If I'm Honest - Picture Perfect (Ch 3.1)

Chapter 3 - Cartagena, Colombia

Cartagena was my first trip for the Near Horizon, and it felt like finally coming up for air after two years. Having spent so long locked down, trapped in Toronto, to be back doing what I really loved was incredible, and I tried to savour every second of it from the moment the plane door opened. It helped that in the days that had followed my encounter with Cassie, Harvey had been distinctly quiet, letting me shift thoughts of romance, and the dim awareness of her presence, into the back of my mind in favour of my excitement to be travelling again. The one remaining, but welcome, reminder of the oddness I’d found myself in the middle of was Dani, and the ongoing sexting we were still indulging in daily.

The city itself dates back to the 1500s, having sprawled out to be home to almost a million people since then, but with the picturesque cobbled streets of the old spanish port still perched on the edge of the Caribbean alongside pristine beaches. Despite being the middle of the Colombian winter, January was still the high season for tourists, escaping from North America to where the temperatures remained warm and the sky was as azure as my hair. I’ve always preferred to try and get to places when the crowds aren’t there to make my job easier. It’s that much harder to sell a sense of place when you have people who look just like me in the back of the shot, but it’s nothing I don’t know how to work around, and I found myself venturing out at 5am in the mornings to have the sights to myself. And even in the half-light the colours of the city were vivid enough to leave Canada feeling like a washed out dream.

I had a little over three weeks to play with, and with that much time to play with I’ve always liked to take the first couple of days wandering, scouting out the location and capturing anything that catches my eye. As well as occasionally paying off with some good shots, I find it helps me really start planning out where I want to go back to and take my time to get the perfect shot. And so I ended up wandering the streets of the Old Town with nothing but my favourite 35mm lens, drinking in the heat and the colonial architecture, laid out like a mosaic in brightly painted pastels. I lingered where the locals were, walked in the opposite direction to crowds, hopped buses, and blew the ring rust off my Spanish to talk with anyone who’d listen. And by the end of the second day I’d already added several dozen pages of annotations and sketches to my notebook, doodling out composition ideas and referencing them against recommendations, weather forecasts and tide times. Which meant that by the third day, with my excitement to start working in earnest palpable, I was ready to meet with my fixer.

A good fixer is one of the profession’s secret weapons, having someone local who can help you access the places tourists aren’t allowed, or arrange for the extra little touches you need to sell a shot. I’d asked around several of my contacts before leaving, and had been given the name of a woman called Luisa who came with the most glowing recommendation possible from another freelancer I’d worked with at NatGeo. She’d warned me in advance that she was going to be out of the city visiting family for the holidays for the start of my trip, but we’d already ended up with a long string of emails and whatsapp messages discussing exactly which churches and rooftops she was going to be able to get me into alongside promises of home cooked food. I’d even made a vague mention of wanting to set up a shot of some local kids playing street soccer with the 400 year old cathedral in the background, and she’d quickly agreed to rope her nephews to help.

With everything she was already promising to do for me, I’d insisted she didn’t make the trip out to where my hotel was on a strip of sleek, american developed resort next to one of the beaches, away from where I actually wanted to be. Instead I found myself heading to her place just outside the Old Town as sunlight started to stir fully. The address I’d be given was in the Getsemani neighbourhood, where 20th century apartments did their best to blend in with narrow rows of characterful yet grubby colonial buildings, contemporary street art set alongside fading facades and chipped plaster. I found Luisa’s door on an old two storey apartment, watched by a disinterested cat from a balcony clustered with pot plants, and as I rang the doorbell was met by a handful of curses from the other side.

“Ay, mierda!”

A few moments later and the door swung open, giving me my first glimpse of my new guide, who very much wasn’t ready for me. Luisa still had her toothbrush in her mouth, a mane of dark frizzy hair still very much untamed from bed. She had to be in her early 40s, but was casually gorgeous in a way that made me feel plain, even in the casual slip of a white vest that I had to guess she’d slept in. Her bottom had already been covered, at least, with a brightly patterned skirt that I’d quickly come to appreciate for how it showed off her long, incredible legs as she walked, while her right arm was equally colourful, patterned with a haphazard patchwork of tattoos. The ink was complimented by a slender silver ring to one side of her nose, but it was the faint outline of piercings poking through her shirt and the generous press of her cleavage that really left me struggling not to look.

“Sorry, you must be Riley,” she mumbled, accented, apologetic English made more difficult by the toothbrush in her mouth, before holding up her hand with fingers spread. “Five minutes.”

I responded in Spanish with an apology of my own, “Now, I’m sorry, I forgot I was on latin time now.” I’m the sort of person who’s painfully punctual, and it can be an adjustment to remember when I’m in parts of the world that run at their own pace, with a 6am meet up really meaning some time after half past. “I can come back?”

Luisa wandered back into the small, open plan apartment as I spoke, most of the space filled with a clutter of books, clothing and houseplants, the decor a busy clash of red painted walls and warm fabrics. Still visible from the doorway as she reached the kitchen sink to swill away the toothpaste, she waved a hand as she did so, summoning me inside.

“Don’t be silly,” she chided. “How do you take your coffee, Hermosa?”

The term was just one of flirty endearment, with easy familiarity, but hearing it from Luisa it made my stomach do a brief little flip as I quickly crushed on her. I’m sure I must have replied, since she moved to use the coffee machine on the counter, but in the moment my attention was taken up by Harvey choosing to speak up again after a week of silence.

‘You know your mouth’s open right? You’re *really* not subtle when you like someone are you?’

‘Would you shut the hell up,’ I shot back mentally in protest, although the embarrassment that went with the thought was loud enough that any denial would have rung truly hollow. It had been a long enough time since my first experience speaking with Harvey that it all felt a little alien having her voice in my head again, and I had to check to make sure I hadn’t blurted out my response out loud. Luisa however, to my relief continued to busy herself fetching mugs. At least until I felt a small tug of magic in her direction, from the bracelet at my wrist, as if Harvey were tentatively testing the waters. In response the older woman absently glanced back over her shoulder at me, smiling.

“You can sit down, you know,” she said, her Spanish much prettier than my own.

For the second time, I’m sure I must have replied to her, but I was too busy bickering with Harvey to hear what my own words were. I did manage to find a chair however, moving aside several well-worn paperbacks on European history so I could sit.

‘What are you doing,’ I hissed in my own head.

The reply, spoken directly into my thoughts, was filled with its own dry amusement. “Come on, you don’t need me to answer that for you. You like her, what do you think I’m doing?”

‘I’m here for work, I can’t just…’ I started out insistent, but trailed off as I tried not to let Harvey hear whatever thoughts might have finished that sentence.

‘Right, of course not, that would just be impossible. Look Riley, I’ve tried to take a light touch for the last few days for you, I didn’t see anyone I was sure you were going to be into so I didn’t steer anyone your way, but I’ve still got a job to do. You can either be honest about the women you are into, and trust me, I don’t need to be in your head to know that here, or we can start being a little more indiscriminate. Your call.’

Luisa made her way over, passing me my coffee, regarding me with a look of curiosity behind the brown of her eyes, evidently picking up that my thoughts were wandering. “So do you just not say much or has the mess stunned you into silence?”

“No, sorry, definitely not that. I’m just tired,” I half-lied, trying to shut Harvey back out. “I had a late night.”

The hispanic woman grinned in response, no doubt left with images of me enjoying one of the local bars rather than editing photos in my hotel room until 1am. I watched as she wandered across to where clothes stood drying on a rack near a window and paused to assess her options.

“I hope Cartagena’s making a good impression so far?”

“Yes, it’s been…”

I started to reply, but felt the words dry up in my mouth as rather than take her clothing to change elsewhere, Luisa simply shrugged her vest off in front of me. I had already got the sense that she was wonderfully casual, but hadn’t expected for it to stretch quite so far so quickly, and I was left caught between deciding if looking away or simply just looking was going to be more obvious. I opted to try and be nonchalant, and was treated to a view of her generous chest as she collected a bra from the rack, a pair of silver barbells confidently piercing each of her dark nipples. She caught my eye as she did so and smiled again, leaving me unsure of just how knowing the display was.

“You have an idea of what pictures you want us to take at least,” she asked, slipping on a loose fitting shirt as if the situation were the most natural in the world.

Gratefully, I took the opportunity to reach for my bag and used the seconds it took to fetch my notebook to avoid looking too much like a wide-eyed teenager in front of the older woman. “You could say that,” I said, holding up several pages to show her. “Your city is a creative’s dream come true.”

“I prefer history personally, but you won’t find me arguing with you.”

Luisa, still fastening the final buttons on her shirt, wandered towards me to look closer. I watched her perch on the arm of my chair, and as she reached out to take the notepad from me I felt another encouraging little pull from Harvey, causing her fingers to brush against my own.

‘Ok, I give in, you win. but can you pleeease, stop,’ I mentally begged Harvey. ‘Let me do this at my own pace at least.’

The bracelet gave another of its odd, mental sighs, relenting with no small amount of exasperation. ‘Have it your way. This is much easier when you just trust I know what I'm doing, but if you want some extra rope to hang yourself with who am I to stop you.’

I bristled back, but already knew not to push my luck or chance protesting further and waited as the taut pull of the bracelet’s magic eased, allowing Luisa’s attention on my notes to go unchallenged. Plush lips curved into a smile as she thumbed through the pages, and for a moment I struggled with myself rather than Harvey, knowing that I could simply lean up and kiss them if I wanted, a large part of me wanting to throw caution and any professional worries to the warm Caribbean wind.

Fortunately for the photographer in me, Luisa’s own enthusiasm for my plans was easy to get caught back up in, and we spent a short while going through several of my ideas. I loved how readily she challenged things. She was quick to point out things I may have overlooked, or to offer alternative ways to approach some of the shots I wanted, be it a subtle difference to framing she knew she could help arrange, or knowing better locations across town to try instead. The only outright refusal to help me came towards the end, as she studied the list of the trips out of the city I wanted to take.

“Mmm. I don’t think I’m the right person to help you with this one. Can it wait until nearer to the end of your stay,” she asked, trailing a finger down to one neatly written bullet point where I had simply written ‘El Totumo’ alongside some possible dates and times.

My heart sank a little. El Totumo was the name of a nearby mud volcano, a fifteen metre high mound of dusty earth, with a crater at the centre where warm mud bubbled up for visitors to bathe in. Yes it was the sort of tourist trap that was in most of the guidebooks already, but it was also somewhere I was convinced I could get something far better than the average instagram shot, and that challenge alone had put it towards the top of my list.

“It can wait, but I really was hoping to make sure I got some good pictures there.”

Luisa gave a husky chuckle as she noticed my disappointment. “Ah, no no no. I only meant that my daughter is much more familiar with that area than I am. She was planning to be back from university in a couple of weeks and could probably be convinced to take you there instead.”

My attention strayed back towards a framed picture I’d only half taken in amidst the busyness of the apartment's clutter, set on a nearby coffee table and half obscured by another book. It was of Luisa, and a pretty young college aged girl that I could have tried kidding myself was a niece until she confirmed she had a kid. They were strikingly similar, apart from the wide framed glasses her daughter was wearing, with their arms around each other’s shoulders as they posed on a beach somewhere.

“Oh, right, I don’t know why I didn’t realise you had a kid. She looks sweet, I’d be ok with that if she is.”

I was quick to agree outwardly, but in my head  the realisation still wrong footed me for some reason. I’d never had reason to put ‘no moms’ on my list of dating rules but I still found myself doing what I always did, letting little doubts creep in, second guessing myself at the first sign of any little wrinkle.

Harvey was quick to pick up on my hesitation. ‘Riley, I swear, if I had legs I would kick you.’

Oblivious to the voice in my head, Luisa gave another laugh. “Gabi, sweet? Only ever when she wants to be. She’s a handful, but I think you’ll like her.”

“It’s just you and her?”

Luisa nodded. “My mama helps. And Gabi still speaks to her father, he’s always been good. But I managed to wait until after I’d had her, and dropped out of college, before I realised I wasn’t made for dating guys.” She spoke with a practised casualness that suggested she was used to the question, without ever really having worked out if it was the best or worst mistake she had ever made. Quickly however, she tried to brush the candour aside for flirting. “God only knows how it took me so long with so many pretty American tourist’s around.”

Our eyes met, and she smiled at me, the joke exactly the sort of test of interest I was used to making. I grinned back, teasing my recognition of her interest.

“A tragedy that I’m Canadian then.” Again, it took effort to not simply kiss her there and then, but I made the effort to gather up my camera bag. Not flirting further was beyond me though. “And that I’m here to work. I suppose you’ll just have to put up with showing me around all day?”

“You mean you’ll have to tolerate me talking at you all day, no?”

There were definitely worse fates to be cursed with.

She studied my notepad entries again as I rose, more critically this time. “You will want to leave Santo Toribo church until Sunday, when people are dressed up to go to mass. And this plaza has a market tomorrow if you want to wait for it. But I have a few places I think you might have missed, if you’d like me to show you?”

“It sounds like I’d be an idiot not to let you.”

“Perfect,” Luisa beamed, closing my notebook decisively. She headed for the door and waited for me there with an offered arm. “In which case, I’m all yours Hermosa.”

******

The day we spent around the Old Town was effortless, feeling more like a date than working, and I found myself finding excuses to try and work the Columbian woman into my shots. It helped that she was effortlessly photogenic, giving things exactly the wide apertured sense of time and place I was looking for every time I pointed the camera in her direction. What really struck me however was how frighteningly smart Luisa was. It turned out she had been studying history, wanting to eventually move to the US to do a masters, when she’d become pregnant. Instead she’d found herself working odd jobs, but never stopped reading and studying for her own sake, and had managed to turn that knowledge into her own business as a private tour guide until Covid had derailed that for her too. She was a world away from the cliche of fiery latinas, easy going and astute, and by the time we stopped for dinner I was convinced there wasn’t a single brick or cobble in the city she didn’t know the exact story of.

Luisa insisted on picking where we had dinner, and I insisted on paying. The small restaurant we ended up at a few blocks from her apartment had seen better days, with locals eating outside on worn chairs, and yet it served something called Arroz de Mariscos which ended up being some of the best seafood I’ve had in my life. Luisa took every embarrassingly approving noise I made as I ate a personal victory and, despite the early start, we lingered for hours after sunset, sipping wine and talking. She was ridiculously easy company, someone I was simply happy to listen to as she expounded on literature and politics and life. And by the time she gently suggested we headed back to her place I barely even needed the encouraging shove Harvey gave us both.

“We’ve had a good day, no,” she said, kicking off her shoes as we returned to the homey clutter and warm yellow light of her apartment. “But you’ve one more thing to try before you can really say you’ve experienced Cartagena.”

“And I assume you’re about to show me?”

I watched as she made her way to the small kitchen again, admiring her ass as she stretched up to reach into a cupboard. The bottle of ominously clear spirits she produced was already half empty, the name ‘1000 Demons’ printed on it in Spanish.”

“Aguardiente, brewed locally. This is the really good stuff.”

I knew enough to know that it was Colombian liquor brewed from sugar cane, and was strong enough to justify the mischief in the older woman’s eyes. I laughed. “Fuck, Luisa, you’re going to get me…” We’d been talking Spanish all day, but the appropriate word for blackout drunk escaped me in the moment, leaving me to go back to what my Canadian-English knew.  “Very very hosed.”

“A big brave girl like you? You can handle a shot or two.”

“We have more work to do tomorrow,” I protested, although the effort was meek and mostly for appearances to myself.

“And I remember someone telling me over dinner how quickly I was helping you to get through things.” Luisa had me there, I had spent an overly long amount of dinner enthusing about how well everything had been going. “You want to know what authentic is so you can capture it. Live a little for me, Hermosa.” She’d been calling me ‘beautiful’ all day, and, as she drawled out each syllable, it seemed she’d already worked out just how much I enjoyed it. She absolutely knew I couldn’t say no to her.

“Fine. Fine” Holds up a finger. “One shot.”

There was another, telling stir of the silver bracelet on my wrist, as Harvey saw her moment, and shoved the mood past the point of no return. Apparently I’d dallied enough. Luisa’s look turned provocative, and she paced slowly across the room, reclining back onto the couch before beckoning for me to join her.

“Why don’t I show you how I used to do this with my girlfriends back in college then?”

My heart leapt as she began to peel away her shirt, not the casual, offhand nudity she allowed me to glimpse earlier, but this time demanding my attention on the olive skin she splayed out across the seat. The bra I had watched her pick out earlier remained on, denying me the full view I wanted, but at least consoling me with the sight of her wonderfully generous cleavage as she lay back further, opening the bottle and pouring a small amount into the curve of her navel. She invited me forward and I found myself glad to be giving in to the inevitable. Luisa was incredible, and I’d have struggled to keep my senses with or without magic. Obliging her, I slipped down to kneel between her legs and lapped the aguardiente up with a single long stroke of my tongue.

I’m not normally one for hard liquor, but the taste of aniseed and fruit splashed across dark skin was divine and my lips pressed eagerly to her stomach to make sure I got every lingering drop. The Colombian woman made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a moan, throaty and pleased, and dripped more of the alcohol out onto her chest, leaving it to trail down between her tits to where I eagerly waited below.

“Mmm, I thought you only wanted one shot?”

“I think you’ve won me over to the idea.”

Luisa eased her ass up off the cushion it rested on, and I helped her slide her skirt and panties down, planting a kiss upon a shapely leg as I did. The next playful stream of aguardiente was more generous. Clear liquid drizzled down to where her thighs met, beaded on trimmed dark hairs, and I claimed it off her folds, mixed with the lush taste of her own damp arousal. I only stopped once she’d allowed me a mouthful, but I didn’t swallow. Instead, I pressed body up hers, worked my arms about her shoulders, and pressed my lips to hers, passing it back to her with a sloppy kiss that left some of the drink dribbled unseemly across my chin.

We rested our foreheads against each other, and this time we both found ourselves giving a small laugh. It only lasted a moment however, before the need to keep kissing became too much for her, and small, affectionate pecks stretched out open mouthed, her tongue against mine. She nipped teeth at my lower lip, and I worked my hand up inside her bra to find the piercings which I’d been doing my best not to distract myself with thoughts of all day. Luisa responded to my attention with a delighted intake of breath, and reached back to unhook the last shred of clothing she was wearing.

“You really like those, don’t you?”

Like was an understatement. Her chest was incredible, still firm and just slightly too large for me to palm with one hand, and the sight of silvery barbells through stiff nipples gratified me enormously as I teased and groped. I nodded in confirmation, only for Luisa to push me back slightly.

“As much as I’m enjoying that, it’s a little unfair that I’m the only one undressed, no,” Luisa asked, eyes full of need as she held my gaze. She was right, and I began to hurry out of my own shirt, but she caught my hand gently as I did. “Slowly. For me, please. This isn’t the sort of thing I normally do but I knew I wanted to see you undress for me from the first minute I saw you."

I replied with my best, sultry, “si senora,” and obliged her. I’m far from the best at being seductive, but god, if the way she looked at me as I slowly stripped in her lap didn’t make me feel like I was. She cupped my pert tits as soon as they came into view, leaving them slick with her mouth, and pulled a greedy little moan from me as she massaged my cunt with her fingers. We made out again for a while, me straddling her, exploring each other’s bodies with our hands, until Luisa broke the spell by slipping out from underneath me.

“Go nowhere,” she instructed, pausing only to take a neat swig from the bottle before disappearing towards what I had to assume was the bedroom. When she returned moments later it was with the thickened, elongated shape of an electric pink vibrator, accompanied by a wicked smirk.

Some of my memories of the evening are fuzzy, lost in a haze of aniseed liqueur and the buzz of her toy against my clit. I don’t quite remember how I got there, but I definitely ended up laying back on the couch, tangled up with half beside, half beneath me. What remains vivid was how Luisa’s arms wrapped around me as we continued to kiss, one hand wandering to tease my nipples or cup my face. The other worked the vibrator, reducing my nethers to a sodden, sensitive mess. She edged me with it, experienced enough to build me towards a peak, only to shift the toy away. Each denied wave left me shaking harder, my cries more desperate, but that only seemed to add to the gratification we both felt. I was hers to do whatever she wanted with, and I got just as drunk off the power I let her hold over me as I did the aguardiente.

When she finally let me have release, it was with her words caramel rich in my ears.

“That’s it. Good girl. Sing for me Hermosa.”

I adored her calling me that, and she took the gasping moan I gave as encouragement to keep using it, whispering it over and over between kisses as she thrummed me to climax.

“Hermosa. Hermosa. Hermosa.”

It was a short while before I could bear to open my eyes again or before the orgasmic haze settled and let me have my breath back. When it did however I was quick to take the toy from Luisa, repositioning myself to lower my head back down between her legs in an attempt to return the favour, the fruity trace of the alcohol still lingering on her pussy. I wanted to take my time for her. But my focus was challenged minutes later as her hands found my hips, and repositioned my own crotch so that she could taste me in kind. I had the benefit of the toy to help me, but I was still so very sensitive from cumming, and every one of her licks left me trembling.

Luisa would later tell me she had her first orgasm while we were like that, telling me that she was already horny enough to cum almost as soon as I touched her. The moment escaped me at the time however, and my attention was made to waver even further as she decided to let her tongue stray and give a testing lick across the rosebud of my rear. The sensation was unexpected, not just that she did it, but also because of how temptingly good it felt, and a tensed for a moment, self conscious at the contact. My list of self imposed rules didn’t just cover who I slept with, but how I slept with them. Nothing public, no lifestyle shit, and definitely nothing in my ass. I’d told myself for years I knew what I wanted, bullheaded in what I didn’t.

“Fuck. Luisa, no, I…” I started to object, in English, but another flicker of her tongue caused my pussy to twitch and my denial to sound far from convincing. Even so I tried again, attempting to convince myself to dig my heels in. “I don’t…I’m not into that…”

I used to be so stubborn. God knows why. Any little challenge to how I perceived I did things caused me to push back reflexively. And yet the little lines I thought I’d drawn myself suddenly felt a lot less solid than they had a few weeks earlier. In another situation I might have said no, but I challenge anyone to have said no to Luisa without thinking twice.

“Please Hermosa,” she said between delicate, testing little licks. “I want to know I’ve had every single part of you.” I hesitated and a finger joined her tongue, teasing a circle around my rim.

“Oh fuck…”

Her other hand strummed at my clit, just the perfect amount of pressure to make me feel dizzy with the thrill, as she peppered attention on my asshole, waiting for a firm denial that I wasn’t able to find.

“Oh fuck.”

Luisa sank her digits into my cunt, two fingers gliding in effortlessly. She pumped against me, found the right angle to make me moan helplessly with each stroke. And then joined them with a thumb at my rear, left slippery by my juices and eased with just enough pressure to find its way inside.

“Oh fuuuuck!”

I found myself tensing up, but as I managed to relax, immediate discomfort subsided, washed away by a sense of pleasure that snuck up unexpectedly on me. I squirmed, and she took her time, gently letting me adjust to the unusual fullness, but as she began to find her rhythm it was all I could do to prop myself up on my forearms and try not to come apart. She punctuated things with licks again and my mind reeled. It wasn’t the simple physical sensations that I realised I was enjoying, but the gratifying, taboo breaking haze I found myself in. There I was, having my asshole claimed by a woman I’d only met that day, getting off on my own sense of liberated perversion, shattering one of the rules I defined myself by. I felt like a total slut.

And I fucking loved it.

We managed to wring out another couple of climaxes each before collapsing, worn, and very satisfied, onto each other, sprawled across the couch. I hadn’t actually come with my ass, despite Luisa’s efforts, but the feeling of her there had helped to spur on the pair that my pussy had tumbled heavily into. I rested against her, eyes closed, thoughts dreamlike. Or at least I did until she spoke, her voice low and content, even as the words dragged me back to the bizarre reality I’d found myself in.

“Si im honesto,” she started. The Spanish version of the increasingly familiar phrase sounded unusual, but held no less of the strange weight that its English counterpart had done each time. “If I’m honest, I think we both know I’m not going to leave my life here to follow you around the world, no more than you’re going to leave your life and stay here with me. But I’ve loved this for what it is, and I’d like to keep doing it while you’re here in the city.”

I already knew that she was going to say something like that. I’d felt the same way, and yet I’d let myself happily stumble into things with her regardless. What did catch me off guard was the realisation that as much as Cassie had left me aware of how lonely and unsatisfied I was, Luisa filled me with the feeling of something I wanted to chase. To spend time in someone’s company so easily, to have my boundaries pushed and my expectations upended. We both understood this was a fling, but I definitely wasn’t ready to say goodbye to it yet either.

I let myself, briefly, think a little too loudly that Harvey was right about me not being honest with myself, and I knew that if the bracelet had a face it would be smirking back at me.

Luisa saw me briefly lost in my thoughts, and kissed me, tenderly. “Of course, that’s if you want to?”

“You know, I think I can manage to fit a little more of this in around work,” I joked in reply, before my own kiss and idle grope of one of her piercings was interrupted by the chime of a phone notification from the pocket of my pants. I reached down, finding a message from Dani waiting for me. I’d been giving the newsreader tempting little updates throughout the day, surprised at how keen she was to hear about a potential liaison with a beautiful South American stranger.

“Important,” Luisa asked.

“No, just a girl from back home I’ve been messaging. It’s nothing serious, but I told her I might be getting lucky tonight and she wants details on how it went.”

Luisa sat up, leaning over to look at my screen, her curiosity titillated and I quickly searched for a decent image of Dani to share, rather than anything that would feel like a breach of confidence to show without permission. I found one of her in a blazer, ready to go on air, and passed it over for my latest lover to see, eliciting an impressed whistle.

“God, you don’t settle for second rate do you? She’s gorgeous. What’s her name?”

“Danielle. Dani.”

If I was worried about how Luisa might react, I needn’t have been. Another spark of mischief danced across the Columbian woman’s face, and she leaned back on the couch, and pulled me to join her. Holding the phone out at arm’s length, she opened up the camera, making sure to get as much of our bodies in frame as possible before hitting record.

“Hola Dani,” she cooed in English while posing shamelessly for the video. “I understand you wanted to know how your little Hermosa’s evening went. I hope you don’t mind that it’s not just a picture of her you’re getting tonight.”

Luisa made a show of stroking her free hand up my body, showing me off from my pussy to my chest, before pulling my chin towards her as she ended the recording with a deep kiss. I laughed a little in embarrassment as she finished and waited to see if she should hit reply.

“Too much,” she asked.

I still didn’t know Dani that well, but we knew where we stood with each other, a cure for boredom and unfilled gratification. I pictured her receiving the message, and wondered just where she would be when she used it to touch herself, and how quickly I would get to see the results of what it did to her. A month ago, I might have demurred, second guessed the response or been unwilling to do anything quite so bold. But then, if I stopped to look at where I was, I couldn’t really argue that a few risks and a little boldness were a bad thing.

“If I’m honest,” I replied, taking the phone back to hit send myself. “I think she’ll love it.”