My Married Neighbor: Part II

That damn superwoman complex got me again. I stood behind my car in the blazing July heat, both arms covered from elbows to wrists in sweltering plastic as I successfully loaded all of my grocery bags onto my arms, refusing to make multiple trips. I smiled at my brawn for a full three seconds before looking up and noticing my car's tailgate high in the sky, gleaming in the brazen sun. My right hand began to raise but stopped at my wrist. The left was the same. Loading the bags onto my arms was doable but lifting even one to close my trunk required the strength of ten men.

"Shit," I murmured in defeat. 

I looked around me and considered putting the bags on the ground but my stupid stubborn pride just wouldn't let me. Okay, a bit of pride mixed with a bit of laziness as I had no intentions of unloading all of these bags off of myself only to load them back on again after closing the truck.

"Shit." I murmured again. 

I was stuck. 

For half a second I lifted my foot in the air, delusionally believing I could possibly reach the top of the trunk with my toes and slam it shut. With my tennis shoe only half a foot off of the ground, I quickly realized what an idiotic idea that was.

That's when I heard the laughter. 

I swung around to find its source with all intentions to scold my mocker but when I saw his face all hope for speech was lost.

He was sweatier than I was under this sun. He wore black basketball shorts, blue running shoes and nothing else but a string of ear buds that rested around his neck. His sweaty, olive-colored skin called out to me with each reflective glisten in the sun. His hair was thick, a beautiful black and his face was almost as blinding as his body.

"Do you need some help?" he asked with an amused smile. 

"Excuse me?" 

"With your tailgate, I could get that for you."

"Oh, um..." I stuttered, completely lost for words. What was a tailgate? What was help? What were words? What?

"Here, let me."

Penetrating my bubble ever so slightly, he reached his hand in the air and closed the trunk with ease. My eyes stayed fixed on his pulsating bicep. 

A faint, "thanks," escaped my lips, or at least I think it did. It was hard to know anything for sure in this moment.

"Where are my manors?" he asked himself, "Let me take these bags for you."

One moment my arms carried the weight of the world and the next I felt as light and free as a bird.

"Lead the way?" he asked, with no regard for the fact that we were strangers and he was asking for directions to my townhouse, my home, where I live, where he should not be aware of because he's a complete stranger.

"Right this way," I responded without hesitation. 

Pulling my keys out of my pocket, I led him to my unit and thanked God I decided not to be lazy this morning and cleaned up. The air should still smell like the vanilla candle I was burning this morning too. 

We stepped inside and I was right, the room's aroma was warm and inviting. 

This sexy, half-dressed stranger walked straight into my kitchen and placed the grocery bags down on the table with ease. 

"This is the same one we have?"

"Same what?"

"My wife and I, this is the same layout of our townhouse."

"Oh," I replied, desperately attempting to mask my crushed soul. 

He didn't have a ring on. I guess a lot of people took those off while jogging. Damn, jogging!

"Don't do that," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"No need for your face to drop."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't mean to be so forward but, hell, maybe I do. You should know that my wife and I, we have an open marriage."

Instead of my face dropping, this latest revelation almost led to my eyes bulging out of my head and skipping out the room. I tried to keep my cool.

"Well, that's great for you and your wife and all but I, um, I..."

"Find me attractive?"

"Excuse me? I don't even know you!"

"My name is Dallas and you are?" he asked extending his right hand out to me.

I looked down at it hesitantly before offering up my own. 

"Claire, I'm Claire."

"It's very nice to meet you, Claire."

"Likewise, I suppose."

"Now that we know each other, may I be frank?"

"I get the feeling that's the only way you operate."

He smiled.

"I promise you, I'm not usually this brash but when I saw you outside, I knew I had to meet you."

I had to look away from him as the blood flooded my reddening cheeks. 

"Why is that?"

"You're beautiful, Claire, but you must know that."

"I do. I didn't know I was beautiful enough to make strangers want to cheat on their wives but I guess this information is good to know."

"It's open. It wouldn't be cheating."

"What exactly wouldn't be cheating?" I asked coyly, knowing exactly to what he was referring. 

This was wrong. This was all wrong. This man was probably a rapist and a killer and I'd just led him into my home freely! What was wrong with me?! This was wrong. But God, did it feel so right. It was like a fantasy. Granted, the men in my fantasies usually weren't married neighbors of mine but mphf, the way he looked at me. He had me powerless. Even if I did feel power in this moment, I'd hand it over to him willingly. God damn, what was happening?

"If I came back here," he started, answering my question while capturing my eye contact, refusing to let it go, "with your permission of course, and made love to you. That would not be cheating on my wife. That would be me making love to you. She wouldn't have a problem with that."

"How do I know that?"

"Would you like to ask her? You can. She's at home right now, not too far away."

"No, thank you."

"Well then, Claire, if you'd let me, I'd ask if I could come back here. I'd ask you to wait for me with all of your clothes off, seated on your bed, feet tucked under your behind, waiting for me to come find you and make love to you. We live in the same home, I'd find your bedroom easily."

"And...make love to me?"

"That's right."

"Not fuck? You wouldn't fuck me?" I asked.

"Would you like me to?"

I didn't know what to say. I liked being the one asking the questions. I was too afraid to admit how much I wanted all of this just yet. Maybe I'd wake up from this dream before having to. 

"I'm not sure."

"I don't want to fuck you. I want to come back here and make love to you."

"And if I were to allow this, when exactly would you come back here?"

"Tomorrow, at this exact time."

I looked over at the clock on the wall and made a mental note while his eyes remained steadfast on mine.  

"Alright," I whispered in silent terror. 

I had no idea what I was doing or saying or thinking or feeling.

"Alright?"

I nodded my head.

"You'll wait for me? Exactly as I asked you to?"

"I will," I said louder.

He was powerful and I wanted to match his energy as much as I could, whether I was believable or not, I couldn't know but figured I'd try. 

"I very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Claire."

"Likewise."

He took my hand, kissed it simply like a gentleman, a grand juxtaposition against the bold, dominant aggressor I'd just met. 

"Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow."

And he was gone. 

Loving Luke

We were at a new club tonight. This place was hot. The dance floor was packed, drinks were flowing, and bodies were touching. Steve and Saundra were all over each other, as usual. They sat next to me and Luke but I’m sure they didn’t notice us there, or anyone else for that matter. Eventually, they drifted off to the dance floor. Bob Marley moved bodies as he asked his “little darling” to “stir it up”.

Suddenly, I felt Luke’s strong arm wrap around my waist, his hand resting my thigh. His touch made me involuntarily readjust.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, the cool of his fresh breath tickling my ear.

“Sure,” I responded, casually.

We stood, made our way to the dance floor, not too far from Steve and Saundra and grooved to the music together. His touch shouldn’t have made me nervous. His gaze shouldn’t have sent chills down my spine. I’d known him for more than a decade. We were friends, good friends.

Twelve years ago my best friend Saundra and I were freshmen at Roosevelt High. One particular Saturday night we were raiding Saundra’s closet, looking for the most “grown up” outfits we could find, painting our nails and trying out different hair dos. I’d heard some juniors in my Trigonometry class talking about this hot party Steve Nichols was throwing this weekend. Being the weird, genius freshman in all junior and senior level classes did have some perks. I ran and told Saundra right away. Steve was her neighbor, just four houses down; we wouldn’t have to ask our parents for a ride, we wouldn’t even have to tell them. We could plan one of our usual sleepovers at her house, slip out when her parents weren’t looking and if anything went wrong we’d hurry back and just tell them we went for a walk or something. The night was bound to be perfect.

“What do you think of this one?” Saundra asked holding up a short, skin-tight, red dress.

“I don’t know. It might be a little much. Besides, there are no straps, how are you going to hold it up?” I asked playfully.

“Forget you,” my best friend responded, throwing the dress at me with a laugh.

“Okay, for real. We have to be smart about this. We can’t walk in there looking like freshmen that’re trying too hard.”

“But that’s what we are.”

“Yeah, but they don’t need to know that!”

I searched the entirety of her closet.

“Here, these are perfect!”

I pulled two pairs of skinny jeans off of the overhead shelf and tossed a pair to Saundra.

“Now we just need the perfect shirts.”

“How about this?” Saundra asked, holding a pink tube top against her chest.

I rolled my eyes and obliged. Who was I to put out her spark or dampen her excitement? When your best friend wants to look like a baby prostitute, you let her!

“Do you think we can look in your sister’s room for her black rolling stones t-shirt?” I asked.

“Why would you want to wear that? It’s all torn and faded.”

“It will make me look edgy and plus, I like the Stones!”

“You are one odd, little, black child,” she teased.

“Ha. Let’s just get the shirt before your sister catches us in her room.

Fully clad in our self-defined outfits of absolute crazy, sexy, cool, we were ready to tiptoe our adolescent asses out onto Saundra’s back porch and down the street to the party.

It was better than anything I could have expected. We were the only freshmen there but no one said anything to us or kicked us out like Saundra was afraid of, there was not one adult in sight and I could have sworn I smelled beer.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice spoke behind us, making us both jump. It was the party’s host.

“Do I know you?” he asked as we turned to face him.

“Um,” I said.

“Er,” my best friend said.

He smiled at our innocence. He asked my name and I told him. Those were the last words between us that night. From that moment on he had eyes for no one but Saundra.

“Could I get you a drink?” he asked her.

“Sure,” she replied, bashfully.

The rest was history. They’d fall in love deeper and deeper every day from that moment on. They were perfect. It was gross. I pretended not to care.

It was only moments later that I met Luke. Abandoned by my bestie, I stood alone at the punch bowl trying my hardest not to look lost.

“Are you in my Trig class?” he asked, suddenly standing right next to me.

“What?” I said, jumping a bit and dropping the punch bowl ladle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“In my Trig class.”

“Oh, yeah, um, yes.”

“I thought so.”

He was hard to look at, even harder not to look at. It was damn near impossible not to get lost in his eyes. There was no map accurate enough to get a girl out of that wonderland. Even back then, Lucas Hamilton looked like sex on two legs. He was tall, dark and handsome with a blinding smile and magnetic personality.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” he said with his hands raised, snapping me out of my trance.

“Huh? What? Tell you what?”

“I asked what your name was.”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Olivia.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m Luke.”

“I know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I, um, I, I heard someone calling your name earlier.”

“Of course,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Do you know Steve?” he continued.

“No. I don’t, I don’t really know anyone here. I don’t exactly belong here.”

“Hey, any fan of the Stones is a friend of mine and I was in charge of half of the guest list so, Olivia…”

He held out his hand to me.

“…will you be my guest?”

My heart fell out of my vagina.

As if in slow motion, my left hand reached out to him. Before I could make contact with the man I would love for the rest of my life, a petite ball of blonde bubbliness literally leaped into his arms. He had no choice but to catch her.

“Luke! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she said, her legs now wrapped around his waist.

“Hey, Chrissie,” he said, cupping her ass and not putting her the fuck down.

If I had a gun, I would have shot her. Okay, I wouldn’t have, but still.

She lowered her head and whispered something in his ear that plastered an instant smile on his face.

Yep, definitely would have shot her.

He carried her off and turned back to me.

“Have some more punch and don’t forget; you’re my guest. If anyone messes with you, you let me know.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I spent the rest of the night sitting outside of a closet, waiting for Saundra and Steve to stop sucking face so we could go.

Luckily, unluckily, okay maybe luckily for me, Steve and Luke were best friends. As Steve and Saundra got closer and closer, Luke and I spent more time together by default. We were the best friends left behind. I was his instant consolation prize. He, my instant target for unrequited love.

It’s been twelve years of pure torture.

He’s the player type meaning, he’s a downright player. He used to ask me for advice about girls but after Maxine Shell broke his heart back in college, he didn’t need any more advice; he knew how to play the game. Treat girls like shit, they will yell at you, then sleep with you, then you leave them, rinse and repeat. He was the ultimate bad boy, the asshole that stupid girls couldn’t stay away from. His behavior was nauseating but through it all we remained friends. I could see through his bullshit. Everything that lied right past the façade was beautiful and pure…and still fine as hell. Those were the parts I focused on.

“Where did you go?”

“Huh?”

I snapped back to reality. I was back on that dance floor, back in his arms, back in this present moment that didn’t feel too much different from standing in front of that punch bowl all those years ago.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” I said.

“I know. I like it.”

“When I think?”

 “When you get lost like that. I always wonder where you go.”

“Oh please,” I responded playfully, pushing him away from me.

He pulled my back into his arms and held me tightly, our bodies melting to one and moving together.

“I mean it. I wonder what you’re thinking all the time.”

“Luke, you and I both know the only thing you’re ever wondering about is the color of this chick’s thong or what line would work on that chick’s tiny brain.”

He laughed with me, knowing it was true.

“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

“No one knows you like I do. So, stop tryna front.”

Yes, ma’am,” he replied with nothing more than that dazzling smile that makes my knees go out every time, every damn time.

He held me tighter. He had to.

The air was thick, my head was spinning and I needed a minute.

“I’m going to get some water from the bar, you want anything?” I asked.

“No, I’m alright.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Try not to fall into an entire sea of pussy while I’m gone.”

“Fuck you, friend.”

“Fuck you too.”

Her name was Olivia. She’d been my absolute best friend for twelve years and she had no idea how much I loved her.

Lily

We’re at the airport going through security, taking off our shoes and belts, putting them back on, waiting to board, and finally listening to the flight attendant inform us on how to survive if this baby goes down. This is what I assume the rest of the passengers are doing at least. I am completely distracted. I pray the flight goes smoothly because I couldn’t tell you where my floaty device thingy is located. My mind is on a trip of its own.

I remember when my husband told me we were moving to Louisiana. He, of course, did not just tell me. He “discussed it” with me, although it sure did feel like telling. Something about his firm wanting to expand in uncharted waters, something about me needing a break and not having to work so hard, something about starting a family. That was when the room started to spin.

I loved my husband; I wanted a family, but I also loved my job and my life in the city. I’d lived in big cities since I was a child in Los Angeles. My biggest adjustment was moving to New York for college. It took time but city life was city life. New York was just bigger and faster. I fit in perfectly. How I was going to survive in Louisiana, I had no idea. But like I said, I loved my husband. Only three months after this “discussion” we were off to the Bayou. I think that’s what they call it. I’m not too sure.

Sensing my nerves, he reaches over seat 26B into 26A, takes my hand and tells me everything will be fine. His voice fades into a distant buzz in my ears. The vibrating noise turns my mind to the bugs I have yet to meet. I am moving to the South, to the Bayou and I haven’t even considered the bugs. I almost yell out for an emergency landing.

Three weeks later we’re efficiently unpacked as if my husband and I and all of our belongings have been nestled here for decades. He’s off to work and I’m on my own. I see neighbors through the banana yellow curtains approaching with welcome slash “let me get a good look” at you pies. Without hesitation, I sneak out the back door to pursue whatever adventure I can find.

Five minutes and about twenty weeping willows later, I come across a small white shack labeled: Bruce’s BBQ. I go in, order a sweet tea and take a seat. The heat is already sweltering and I need a hide out from the mob. I take a seat in the back corner booth and hear the bell above the door ring. One look at the figure moving through that door and feelings I haven’t acknowledged in over ten years come flooding back.

She wears a short, white cotton dress that clings to her body in the heat. Its hint of transparency instantly excites me, scares me. Her skin glistens and her wavy brown hair flows down her back, thick in the moist air.

That’s when I know.

Vegas was more than just Vegas. It was more than just an intoxicated gift to my husband. Time stands still. I hope the orgasmic moans singing in my head aren’t actually escaping my lips. I can’t turn away from her beauty. 

She sways to the counter and orders; I can’t hear what. A large, sweaty man places meat in a to-go container, tops it with two pieces of bread, closes the container and hands the box to this goddess. The woman in the white cotton dress slides a five-dollar bill across the counter with a quiet, tantalizing, “Thanks”.

Her eyes meet mine. I freeze and can’t look away. Without missing a step she sashays in my direction and asks to join me. With a dry throat I quietly oblige. She smells as sweet as sin. She tells me her name and asks where I’m from. Everyone knows everyone around here. She can tell I’m new. My eyes rest on her mouth as she speaks. It all happens so fast but I’m powerless against her entrapment. Her simple presence makes it clear who I am and what I want.

I am a woman bored with her husband. I am a woman that is curious. I am a woman powerlessly falling in lust with another woman, all within this thirty second span, with this glistening, Creole goddess. I am a woman who is determined to know her, to taste her, inside and out. My husband will no longer have to fear my aversion for the Bayou. Suddenly, this sticky, small town feels like home.

At that very moment, a mosquito lands on my left arm. I watch it suck my blood.