Kambiri-Forbidden Love

Genre: erotic romance anthology

Kambiri Eng Banner

Find it in:

Amazon Kindle e-books: http://tinyurl.com/ycpuaxtl

Apple iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Tolino, 24 Symbols: https://www.books2read.com/u/3J0xNB

Kambiri

Synopsis:

This anthology includes five nouvelles written by Louis Alexandre Forestier in recent years on different subjects but with a common denominator: romances between African American women and white men. They are therefore part of the vast Swirl movement. The stories are the following:

Keisha- A Swirl Romance

Do you love bwwm interracial novels? Keisha- A Swirl Romance will awaken your hidden fantasies and satisfy your innermost desires.

A beautiful African American woman meets a young white foreigner in New York City. A torrid affair begins in an environment whose values regarding acceptance of interracial couples are changing. The woman experiences the clash between certain taboos and feels that loose fragments of her life strive to come together.
The couple builds the relationship overcoming adversity from the circumstances in which they live.
A contemporary novellawithshrewdinsights on certain deeply ingrained attitudes that often go unnoticed.

Reading it will thrill you.

Valentina-Psychological Romance

This novel will make you explore your most intimate and shameful fantasies, those that you have closed down under social taboos. Whether you are a man or a woman putting them in the light of your conscience and your desires will have a liberating effect.

Starting from a naive contemporary dating a young man has stormy sexual relations involving twisted episodes of erotic sadomasochistic character. An Afro-Colombian immigrant girl will do whatever it takes to conquer and pull him out of his situation.

Reading this novella will compel you to reexamine your true inclinations in hidden and profound themes. You will experience an awakening.

NubiaMagickal Thriller

An infamous network of human traffickers surrepticiously brings young women from Africa to New York. One of the girls escapes and a fierce womanhunt begins. In the desperate defense of her life the girl puts at stake unsuspected resources. The trafficking organization includes members located in upper echelons of power in the city that tighten the knot around her.
A vibrant thriller of the noir subgenre that will keep you in suspense from the beginning to its dramatic end.

 

Cristelle- An Erotic Romance

Do you love bwwm interracial romance? Cristelle will awaken your innermost desires and fantasies.

An African and two Haitian young black women live in Buenos Aires, in a completely different ethnic and cultural environment.

They have to adapt to a society that accepts them but of which they often ignore the rules.

In these circumstances they have to make their living and seek love. For these purposes they do not hesitate to resort to magickal means.

A bittersweet novella with high erotic content. You will love it.

The Sorceress

An African young woman thrives in New York as the owner of a flower store. As she becomes romantically interested in a young white man she realizes that he is under the influence of a dominatrix of sadistic tendencies owning an agency of escorts. Both women will fight for the man with various weapons including hidden powers, spells, enchantments … and also murder.

Khaliyha- Ebony Princess

Official Page

Genre: Interracial Erotic Romance, bwwm

Find it in:

Amazon Kindle e-book: http://tinyurl.com/grgzb9a

printed edition: http://tinyurl.com/j7utgnf

Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Scribd and other retailers: https://books2read.com/u/3ne8nK

khaliyha-eng-banner

kalisha

Excerpt:

PROLOGUE

 

He finally left the baggage claim area of the Kennedy Airport of New York dragging his own suitcase and another with casual clothes that Khaliyha had asked him to bring, since she had taken with her only the African costumes tailored to the meetings that she was going to attend.

First he recognized in the huge hall was the impressive and unmistakable figure of Malik, the refugee from the Central African Republic who had already saved them from the intrigues of hostile actors in their previous stay in the city.

Cristian hugged him affectionately surprising the big man characterized by a more cautious attitude. To his embarrassment Malik took charge of the luggage without the slightest effort.

“The Princess will meet with you at the hotel” He said recalling to Cristian the rather royal treatment given to his wife. “Today she is having a meeting arranged at the last minute and could not come to the airport as she wanted to.”

“The history of my life as a married man.” Thought Cristian.

Already in the car asked Malik if he had any news about clashes between different African ethnic groups on their continent and if they had had repercussions among the expatriate groups in New York.

“In Africa, conflicts have moved to the Central African Republic, my country, and possibly in the near future will arrive in Nigeria. Here the situation is calmer that when you and the Princess were a couple of years ago but we cannot lower our guard.”

These words reminded Cristian that one of Malik´s the functions was acting as a custodian of Khaliyha while she was in the city.

When the African parked his car in front of the hotel Cristian was surprised to see that it was the same in which Khaliyha and he had first met. A wave of memories invaded his mind and a knot formed in his throat but he refrained from making comments.

When they entered at the hotel Khaliyha had just arrived and they met in the lobby the woman threw herself in his arms in a completely unexpected attitude. Guests of the hotel looked askance at that woman richly dressed in her obvious ethnicity silk dress hugging a newcomer looking tired and dressing wrinkled clothes. Seeing the scene with the corner of his eye in a lobby mirror brought Christian even more emotions and they both whined for a second.

Malik cleared his throat to call them into reality and they separated with a certain embarrassment.

“It´s only a week since we last met.”   Cristian told his wife in a tone of false reproach.

“Why then you have red eyes?”

In fact what had worked in the encounter between the two was not the brief recent separation but all the vicissitudes that had occurred since they had left the hotel two years before with their joys and sufferings. No doubt this relatively brief period had transformed their lives in a deep and lasting way.

The woman had already obtained her key at the front desk and guided him towards her room.

“But… this is…”  Sputtered Cristian.

“Yes, it is the same room that we were when we met. I spent several days in another but I ordered the Concierge to move me to it as soon as it was vacant.

The detail moved him again. He knew the value of symbols for his wife and her tenacity to achieve her purposes. Having obtained the same room spoke clearly of the importance Khaliyha granted the event when they had loved for the first time.

They entered the spacious room and the employee left the suitcases. She made him sit on the bed smiling and placed her arms around his neck.

“Mon cher, you don’t know how long I have dreamed with this moment, to relive the most important stage of my life and to taste again its flavor.

 

20150210_111818

 

Shaletha- Romance in Manhattan

Official Page

Genre: erotic romance

 

Find it in:

Amazon Kindle e-books: goo.gl/EUpwPC

Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Scribd: https://books2read.com/u/4AgKZd

Synopsis:

A torrid erotic romance between a distinguished African lady and a young white man. After living in New York they travel to Central Africa where her family holds positions of prestige and power.

Familiar, political and dynastic interactions take place in the middle of bloody struggles between different ethnic groups. In the subsequent exile the characters are forced to make critical decisions based on their social roles. These decisions reflect their personalities and goals  and have a profound impact in their lives.

Ebony Lady is essentially a romantic novel with a dramatic background due to the violent environment. Its epic tone highlights the dilemmas in the struggle for freedom, happiness and self-realization of the black woman. It immerses into the characters to explain their behavior in all its complexity and contradictions.
Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

 

When she entered the room that had been hers when she was a girl the woman felt a knot in her stomach. This happened every time she visited her parents´ house and checked the state of her old belongings. All dolls and stuffed toys were perfectly aligned on her old bed as had been the last time she had entered the room and as they had never been when she occupied it. Some of the posters glued or nailed to the walls with her musical idols of yesteryear still miraculously remained in place, leaving some lighter boxes on the wall where had been those who had fallen.

The woman ran a hand affectionately on the fully armed bed and memory evoked a thousand remembrances of her happy childhood and adolescence. She was then startled by her mother’s voice calling her from the ground floor.

“¿Shaletha. Are you okay?”

Immediately after she heard of her father´s deep voice scolding his wife.

“Helen, Shaletha is in her room; leave her alone with her memories.”

Shaletha removed with her fingertips a tear peeking from her right eye, composed her throat and answered.

“I´ll be right down Mom.”

On leaving she looked in the mirror placed in her wardrobe, which would certainly be filled with the clothes she had left behind when she moved. Shaletha then took a long look to her front and behind with a critical eye and then moaned with satisfaction approving the image that the mirror reflected. Her silhouette was a perfect example of a black woman, with well marked feminine attributes, which since high school provoked comments of her fellow students of all races, particularly those Italians. What the mirror showed her was a firm bust, generous hips, round thighs, well shapely legs and a rear that had always caused envy of her classmates, especially the white girls. The face, certainly beautiful, was framed by a discreet hairstyle away from the fashion of African braids and dreadlocks.

“Shaletha, what is what you need? What is missing to you? The woman sighed without knowing exactly what she meant. She locked the room and went downstairs to talk to her parents.

The dinner conversation had turned almost exclusively on Shaletha´s life. The mother insisted in asking questions about her love life on which she did not have much to tell, and this concerned Helen, while her father asked her affectionately about her working life, a much more satisfying theme for both.

After a silence Helen began to complain about  Alyssa´s behavior, the youngest daughter of the Moore family.

“She´s already nineteen, and now is flirting with those white boys, who we already know what are expecting from her.” Said plaintively Helen.

“You should not complain woman.” Answered angrily the father. “Alyssa has always steered clear of drugs and alcohol. Her grades in school are more than acceptable and we expect she will be able to attend college. She has never brought us problems as his brother has.”

The words were followed by silence. Zion, the second son of the Moore family had recently been released from prison and was fulfilling a plan of rehabilitation for his addiction to drugs. Helen groaned and burst into tears.

“Dad that was a low blow.” Replied Shaletha. “You know Zion is an open wound for Mom.”

The man obviously regretted his words, rose from his chair and ran to hug his wife. The reaction served Shaletha to revalue again the values of the home in which she had grown up. The woman walked over and hugged her parents while she also wiped a tear. The tender scene lasted even a moment until Helen´s breathing regularized.

“Why do you take Alyssa’s friends to heart?”  Asked Shaletha to her mother.  “Have you got reasons to think they are bad companies?”

“We have no way to know.” Said the father. “We have never met them or talked to them.”

“ The problem is that in this way we are destroying the foundations of the black family.” Helen replied.

“Mom. It is not fair to blame Alyssa for destiny of the black family in this country. She has enough responsibility at her age trying to be happy.”

 

Before it got dark Shaletha decided to undertake the journey back home. She said goodbye to her parents and left their house heading for the nearest subway station. She recalled her childhood in that area of Harlem, when the inhabitants lived confined to their homes and did not venture to remain in the streets after the first shadows fell. When walking Shaletha saw a movement among the shadows in a corner where there was no lighting, no doubt a young couple warmly embracing ignoring the environment surrounding them. Shaletha had necessarily passed by them on her way without the kids perceiving her presence. As she discreetly looked at them her heart sank. At the dim light she could see the blond hair of the young boy mixed with the dark skin of the girl. As she recognized the faces Shaletha did not know for a moment how to react. Alyssa was passionately kissing who a few  days earlier had presented as a simple college classmate, a Russian born named Ivan with a last name impossible to remember.

The woman took the subway at the 125th Street station and at that late time managed to travel sitting. In the long journey her mind connected the recent events with certain thoughts that lately recurrently returned to her mind. At thirty-three years Shaletha Moore could not complain about her life or her achievements. After her studies she had found work as a fashion designer at a major textile firm. Important business involving a lot of money depended on her decisions and she was well paid for her work. She had moved from Harlem and had finally rented a totally renovated and very well equipped old apartment  in Brooklyn Heights, a quiet and well connected area located just minutes away from their work. When taking vacations Shaletha could afford to choose the best beaches around the continent, which were her favorite destinations. For work reasons she was constantly traveling throughout the Americas and Europe. She was always elegantly dressed and could allow every whim, which anyway were very discreet. She spoke well and was invited to all kinds of events, in which her profession was lavish. They were not little achievements for a girl from Harlem. And yet …

From some cell phone or a tablet arose amid the noise of the subway running at full speed the notes of an old interpretation of The Rose by Bette Midler.

 

When the night has been very lonely

And the road has been too long

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong …

“Nubia- Magickal Thriller”

Find it in Amazon Kindle e-books and printed edition: https://goo.gl/szwY7V

Barnes & Noble nook e-books: http://goo.gl/rxAmjh

Description:

An infamous network of human traffickers surrepticiously brings young women from Africa to New York. One of the girls escapes and a fierce womanhunt begins. In the desperate defense of her life the girl puts at stake unsuspected resources. The trafficking organization includes members located in upper echelons of power in the city that tighten the knot around her. A vibrant thriller of the noir subgenre that will keep you in suspense from the beginning to its dramatic end.

Excerpt:

Prologue

 

The girl ran along the isolated alley not daring to look back; as her high-heeled shoes prevented her from speeding she took them off with a quick gesture and continued her race barefoot running on the cold pavement of the dark street in Harlem. She heard a noise coming from the pursuers following her, three or four burly Africans who had participated in the horrible scene that she was leaving behind. The girl shook her head trying to ward off the recent memory that had shocked her to such an extreme degree. Her pace was very fast, like a woman born and raised in the steppes of Africa who as a child had run alongside their brothers. The woman knew that the heavy human bloodhounds who pursued her would not be able to catch with her and the distance between them widened every second. The same thought the pursuers who were at the end of their breathing capabilities. Several screams were heard, the men were shouting to each other giving orders in their dialect and Alimah trembled guessing what they were saying; without missing a beat she prepared for what she knew was coming next . Three detonations sounded reverberating through the narrow alley. The woman closed her eyes waiting for the result of the shooting. She felt a profound and gnawing pain in the right shoulder. Alimah knew that the bullet had entered her from the back and exited through the front of the shoulder so the blood loss would be twofold. The girl stumbled momentarily but could recover her step. Her father´s face passed fleetingly through her mind. She knew that wherever he was the old warrior would pride of his daughter.

Thoughts from that moment began to fray although her legs still responded to a center of will over which the woman had no longer control, her brain darkened and Alimah passed out. Her body still toured several steps led by inertia and finally rolled between some trash bins resulting in their fall with a great clatter. A bitter cold began to invade her body.

The recent events immediately prior to the persecution paraded through her fevered and delirious mind. What her psyche had been dodging to remember when she was fleeing to avoid its crushing weight now returned to her memory, devoid of the protection of the will. The image of Samwarit, the beautiful Ethiopian girl that had tried to escape with her from the hands of their captors clearly appeared in her memory, as well as Jemal´s, the human beings trafficker band leader in whose hands the girls had fallen with the complicity of the ship captain that had brought them to New York. Alimah recalled the twenty-five day’s journey from the distant port on the Red Sea, located near Port Sudan but devoid of any control by the local authorities. On that ship traveled twenty Ethiopian, Eritrean, Sudanese and Somali women, all young and beautiful, in what undoubtedly was a human trafficking trip linked to prostitution. All were constrained to stay inside two grimy containers within which they sometimes had to do their physiological needs, and out of which they were only allowed to come to breath pure air on deck when the ship was far from shore and out of busy shipping routes .

Upon reaching their destination they had entered the port of New York inside the containers and were carried overnight out of the port area and brought to what they later learned was Harlem. As the area was strongly patrolled by the city police, the women practically were not allowed to leave the abandoned warehouse where they were kept.

Valentina- Psychological Romance

Find it  in: Amazon Printed edition: http://tinyurl.com/jzay2nk

Amazon Kindle e-books: http://tinyurl.com/z4ayubjValentina Eng

Sinopsis:

This novel will make you explore your most intimate and shameful fantasies, those that you have closed down under social taboos. Whether you are a man or a woman putting them in the light of your conscience and your desires will have a liberating effect.

Starting from a naive contemporary dating a young man has stormy sexual relations involving twisted episodes of erotic sadomasochistic character. An Afro-Colombian immigrant girl will do whatever it takes to conquer and pull him out of his situation.

Reading this novella will compel you to reexamine your true inclinations in hidden and profound themes. You will experience an awakening.

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

 

The young man got out of the old Fiat that had bought six weeks earlier and as he closed the glass window involuntarily stroked it. A gesture of affection for the vehicle whose acquisition had transformed his daily routine leaving him almost four hours free that were spent before in his trips to his job in a plant located in the Province of Buenos Aires and back. That purchase and the rent of a small old apartment in the neighborhood of Constitution were his greatest achievements since his arrival from his native province. True, the four-storey building with no elevator was in a decaying area inhabited mostly by undocumented immigrants from the surrounding countries, illegally occupying dilapidated housing unclaimed by their owners perhaps due to complicated legal problems. The negligence of the occupants was revealed in the piles of garbage thrown on the sidewalks, waste containers ransacked in search of who knows what objects and beer bottles piled up in certain corners. In the evenings the old neighborhood residents locked themselves in their houses and the streets were invaded by transvestites, Dominican prostitutes and probably drug dealers.

Compared to the quiet life in his native rural area his current environment could be frustrating at first sight, but it satisfied him as a first platform of what he had achieved on his own, once he had abandoned the protection of the family environment.

Esteban Dubanowski had arrived from the distant province of Misiones, a sort of wedge between the borders of Brazil and Paraguay separated from both countries by mighty rivers. He was born twenty-three years before in a chacra, i.e. a family farm part of a colony of farmers mostly of Polish and Russian origin, two of the many communities that populated this northeastern Argentine province. Upon reaching of age it became clear that Esteban had to emigrate because the establishment could not sustain the big family integrated by his parents and eight siblings. Gregorio, his older brother had moved to Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil, where he had married a local woman of Arab origin with whom he had raised a family that already included three children.

Gregorio had urged his brother to move with him but Esteban had preferred to travel to Rosario, in the Province of Santa Fe, to complete his university studies. He had lived four years in that city until he got his bachelor’s degree in industrial design. He had then decided to make the big leap and try his luck in Buenos Aires, the great country metropolis and dream destination of many restless youngsters arriving from provinces and neighboring countries.

Upon reaching the city Esteban had gotten a job in a metal factory in the third suburban belt of the Province of Buenos Aires, distant about thirty kilometers from his home, to reach which he had previously to travel in three consecutive means of transport with a total travel time of two hours and other two hours back in the midst of the rush hour and therefore in overcrowded conditions. But with the purchase of the vehicle all hat was left behind.

As soon as he arrived at his apartment Esteban prepared a coffee and then lay in bed, because the furniture that he had been able to buy up to that moment did not include a chair. He then turned on the TV set he had bought secondhand. The film he was seeing showed a love scene with high erotic content and Esteban noticed that he had a fleeting erection; to cool down his thoughts the young man decided to take a shower, although he usually did that at night immediately before going to bed.

On leaving the bath he realized that his thoughts remained the same, and that his sexual arousal was not going to subside within the four walls of his home. He dressed up and went for a walk. Since there was no food in the rickety fridge the young man decided to have an early dinner in a kind of menial café-restaurant three blocks away, but before eating he would walk a little and feel more closely the dubious atmosphere of the neighborhood.

Soon after he was approached by a middle-aged defaced transvestite.  At his sight Esteban felt a certain instinctive rejection and tried to step away from him without success.

“Hey big guy. Don´t you want to try something you will not forget in your life?” Said the travestite. Noticing the boy´s erection he tried to touch his fly but Esteban pushed him rudely away and went on leaving the prostitute muttering expletives and threats.

Esteban recognized in himself a degree of disgust that he tried to control not to give rise to prejudices that his mind rejected.

A couple of blocks beyond that a veteran black prostitute with abundant flesh, possibly of Dominican origin, winked and intercepting his way whispered.

“Hello blond. Don´t you want to try a black woman? I’ll squeeze you in bed like a lemon. Come, caress my skin.” She said exposing her plump thigh.

Actually Esteban had sexually debuted near his village with an Afro-Brazilian considerably older than him and the experience was unforgettable, not only because it was his first time but by the incredible fieriness of the woman, with whom the boy had had sex several times in the following years. Esteban shook his head to scare his ideas and went on his way. He had never paid for sex and had decided never to do it. He hoped he would find other ways to satisfy his needs.

Finally the boy decided to go back after half an hour walking during which he witnessed several events, including a fight between two drunken teenagers who ended up being separated by neighbors and the action of a policeman who had two boys sitting in a corner awaiting the arrival of the patrol car that would take them to the police station possibly on charges of attempted robbery. Esteban was going back to his own neighborhood when he visualized the bar where he had planned to have dinner. Tired of the working hours and the walk the young man sat at one of the tables near a window, allowing him to observe the street movement, this was becoming scarcer with the first shadows of the night.

A waitress approached him with the menu in her hand. Both watched each other for a few moments during which nonverbal messages were exchanged.

“I’ll leave the menu and will return in a minute to take your order.” Said the girl with a distinct accent that Esteban recognized as Caribbean. As she moved momentarily away to go to the kitchen the boy followed her with his eyes. Of medium height what drew his attention as he watched her from behind were her bulging buttocks and shapely legs, all but obscured by the brown uniform undoubtedly provided by the bar.

The girl returned after a while and Esteban could see her at his will. The breasts were swollen and her brown arms beautiful. The young man watched her face and their eyes met during an intense moment. The girl’s eyes were dark, large and beautiful. Her regular features were nice and she had a wide smile. Her long blackened hair cascaded over her shoulders framing her face. Esteban replied with a smile and ordered his dinner.

After about twenty minutes the girl brought the ordered food and drink. Her hands were filled with the dishes and Esteban helped her to place things on the table. For a moment both hands made contact. Esteban continued that contact a split second longer than necessary and the girl did not withdraw her hand.

“What is your name?”

“Luz.”

“A very beautiful name.”

Luz flashed a beautiful smile.

“And, what’s your name?”

“Esteban. Tell me. You have a very nice accent. Where are you from?”

“I´m Colombian.”

“Where from. Bogota, Medellin, Cali?”

“A small town near Bogota.”

“What you do in Buenos Aires?”

“I´m studying Medicine …the rest you can see it. What about you? Are you from Buenos Aires?”

“No. I was born in a province in the northern part of the country.”

“And are all blond and blue-eyed in your province?”

“Not all. I am of Polish descend. There are many Slavs and people from other European countries in Misiones.”

At that time someone called Luz from the kitchen.

“Yes. I’ll be right there.” She replied in a loud voice and began to retreat.

“Wait.” Begged him.

“I’m busy right now. I´ll return to remove the dishes in a minute.”

 

 

South of Capricorn- An Erotic Novel

Keywords: erotic romance, interracial, cunnilingus,oral sex,BDSM, noir novel.

South of Capricorn 2

Find it in: All Romance e-books: https://goo.gl/IEIIIU

Description:

South of Capricorn is a novel with a strong erotic content, so the book is aimed at the adult audience.
A ten-year-old boy hosted in an orphanage located in a remote village in the northern end of the Argentina, is seduced by the supervisor of the establishment, who is madly in love of him. This woman, even against her own moral standards and upbringing is his secret lover, protecting and taking care of him.
The fate of the child undergoes a drastic change when his mentor is replaced by another woman, who has similar claims on the child, but it exerts its power without scruples, so he becomes her sex slave.
Upon reaching adolescence and youth, the boy gets trapped in the nets woven by each one of his mistresses, in a dynamic that determines his relationships with other women.
In his search for a way in the midst of these circumstances, he is involuntarily wrapped in a dark episode with an organization of human trafficking, with dramatic consequences.
South of Capricorn is thus located at the interface of the erotic novel and the noir genre.

Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1
The Province of Misiones constitutes a wedge between Brazil and Paraguay, separated almost completely from both countries by rivers. It is the Northeast end of Argentina, with a semitropical climate since it is partially situated to the North of the Tropic of Capricorn. Since the end of the 19th century, this province was populated by settlers coming from all over Europe, and it is estimated that in the province there are 48 communities formed by the descendants of mostly European immigrants, which were added to the native population of Creoles, mixture of the Spaniards and Guaraní Indians. In addition many Paraguayan and Brazilian migrants have joined this population over the years.
I was born in this province, possibly in some of the communities of Slavic origin that have settled in it. I was apparently abandoned at birth at the portal of a church, from which I was transferred to an orphanage, which was my real home and kept me away from the streets, despite its precarious economic means and the roughness of the relationships between children, and among these and their preceptors, which in some cases did not exclude abuse.
My memories go back to the age of about ten years, and the lessons and games in the old courtyard of the institution. It was at about that time that Mrs. Teresa Gonzalez de Pasiuk entered as responsible for the boys Pavilion, a woman who was then thirty years old, of small size, rather slim but well formed body, with a noble face of correct features, with black and bright eyes and hair. All her appearance betrayed the dominance of Castilian blood, with some distant ingredient of the indigenous peoples of the region. Her character was extremely quiet and kept to herself, which perhaps was a requirement for the performance of her functions in a turbulent environment. This woman would have a decisive influence on my life.
Mrs. Gonzalez, or simply the lady, as they called her, soon took a particular appreciation for me, but she made efforts to hide it in order to avoid gossip about preferences and unequal treatment with other children, but that I could however notice mainly in the few moments in which we found ourselves together and somewhat separated from the rest of the pupils. This veiled protection prevented me from being targeted by taunts or abuse by other older children, being that I was one of the boys of light complexion in the group. Later, my body size, bigger to the other children, my sturdy physical build and the acquisition of rudimentary but effective methods of defense on my part, discouraged potential harassers, making unnecessary any physical protection.
As I learned later, Teresa Gonzalez’s entry in the Institute produced a certain seizure between the directors of the institution; certain intrigues that took place with the purchase of items of daily use were cut from the root, the control of the health state of pupils was emphasized, that had formerly been quite neglected, not even meeting the vaccines calendars. Finally education experienced a substantial upswing, closely monitored by the lady, a teacher by profession. All this earned her respect since the beginning of her direction period, not without grudges.
The woman, with a silent but strong personality and making full use of the authority role which she had been granted , kept the wilder and more aggressive boys at bay, including draconian discipline action in extreme cases. In general were weak or new children who benefited most with this attitude, but I always felt that in my case, there was something else. The way she caressed my head when no one watched created me on the one hand a feeling of security and on the other a pleasant tingly feeling that was accentuated with the passage of some years. Children in this type of establishment rarely receive a caress or another display of affection.
Once, three wards which had been bothering me for some time laid me a trap in a nearby park; they were usual events produced by internal gangs, seeking to establish some kind of leadership, but I defended myself fiercely and I got to considerably hurt them, while I received numerous cuts and bruises. Alerted by other children the lady appeared with two wardens, who managed to untangle us with effort. The woman came to me and noted concerned the injuries on my face and scalp, cleaning a cutting wound in a brow with her handkerchief. Then she looked at the three aggressors, and she saw them bleeding and their swollen faces, I noticed a fleeting glimpse in his dark eyes, which I interpreted as a sign of pride.
Later, when I was eleven, destiny took a turn that would be decisive in my life. Children at the orphanage were taken in a bus to visit some Jesuit ruins located a few hundred miles away. Mrs. Gonzalez, who had been nervous and sullen in the previous days, reported that she would stay at the orphanage to arrange an inventory of supplies of the school running in the establishment, and decided that I would stay to help her in the task. Logically I felt somewhat frustrated by losing one of the few rides that were performed each year, but her decisions were not discussed. In addition, the expectation of staying alone with her did not displease me; on the contrary when I reflected on the situation a mixture of curiosity and anxiety invaded me.
All children and adults in the place then departed, and we stayed alone in the extensive grounds.
After the count of items in school, which took us no more than a couple of hours, the lady told to me that we should go to the boys bedroom to check whether there were additional elements that we should add to the inventory. The sky was by then covered of thick clouds that promised one of the frequent storms in that part of the year. Once we had completed the task that claimed no more than an extra half an hour, the woman, who looked particularly uneasy, told me she was tired and sat down on my bed, telling me to do the same thing at her side. The beds were arranged in long rows with narrow aisles in the middle. Thus we stood side by side for several minutes, in the darkness of the bedroom, which had few windows. At the beginning I was expectant of what she would do, but time passed without alternatives. Slowly I became aware that the woman was in a deep state of inner struggle, which communicated to me in the form of agitation. I felt her leg next to mine and noticed that her body radiated heat. The sensation was pleasant at the same time than unusual; as it was said before, abandoned children do not usually have physical proximity of other people, at least not without an aggressive mood.
In the meantime, several lightning lit up the sky and their reflections were admitted through the narrow windows. A flurry of fresh wind came by them as the sound of torrential rain that had started to tap on the veneer roofs of buildings could be heard.
Unexpectedly, as under the influence of the electrical events outside, the woman broke her state of self-absorption. She slid her hand by my head, telling me that she liked my blond hair, but words flowed from her lips with difficulty; even for an inexperienced boy as I it was clear that she was under the influence of a tension that closed her throat. The feeling of her hand caressing me was extremely pleasant, particularly in this suggestive atmosphere of shadows and freshness.

Finally she took my left hand and squeezed it between hers, first voluntary contact of her skin with mine. I immediately felt a chill running down my spine like an electric shock. In fact, the act was deliberate and not a consequence of any external factor. She approached her lips to my forehead and slipped a brief kiss that for me was full of meaning, even if I could not then specify what. For the first time in my life I had been kissed, and the person who had done so who was increasingly becoming the object of my expectation.
It followed another time of quiescence, in which each of us processed the feelings of what had happened until then. Rain kept raging outside, but the spacious galleries and porches prevented it from entering the Pavilion, despite the open windows. I watched the face of the woman in search of signs that would foretell me what would follow, while she looked forward, as if she did not wish to see my eyes.
She still retained my right hand in hers, and at a time she placed it on her lap. There, with my palm on her skirt I could recognize the shape of her thigh, and then experienced a sensation of different character to which I had had up to that moment; my face blushed while I noticed some itching in my groin.
Instinctively, my hand slid down towards her knees, but did so with infinite slowness, since in the first place I was well aware of my dare, and secondly I wanted to enjoy every moment and every inch of the course of my movement. I looked at her directly in the eyes, and for the first time she drifted her look that still had maintained in a fixed position to the front, in reality the vacuum, into my eyes. A smile appeared on her lips and I felt that she had taken a firm resolution, which so far had been pending.
My hand eventually came to the edge of her skirt, and with the tip of my fingers, I rubbed the skin of her knees; alarmed by my boldness I removed them, but then I placed them back, this time decisively. Her body did not move and I, encouraged by the absence of penalties or adverse reactions, continued my slow and loving exploration of her legs. I caressed the front part of her left knee, and then the back side, and while my hand continued gently caressing her calf, I inclined my head down and kissed her left knee, then the right, leaving wet marks on her skin. I continued petting her ankles, and finally, I left my position on the bed and I knelt at her feet. I removed her shoes and took a foot in my hands and then the other; the feet were small and of beautiful forms, and barely exceeded the size of my hands. The lady at the beginning seemed to feel tickled but then adapted to the situation. I approached my mouth to her instep and I kissed it, as well as the different parts of each foot. And finally I licked each one of her soles. The lady let me, and at times rode one leg over the other in a feminine position: in the movement, and given that my head was at the height of her knees, I could briefly glimpse into her thighs and her white underwear.
She uncrossed her legs, and then took my head in her hands and placed it on her lap, where she let it stand for a while. I looked at her again to the eyes and saw a placid smile.
I realized at once that this place was a haven of peace where I wanted to live. The series of sensations that I had been experiencing was completely new in my life quite tough so far, and made me feel that another universe was possible.
I placed my arms around her thighs and I introduced my head under her skirt, kissing their firm and hot flesh, looking for that secret world which I had glimpsed moments earlier. Her legs that were tight together, opened up by millimeters letting my mouth between them. I glimpsed her face for a moment, and saw that her skin had flushed.
At that moment we heard a bus braking and rumors of children. The pupils were returning from their trip towards the end of the afternoon, chased by rain that had shortened their tour.
The lady got out of bed smoothing her skirt and composing her clothes and hair. I felt very disappointed since my best life experience up to that time had ended abruptly and had left me disoriented.
We fixed the bed and the lady told me:
“Not a word of this to anyone, because the consequences can be very serious for me, but also for you.”
From that moment on we lived our secret relationship hidden from the view of others.
Life in the settlement continued its routine, and many months passed. Due to my infatuation I found it incomprehensible that the whole exterior had not altered along with my internal state. My existence, which had been a mere duration devoid of all meaning and purpose until the moment of our fleeting intimate encounter with Teresa was now vibrating with passion. The elapsed time was only an anxious expectation to repeat the time spent with her.