Hello Dahlia Ch. 01

I have been a nomad for most of my life. I am a project manager for a medium-sized international construction company based in the Midwest United States. The company is based there, but I spent very little time there. In the past 20 years I have been home for perhaps two or three of those years.

I spent two years building a paper plant in Indonesia; 18 months building a solid waste treatment facility in Vietnam; almost five years on a series of natural gas processing plants in Nigeria; two years on a wastewater treatment plant in Serbia, and more than three years on a housing development in Equatorial Guinea.

There were more, but I won't bore you with my knowledge of third world geography. Suffice it to say there was very little time to have a relationship, let alone raise a family. The fear of disease in disease-ridden countries made even one-night stands undesirable.

A project manager who can get things done in the most difficult circumstances is paid quite handsomely, and I am one of those. I always get the most difficult or fucked up projects. Since most of my expenses are paid, I accumulated a significant bank account over the years. A couple of years ago, when I celebrated my 54th birthday, I decided that it was time to slow down and spend some of my hard-earned money. I flew to the main office to meet with the company owner to tell him that when I finished my current project near Bangkok, I was going to retire and enjoy life. A few days later, I was back in Thailand wrapping up construction of a water treatment plant and looking forward to spending time on a lake trying to catch fish (but not really caring if I did or didn't).

One day, a couple weeks after I returned to Thailand, the owner of the company showed up at the job site. He told me that he had a project on the brink of failure and that he would regard it as a personal favor if I postponed my retirement long enough to salvage it. It was in Mexico and should take less than two years to complete. He would pay me $1.5 million (about 50% more than my regular salary) to complete it, with a $250,000 bonus if I got it done within 18 months (when the grace period on the loan expired). I asked him when he wanted me there, and he told me that immediately was not soon enough. We shook hands and I briefed my assistant, anointed him as my replacement, packed my bags and traveled to Mexico for the job that would be my last.

It took 22 hours to travel from Bangkok to Monterrey, Mexico (Bangkok to Tokyo to Houston to Monterrey). On the plane I read the project file and realized that I should have demanded more money. The project was tied up in legal red tape because the contracts were not properly drawn and there was no clear title to the land, yet construction was well underway. Contractors were getting paid standby rates to sit on their asses and do nothing. All this combined to make the project woefully behind schedule.

As soon as I dropped my luggage in the hotel, I took a shower and then called the Mexican law firm representing our company and asked if I could come in right away. When I arrived at the office, I was taken to a conference room. A few minutes later, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen walked into the room and into my life. She introduced herself as Dahlia Rivera Lada, shook my hand and offered me her cheek for a kiss, a traditional Mexican greeting between men and women.

She appeared to be in her early-thirties, dressed in a conservative suit with a skirt that came just above the knee and was slit about four inches up the back. Her high-heal shoes made her long legs look great. Under the her jacket, she wore a cream colored silk top that showed enough cleavage to create interest, but not enough to be considered unprofessional.

Other than showing off her cleavage, her attire camouflaged her figure, but it could not hide her face...her face was incredible. She was certainly like no Mexicana I had ever met: blonde hair, high cheekbones and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Her smile was absolutely radiant. She was about 5 foot 11 inches, but least four inches of her height came from the sexy high-heal shoes she wore.

I gathered my composure and introduced myself. She spoke English with just a hint of an accent. I complimented her on her command of English and she explained that she grew up in California, so she learned English at an early age. She took a seat on the opposite side of the table from me and we got down to business and poured through the contracts. Although I speak and read Spanish, the documents were in "legalese" Spanish and they could have been written in Russian for all I understood.

Dahlia, came around the table, and sat to my right. I tried to read the contracts and she tried to help me understand the complex language, but I had a hard time focusing because her perfume was intoxicating. Even though we kept a respectable distance I could still feel her nearness. Whenever I turned to look at her, or she reached across me to point out something in the documents, her blouse would gap and I could see her white frilly bra and the tops of her milky white breasts.

We eventually got through the contract, but it was after 8:30 and we were the only ones left in the office. I was starving and tired (I had been up more than 30 hours), but had no idea where or what to eat. More importantly, I did not want to end our meeting.

"Dahlia, do you want to get something to eat? Something fast and light?"

"David, this is Mexico...nothing is fast and light, but I know of a place you might like."

We ended up at a small restaurant near the office. During dinner, I discovered an excellent beer call Sol, ate some very good Mexican food (tacos in Mexico are quite different than tacos in the States), and engaged in some very good conversation.

She asked me about my family.

"I've never been married", I told her. "A long time ago I came close, but my life style strains even the strongest relationships. It certainly makes building one impossible. So I live parenthood vicariously through my sister's kids. How about you?"

"I've been married six years and have one son...four years old."

"Well, come on," I said. "You must have pictures."

I have never known a woman that does not carry pictures of her children. I have also known that the way to a woman's heart is through her children. Dahlia was no exception. She showed me more than a dozen photos of her and her husband and son. I had to admit, little Juan Carlos was pretty cute.

I saw something in the pictures that told me something was wrong. In all the pictures of just her and Juan Carlos, she smiled broadly and seemed very happy. Whenever her husband was in the picture, she looked different; there was a sadness in her eyes that was unmistakable.

"What does your husband do?"

"He is a cardiologist here in Monterrey. He is quite successful and has his own clinic." Even those words seemed strained and practiced. She may have been married, but she was not happy.

After about an hour, and despite my best effort to stay awake, I had to go to bed. Dahlia offered to drive me to my hotel.

I told her I needed to rent a car to go to the jobsite the next day to see for myself what was happening. She said that she had never been there and offered to drive me. If she had been a man, or if this were any other country, I would have thought that this lawyer was trying to increase billable hours, but the thought of spending another day with Dahlia made it alright, even if she did bill me.

As we said goodnight, I kissed her on the cheek. Her smooth skin and the scent of her perfume filled my head. I did not want the moment to end.

When I got to my room, I stripped off my cloths and got into a bed for the first time in nearly two days. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and started to dream of Dahlia. The dream was as vivid as a movie.

In my dream, she picked me up at 8:00 in the morning, but instead of going to the site, she took me to her home. I had never seen it before, but I seemed to know all about it. I studied the personal photos, which included dozens of the two of us in various parts of the world.

She came out of the kitchen with coffee and set the tray on the table. She reached up and kissed me as passionately as I have ever been kissed; her lips were soft and tasted of strawberries. Our tongues met and danced as I reached down to her ass and pulled her to me, my ever hardening cock pressing against her.

Suddenly, she was lying on her stomach on the bed, wearing nothing but white thong panties, and I was messaging her back. As I moved my hands down to her waist, she lifted up as though it was an invitation to remove her panties.

As I slid them down her legs, she rolled over and said, "Make love to me."

Now I was naked and I moved up her body, kissing her tummy, tits, throat, neck, ears and lips. I slid down slightly and took a waiting nipple into my mouth.

She reached down, took my cock in her hand and...

...and that is when I woke up. I looked at the clock on the night stand: 3:14 AM. There was no way I should be awake, but a combination of the jet lag, the dream and the thoughts of a day with Dahlia were preventing sleep from returning. I pulled out my computer and went to a couple of my favorite porn sites and jacked off, thinking that maybe it would relax me, but it only made me more alert.

Finally, I outlasted the night as the sun began to brighten the sky over the mountains to the east of the city and then finally rose over the crest. I got into the shower and stood for a long time under the steaming deluge of water.

I dressed in my standard work apparel...jeans, work boots, a dress shirt and tie... and waited for Dahlia in the lobby of the hotel. She arrived right on time, and I jumped into the passenger side of her Jeep Liberty. I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She wore a short jean skirt which was hiked up nearly to her thighs as she sat in the driver's seat. Her tight, dressy, red tee shirt clung to every curve. I could see that she was wearing a bra, but her nipples still pushed through the fabric and were subtly on display. I thought she was beautiful the day before, but that morning she proved that she was incredibly sexy as well. My cock began to stiffen again.

She put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot. We had about a 90 minute drive to the job site. We started by talking business, but soon we were sharing personal details of our lives.

She told me that she had dual citizenship; she was born in California and lived there until she was 18. After she graduated from high school near San Diego, she moved back to Mexico to go to college. She spent her final year of college in Paris and then returned to Monterrey to attend law school.

She told me that her father was worried about her being in Mexico by herself, so he asked a friend of the family to look out for her. Little did he know that the family friend, 20 years her senior, would sweep her off her feet and they would eventually get married.

The marriage was rocky from the start, and had she not become pregnant, she would have left Javier (her husband) a few years ago.

She did not have the classic Mexican complexion (dark skin, brown eyes and black hair) so I asked her about her heritage. She told me that both her parents were of German decent. They were part of the Mennonite community near Chihuahua until they left the group to become more independent. They immigrated to California where her father picked tomatoes and her mother worked as a seamstress. They saved their money and soon her father had a nice little landscaping business in San Diego. There was not enough money for her to go to college in the States, so she came back to Mexico.

I told her that my life was one of moving from one depressing third world country to another, eating bad food and drinking bad water and associating with bad people. No wife, no kids and no real life of my own.

She stopped me. "Wait a minute. It seems you have insulted both my country and me in one sentence."

I really felt like a bigot. "Oh no," I replied. "The only reason I came to Mexico for this project was that it assuredly is not third world and I am getting paid a lot of money. As for the people, I guess I have to find out about them for myself."

"Well, maybe I can convince you that we Mexicans are a fun-loving and passionate people."

With that she repositioned herself in the driver's seat, which caused her skirt to ride up even higher. I could occasionally catch a glimpse of her crotch, covered by red satin, a color that matched her shirt.

I made a show of looking at the scenery, but in my mind I was turning over whether she was flirting with me, or whether I was imagining things.

When we got to the job site, there was very little activity. Where there should have been more than 300 people working, I could only count about 20. I talked to my construction supervisor and found that because of the land dispute, we were prevented from doing any work except where there were no land issues.

Then I talked to the representative of the client while Dahlia translated when I could not understand what he was saying. It took about five minutes to figure out that he did not have a fucking clue about anything, and that he was the guy that was screwing up the project. I got an immediate sense that this was a problem could be solved with a couple hundred thousand pesos.

The first words that a person learns in a new language are the curse words. I tried to yell at the guy, but my Spanish vocabulary of curse words was not good enough to make an impact. This is when I learned that Dahlia was not afraid of confrontation.

Dahlia managed to cut loose with every Spanish profanity I knew and several that I did not. The egotistical SOB who was screwing up this job and looking for money to do it right, cowered in front of this stunningly beautiful woman with a killer body.

When we first arrived at the job site, everyone wanted to be near this sexy woman. After about an hour, everyone wanted to be as far away as possible. She was my kind of woman.

After a few hours, we headed back to Monterrey. During the drive back, we talked a little about business but mainly got to know each other. I told her that this was my last job before I retired, and that I may do some consulting, but that I will be done moving from job to job.

"Retire!" she exclaimed. "You can't be old enough to retire!"

"Well, not now, but by the time I finish this job, I will be 56 years old. I have worked all my life for others and now it is time to build a life for myself."

"My God, you are older than my husband!! I would never have guessed that. You seem so much younger."

"Hey, if you keep saying things like that, this old man might try to show you how young you make him feel!!"

After a few moments, she replied, "Well, that might be fun."

I did not know what to make of that statement, either, so I let it pass. Too soon we arrived at my hotel. She asked me if she could change clothes in my room because she had a meeting later. I agreed immediately, and she grabbed a small bag and a hanger with clothes similar to what she was wearing yesterday when we met: very professional and very conservative.

When we arrived at my room, I snapped on the light and opened the bathroom door. She went in and closed the door, but not completely. Through a series of reflections in the mirror in the bathroom and one in the living area, I could catch occasional glimpses of her as she changed clothes.

My first glimpse came after she had slipped out of the jean skirt and tee shirt. She passed into my line of sight wearing nothing but a red bra and matching thong. The contrast was striking, given her light skin tones. She turned and I could see that the tiny fabric in back disappeared into the crack of her ass; and oh what an ass it was! It was toned, muscular and proportioned just right. It was an ass that could crack walnuts.

She disappeared from view again and when I saw her next, she was nude. Her tits were not as large as the bra she wore made them look. I would say that they were on the small side of a C-Cup. They were firm and I saw no sag. Her nipples were firm with dark, medium sized areolas as background for her nipples.

I also confirmed that she was a natural blond. Her pubic hair was full and untrimmed. (I personally like it shaved or at least closely trimmed. It makes it easier to eat pussy, which is something I really enjoy. But, given the overall appearance of Dahlia, I could become accustomed to a wild bush.)

She disappeared behind the door again and when she reappeared, she was wearing a very lacey white bra and matching panties. A minute later, she came out of the bathroom professionally and conservatively dressed in a light colored floral print dress that appeared to wrap around her and tie at the side.

She held up a pair of stockings and asked if she could sit on the bed to put them on "There just isn't room in that tiny bathroom." She sat on the bed, put her heel on the edge and slipped the silky stockings onto her delicate feet. She raised her leg as she slid the first one up to her thigh; the dress slid to the side, exposing both her leg and the white panties. She did the same with the other stocking.

She put her stockings on with a flare and expertise I have only seen in the movies; no hint of uneasiness or embarrassment. She slipped on her shoes, kissed me lightly on the lips and was off to her afternoon appointment. I stood at the door for several moments and let the thoughts and visuals of today burn into my memory.

I was still jet lagged, and did not get much sleep the previous night, so I laid down to rest. It was not long before I drifted off to sleep with Dahlia in my thoughts. When I awoke, it was just starting to get dark and I could not get the sight of her naked body and the seductive way she put on her stockings just a couple of hours ago.

My hardening cock was once again aching for attention. This time I did not need to look at porn; the vision of Dahlia was all I needed for a gratifying orgasm.

The days and weeks passed as the project started to come together. I got myself a decent apartment, bought a pickup and finally got a feel for my new job.

I met with Dahlia three or four times a week, and we had dinner at least once a week. Together we resolved the contract issues and I even negotiated a little more money for the job, based on some very simple change orders that the client requested.

As the situation improved, our relationship moved from professional to personal as we spent a great deal of time talking about our hopes and dreams. We were quickly becoming friends. To get to know someone, I have always used a technique of asking personal questions. "Tell me about the first person you had a crush on. What was the worse punishment your father ever did to you? If you could travel to country in the world for a month, where would you go?"

Whenever our conversations got too intense and unsettling for her, she would break the tension by asking me some very personal questions: "Do I enjoy anal sex? (Not really); Do I like women to be shaved or natural? (Shaved); Do I like getting and receiving oral sex? (Absolutely); Do I like rough sex or tender sex? (It depends on the situation); Have I ever been with more than one woman at a time? (No, but if you want to arrange something...)"

She was truly an intriguing woman.

One day I asked her if she missed anything about the USA. She told me that she missed outdoor barbeques. I decided that I missed a good barbeque, too, so I planned to have one for a select group of people from the site, a couple of subcontractors, my accountant and, of course, Dahlia. I smoked ribs and a huge beef brisket, made some Texas Baked Beans (with Thai spice, something I picked up on my past job), corn on the cob, and Cole slaw. I think everyone was quite surprised that I could cook, but the real surprise was mine after all the guests had gone home.