New Worlds - Havana

“Look at me, Jack.” Will whispers, his movements supple and sensual. “Watch me.”



Jack swallows hard, as he feels the heat radiating outward from the closeness of Will’s body. Instinctively he reaches for him, only to have his hand playfully slapped away.



“No, Jack. You forget. The rumba is a dance without touching. And yet, a dance both promiscuous and obscene.” Will moves to the pulsing beat from the music in the street, his hips swiveling, beckoning, teasing. Pelvic thrusting, then retreating, Will dances a slow circle around Jack, stopping half way to breath instructions into his willing pupil’s ear.



“That’s it, Jack. Step, step, hip back, knee straight.” The words are hot on his neck, Will’s hand fluttering at his side. “No, push back when you step, like so.” Will reaches around and places his palm against Jack’s hip, swiveling it back. A teasing touch of hardness is pressed against him before Will once again moves away.



Will is back in front, eyes locked on Jack’s. “They say that the very air one breathes in Havana contains a deadly magic, inescapable and irresistible.” His hips swing forward, back, forward back, forming a tantalizing figure-eight of magic all their own. Fingers splayed, Will runs his palms down the length of his body, moving closer, brushing the hardness of his cock against Jack’s.



“There is something about the rumba so reminiscent of voodoo,” Will muses, eyes half closed, circling once more behind Jack, who has forgotten his owns steps in the intoxicating movement before him. “It conjures up drums beating in a misty valley, of dances around the bonfire, which once known, once sensed…can never be forgotten.”



“If you want to understand el secreto del amor aqui, the magic that is Havana, you must learn the rumba.”



Jack can only agree.