New Year’s Eve

New Year’s Eve, 2001. I decided to go all in. I convinced Beatriz to join me and my best friend, Pedro, for a Salsa trip in the north. We stayed in a hotel with the rest of the dance crowd—a massive group of flirty, happy people ready to party.

We spent the days touring small towns and the nights drinking. By the time December 31st arrived, the tension between us was undeniable. The party was loud, the salsa was fast, and the alcohol was flowing.

As the countdown began—Ten, nine, eight...—I looked at her. I was done hesitating. ...Three, two, one.

I grabbed her and kissed her. It wasn't a polite "Happy New Year" peck. It was a statement. She kissed me back with a hunger that told me she had been waiting for this since that car ride in June.

We danced for a while longer, but my mind was already at the hotel. I managed to find a guy leaving early to give us a ride. We left our friends behind and escaped.

We stumbled into my hotel room, giggling and tipsy. But the moment the door closed, the laughter stopped. Beatriz took charge. She wasn't shy. She started undressing me, her hands confident, pulling off my shirt, unbuckling my belt.

I reciprocated, peeling off her dress. I knew she had big hips, but as the clothes hit the floor, I got a surprise.

Her tits were incredible. For a thirty-two-year-old, she had the breasts of an eighteen-year-old. They were average-sized but defying gravity—firm, perky, with nipples that hardened the second the air hit them. And below that flat belly lay a thick, dark bush—a proper 90s jungle.

Beatriz pushed me onto the bed. She didn't wait for foreplay; she went straight for the main event. She took me in her mouth and gave me a blowjob that erased the memory of every bad experience I’d had in the last two years. She was enthusiastic, skilled, and messy. I was in heaven.

I pulled her up, needing to taste her. I dove into that dark bush, my tongue finding her clit. She was loud—moaning without shame, her hips grinding against my face. She came quickly, shuddering against me, but she wasn't done.

"Fuck me," she commanded.

She climbed on top, riding me with a rhythm that put her salsa moves to shame. She was insatiable. We changed positions, sweating, grinding, making up for lost time. She came a couple more times before I finally exploded.

The next morning, we walked into breakfast holding hands, the obvious "couple of the night." We drove back to the city as boyfriend and girlfriend.

I soon saw her apartment, and it sealed the deal. It was stylish, mixing antiques with modern art, a reflection of her personality. But the best feature wasn't the furniture.

"The neighbors are deaf," she told me with a grin. "Completely?" "Completely."

We tested that theory immediately. We played music loud, and we fucked louder. Beatriz was the loud, enthusiastic, experienced lover I had been waiting for.

The dry spell wasn't just over; it was drowned in a flood of pleasure.