laugh.

She scoots right up against me, head at my chest. “Some rest first, so we could do some more activity, I think.”

“And I did enjoy the activity.” I cuddle her close. “Really, Estefania, that was amazing.”

“It was. I came so much!”

“Yes, I felt it. I'm glad we could... help each other with that.”

“Estefania,” she says, drawing her name out. “You called me Estefania during sex,” she giggles.

“Oh, I don't mind taking time with your name at a time like that.” I turn toward her. “But I don't think... Estefania... Yesenia... what was that?”

She laughs. “I don't know. I made that up, just some silly names put together.” Her sense of humor is one more attribute to add to the growing list of things I'm liking about her.

We hold each other for a bit, closing our eyes again, while I fantasize about what I'd like to do to her after some recovery time. Unfortunately, though, she has to get going, and we reluctantly get off the bed. Stepping into the bathroom naked with her, I run warm water onto a washcloth and offer it to her to clean herself up, and do the same to myself. Back in the bedroom, I step into my boxers and shorts while watching her retrieve a light blue bra and pair of panties from her bag and put them on. Fuck, my cock is already getting hard again.

Once we're dressed and she gathers her things, she is ready to go, but I sense her reluctance is as great as mine. I walk her to her car, and we exchange lingering kisses before she's on her way. We both reiterate that we're glad that this day progressed as it did, and I tell her I'm going to ask her out for a proper date before too long. I wonder if she's forgetting her boots that are sitting just inside my front door, or if she left them there intentionally. I decide not to mention them to her, scheming that they may provide an excuse for another hookup, or at least another conversation before the weekend is over.

The Braves game is in the fourth inning by the time I settle in to watch. I have absolutely no problem with the reason for the delay, though!

At 10:53 pm, my phone dings.

Estefania: Thank you for the afternoon activity. I think I left my boots at your house!

Me: And thank YOU. I did have a great time.

Me: Yes, your boots are here! Should I bring them to work Monday?

Estefania: Or I could come get them on my way home tomorrow? :)