The Eyes of a Desperado

By Jennie

As long as I live I will never forget him.

I have a husband to die for and three beautiful children, my singing career is soaring and I am infinitely happy. My life has gone just the way I have always dreamed it would.

But I will never forget that man, the look in his eyes, the deep pain I could read in his soul.

I only knew him for fifteen minutes, I never even got his name, and yet the memory of him is branded into me and it will never go away.

It was a painfully hot day as I walked through Santa Cecilia - Coah; the Mexican wind, smelling faintly of spices and dust, was playing gently with my hair. The unforgiving sun was high in the sky and I could feel its warmth on my skin.

I remember it all so clearly, the sound of my shoes on the pavement, the smiles of the children playing outside the houses.

My heart went out to him as soon as I saw him...I was his.

Five foot ten, slim and sleek, his shiny brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, revealing his hot cinnamon complexion and his beautiful, dark chocolate eyes.

He was drop dead gorgeous, and I felt heat stirring under my skin and swirling in the very depths of my womanhood, but that isn't why I went over to him.

It was the desolate look in his eyes, the fact that this gorgeous, frighteningly virile hombre was sitting alone on the curb clutching his guitar case, looking for all the world like a lost and hurt child.

I was only twenty at the time, gentle at heart, a well-behaved family girl, and I was unsettled by the fire he was lighting in me, but my instinctive need to care for all hurting people made me walk right up to this beautiful stranger.

"Todo bien señor?" I asked him gently.

His eyes lifted from the pavement and looked straight into mine, making my head spin.

Pain stirred in them like ripples on the sea and he moaned softly, and then looked back down at the floor.

To my amazement and dismay I saw a single tear roll down his soft cheek. I had never seen a man cry, and it wrenched my heart.

Too involved now to walk away, I sat down on the curb beside him.

"Señor, are you ok? What's wrong?"

He gave a quick, bitter laugh and two more tears trickled out from behind those long dark lashes.

I cant believe I dared a gesture of such intimacy with a total stranger, but I couldn't bear seeing his sweet face contorted in pain, and I reached out to take his hand.

In a flash he grabbed my wrist and held it tight, looking straight at me with what had turned from pain to anger. I shrank back like a frightened kitten, and immediately his face softened.

"I'm sorry señorita"

The sound of his voice was my downfall, it was like melted chocolate, soft and deep and sultry.

"It's not your fault, querida" he sighed with infinite sadness, and he moved his hand from my wrist to take my hand in his, entwining his fingers in mine.

I couldn't believe that shy little Ana was sitting in the middle of the street holding the hand of a strange man, I couldn't believe he was allowing me to be this close to him, not only in a physical sense. Passers by stared, but he ignored them ... it was just the two of us, alone in the city, holding hands and staring into the distance.

I looked down at our hands, liquid heat flowing up my arm from his touch. His hand had a terrible scar on it, which I chose not to wonder about, but his skin was soft and warm, his hold strong but gentle.

"Señor..." I ventured after a while, "what is the matter? Can I help?"

"You can't help querida. No one can help me. I am alone in this, alone!"

"Alone in what señor?"

He turned to look at me again, and tightened his grip on my hand.

"Dulcita ... mi corazon ... you are so sweet. Why do you care for me? Find a man who will love you, who ... leave me alone!"

But he didn't let go of my hand, so I didn't leave.

"Señor..."

I was deeply upset at the anguish I saw in this man, I wanted to help him, but I couldn't think what to say.

He stared deep into my eyes, and I saw tears beginning to well up again. My own eyes were glistening by now.

He looked at me for a long time, as if he were trying to read my soul.

Then he leaned into me slowly, his hand leaving mine to reach gently to the hair at the back of my head, and he softly touched my lips with his.

They were so soft, so warm, their touch so gentle, I felt myself melt into him.

I breathed in his virile perfume as he held my lower lip between his for what seemed like eternity.

He pulled away slightly and touched my lips with the tip of his tongue. It felt like a butterfly had brushed against my mouth.

"Ay, the sweet taste of innocence" he whispered drawing back his head, gazing into my eyes.

I gazed back, lost for words, thoughts and feelings melting into each other as I felt myself slowly drowning in his aura.

It was a truly beautiful, immensely sweet moment, and I saw peace start to flow back into those deep caramel eyes.

Then the atmosphere shattered suddenly as he jumped to his feet.

He started shouting at me "Don't look at me like that! I can't afford to indulge in innocence and sweetness anymore, I cant afford to be at peace, soon I must ... one woman has already died for being a part of my life, do you want that to happen again?"

He was trembling.

Totally bewildered, I just stared up at him wide eyed, and the passion that was surging through his veins was almost tangible.

He reached down for my arm and pulled me to my feet, drew my body close to his and parted my lips with his tongue.

Fire rushed through my body as I opened my mouth to let him into it, my breasts burned as they were pressed close against his taught chest.

His hot, vibrant tongue plunged into my mouth and wrapped around mine, it retreated, then thrust back into me as our lips moved together.

I moaned softly into his mouth, my whole body rising to him with desire, my hips pressed into his, and I could feel the proof of his desire against mine.

I yielded to him, completely at his mercy, and he held me tightly to him.

Our hips ground into each other's, proving the strong desire we both felt to carry out with our bodies what his tongue was enacting.

Just as I'd reached white heat he gently pulled away and looked into my eyes.

The atmosphere that had been broken before returned sweeter than ever.

"Niña," he almost whispered. "I don't want to draw you into the life I am forced to lead ... I don't want to ruin your beauty and your innocence, so we have to say goodbye ... but I will always remember the girl who saw pain and beauty of soul in the eyes of a desperado, and cared"

"Adios mi alma...at night when the demons come I will think of you and find peace ... adios"

And he left me crying softly in the middle of the street.

The eyes of a desperado ... as long as I live I will never forget them.

I hope they never forget me.