Of course I did

“Did you want to kiss her?” Alison asks again, and I realize that I may as well be honest.

“Of course, I wanted to.” I admit as much to myself as the inquisitive teen. “She was beautiful, in a sexy dress and she was pressed against me in that dark coat room.”

“And sweet, innocent and in trouble too.” Alison adds with a knowing smile. “You like that, don't you Mr. P?” What could I say? It is what I found so damn sexy about Alison, but I don't want to sound like some creeper. “Don't worry, Mr. P,” Alison seems to read my mind, “I know you're a big teddy bear, but this is your fantasy, right? So, I need to figure out what is going to make it perfect.”

“Really, Angel,” I do my best to stop her before she gets carried away. “You don't have to make a big thing out of this.”

“What else do I have to do.” She shrugs her slender shoulders, “Before Covid, I used to work thirty hours a week, now I'm just sitting around and getting chubby.” That last line makes me chuckle, but my tenacious tenant is not letting the subject drop. “You said Catalina's family was Mexican, right?” I nod good naturedly as I sip at my morning coffee. “Probably just as conservative as my folks are, so I expect she was a practicing Catholic.” She traced her fingers along the 'V' of her neckline. “And that she had a little gold crucifix nestled sweetly between her plump breasts?” I nod silently; I can still remember staring at the golden cross hanging from the thin chain.

“Think about how hot it would be if your kisses got a little out of control and when you pull her top down, the symbol of her devotion and purity is now fully visible between her cream-colored titties.” Alison is wasting her time as a business major, with her vivid imagination she should go into creative writing.

“Don't you have to get going?” I glance at the clock hopefully, but Alison brushes away my attempt to send her off like an annoying mosquito.

“Then again, Mr. P, she might not be as pure as all that.” She takes a small sip of her coffee as I wait impatiently. “I heard that in Latino cultures that girls are considered 'of age' when they turn fifteen,” she must sense my discomfort with the direction this is going because she stops me with a raised palm. “I know, Mr. P, but that is what the quinceañera is all about, it's a coming out ceremony, right?”

“It doesn't mean that they start sleeping around, at that age.” My tone must harden a little, because Alison rests her hand on mine and I remember that we are sitting in a public area.

“I'm not saying that your Catalina was a slut, Mr. P, but maybe her family used their pretty daughter to curry favor with important visitors.” She pauses for effect before leaning a little closer. “Or maybe her parents weren't even given a choice.”

“What?”

“Once she turned fifteen, as pretty as she was, she'd start attracting attention.” Alison's big eyes meet mine without flinching, “You know, **** dealers, loan sharks or gang-bangers that could make life impossible for that hard-working couple unless they make their pretty daughter available.” She licks her lips as she slips a little deeper into this dangerous line of thought. “It's awful, but it happens all the time, especially in Chauvinistic third-world cultures like that.”

I recognize that Alison is just repeating nonsense that she probably heard from Laura Ingram or Tucker Carlson, but it still pisses me off. In spite of having a well above average intellect and a genuine caring heart, my lovely tenant is still all too ready to believe the worst about her fellow Americans. Alison, apparently unaware of my irritation however is still going on about the poor girl's fate.

“I imagine that many of her 'Uncles' would want Catalina to wear her fancy quinceañera dress when she is delivered to their homes.” Alison reaches across the table to take my hand in hers. “She'd look just like a fairytale princess.” I remember seeing pictures of Catalina's quinceañera, and she had looked like something out of a Disney movie.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” At least some of the anger in my voice is directed inwardly, because in spite of knowing better I am a little excited by the scenario Alison has laid out.

“Easy, Mr. P.” Alison must sense that she is on thin ice, “I was just thinking how grateful your lovely student would be if you were the white knight that saved her from that kind of awful sexual exploitation.” When she puts it that way, it makes it sound a little better. It still bothers me but compared to what I've been up to the past few weeks, it's forgivable. Alison folds her hands demurely on her lap before asking the loaded question.

“So, what do you think?” She asks as if she is chatting about Sunday's game, “Is it better to corrupt an innocent virgin who's never even been kissed, or to have an experienced Latina hottie who is willing to use everything she knows about pleasing men to thank you for saving her?”