I was in a coffee house in Roma Norte, in Mexico City, one sunny Sunday afternoon. As I sat there writing, a woman walked in. Extremely attractive. Tall, fit, great ass, medium-sized but perky breasts, beautiful face. Long thick, black hair. Dark eyes, ivory skin. Dressed in tight jeans and a cut-off t-shirt. She was guera, a white Latina.
I suspected she wasn’t from Mexico City. And she confirmed it when she placed her order. She spoke fluent Spanish, but with a strong American accent. And she also struggled pronouncing some of the more complicated words.
After ordering she sat at the table next to mine and started playing with her phone. So I looked over at her, and then started the conversation in English:
“Where are you from?” I said.
“Los Angeles.” she said. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.” I said.
We chatted for several minutes. She was a 33-year-old Mexican-American actress from Texas, living in California. She was in CDMX for a few days, shooting a television commercial. I could tell she liked me. But she had to leave soon, her agency had already sent a car to pick her up for pre-shoot fitting. I needed to act fast.
“Do you have Instagram?” I said.
She did. So I opened my IG account on my iPhone, handed it to her, and she added me as her follower. Then she gave me my phone back, just as her Uber arrived. We hugged goodbye, and she left.
An hour later, I saw she’d followed me back on Instagram. So I DM’d her, suggested getting drinks that evening, after she finished working. She agreed. But she didn’t know what time she’d finish. And then when I asked for her WhatsApp, she ignored me. I quit messaging her. Several hours later she sent another DM. She couldn’t see me that night. She’d be out too late.
The next morning I went to the same coffee shop early, like always. When I arrived, she was already there. Sitting outside in the sun, sipping coffee, messing with her phone. I said hi, went inside, and ordered a double espresso. Then I walked back outside, sat down at her table, and started talking.
We sat there chatting for half an hour. I finally got her WhatsApp number, halfway through. Then her Uber arrived, it was time for her shoot. So we hugged goodbye, she left, and I got to work.
Later she texted me. She wouldn’t be able to see me, though she really wanted to! I knew she was leaving Mexico tomorrow. So if it didn’t happen tonight? It never would. I wasn’t upset, just disappointed. I responded:
“No worries ;)”
Around 10 PM, she sent another text. She was off work, and did I still wanna hang out? Yes. So we agreed to meet at a bar nearby.
Half an hour later, I walked to the bar. She messaged me en route, she was on her way. And so she was there when I arrived. We went inside, sat down, and ordered mojitos.
It was late, Monday night. We had the bar to ourselves. Ideal first-date conditions. But since it was a weekday, they were closing early. And so after just 45 minutes, it was already time to go. Neither of us wanted the evening to end. And something told me it was still too early to take her home. But almost everything was closed at this hour…
After brainstorming with the bartender, we decided on la Zona Rosa, which is Mexico City’s gay district. Now I don’t normally take my dates to this area. But I knew there’d probably still be some bars open there. So I ordered an Uber, and several minutes later we were wandering around ‘The Pink Zone.’ It was dead, being a weekday, but we quickly found an open bar.
We went inside, took a table, and ordered more drinks. I quickly realized this was NOT a good first date venue. The seizure-inducing disco lights were disconcerting. And though the place was empty, the music was so loud we could barely hear each other. And the few people there were all gay men, obviously. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But the thing is, I felt kinda uncomfortable using the bathroom there. That’s because there were gay dudes literally lurking in the stalls, waiting for sexual opportunities. And they made their presence known. Nothing happened of course. But these predatory bathroom lurkers definitely threw me off.
Anyway, despite the challenging conditions, the date was actually going great. I was sitting next to her, touching her, she was touching me back. We had strong chemistry. And the conversation was also excellent, despite the noise. So I went for the first kiss there at the table. She kissed me back, but was hesitant. I could tell she wanted to. But since she was from the States, she didn’t really like PDA.
2 AM rolled around. We were both pretty drunk and the bar was closing. I paid and we left. Her hotel wasn’t far, so we walked. It was nice. The City was empty. We strolled through the dark, snapping photos, taking videos, holding hands.
We stopped on an empty street, faced each other, and embraced. Stayed like that for a while, pressed tightly up against each other. I knew she felt my erection against her leg, but I didn’t care. I kissed her again. She didn’t resist this time, and we started making out hard. We were in public, standing on a sidewalk, but no one was around. So after groping her ass over her jeans, I slid my hand down past her panties, and fingered her waxed pussy. She groaned, arched, ground against me, and kissed me even harder.
I wanted her. And I was tired of waiting. So I stopped and we kept walking again. A few minutes later we were outside her hotel.
“Let’s go inside” I said.
She rang the bell, the doorman let us in, and we went up to her room. We both used the bathroom, then we laid down on the bed. I went for it immediately, kissing her, caressing her, stripping her naked, escalating fast. She put up token, half-hearted resistance. A few minutes later I was deep inside her. I stayed with her for several hours. Alternating between talking, dozing, and fucking.
Before I knew it, it was 5 AM. Her ride was coming soon, she was leaving for the airport in just two hours. And I needed to rest. So we said goodnight. Then I walked home and went to sleep.
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