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Olive Silk

May 5, 2006

Positively no, she said. I didn’t believe it and neither did she.
“Yo voy, Yo voy”! I went on my knees pleading please please. She folded her arms and looked away, waving a hand dismissively, a 17 year old 40 year old woman.
” Yo voy”.
Por favor, no va, le estoy pidiendo”. The tightest lover I had in 16 years said she was going, absolutely.
I pulled out my money clip, I threw the .380 on the desk, the symbols of ‘el hefe’. Faking tears and begging as best a man of my age could, I snatched off 50’s from the clipped cash, handed them at her….50’s! Please stay, please.
I rose up out of myself, I saw myself on my knees, begging, entreaty from my guts, no no no, no va por favor, “Mi vida, mi amor”.
The polished tile floor of the apartment was hard and cool, the afternoon breeze fluffed the sheer drapes, flapping them, letting the temperate breeze in off what was once the largest man-made lake in the world. It was the dry season, it was early on a Sunday afternoon. I had not yet had the sex of the day, favors for which I had already paid. I had had Friday, and Saturday, until three AM.
“Usted esta destruzando, mis jinsides”, she had screamed.
Others in the building would wonder what I did to the young girl that brought her to such ecstasy.
” He does not seem the bad type”, they would say, “Pero, despues de todo, el es el hefe”.
It was simply a combination of passions and techniqes and that I yearned for her to be pleased. Never had she enjoyed this attention, being an pleasure object for men in her world.
Not a scratch on her outsides, deep green eyes almond-shaped, from the Chinese grandfather and flush, dark olive skin, smooth, so smooth, like human silk, a silken glove inside.
I threw the money in her lap, stared at her eyes to see if she looked down at the money. A flicker, just enough. I stood full heigth. Go then, go. Ahora es mi occasion.
She reached for the money, her tiny hand, the palms tough and hard from years of field work on the farm of her stepfather in Chiriqui . It had been the stepfather that took her the first time, had taught her to relish and enjoy the lust and hate the man who was her oppresor, her savior, her lover. Her mother would not listen when she told, too grateful for the posh differences from the ways of the man who ran away, who drank and screamed and loved better than any other. Deep inside her mother knew the youngest daughter would be next after this one, who would soon have had enough and run away too.
Mi vida would stay, but only for today, and she would never come again.

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