Fiction Fridays

Lily: Part III

I looked down on the napkin, adorned in her address written in perfect cursive: 15 Elm Street. She was only two blocks away. 

Dale was out the door before I even woke up this morning. Our time together last night left my body tired as my mind still raced. My loving husband left behind a note on his pillow simply stating: I love you. In the kitchen, there was breakfast: toast, a fried egg and black coffee. I just drank the coffee and left behind the rest. It was big day and my butterfly clad stomach had little room for food.  A part of me felt guilty, having these thoughts about another when I had such a loving partner already. But I couldn't help it. Dale was predictable and stifling. I needed more. I couldn't live in this small town where I was bound to run into Lily again and just wonder what could be. I had to go for it. Besides, Dale would be too busy to notice anyway. 

I wore a short, white cotton dress and strappy black sandals. It was always so hot and sticky here. The thought of ever wearing jeans again was daunting. Hints of perfume emitted from different parts of my body. Hopes were possibly too high but either way I wanted to be prepared.  

Passing Gleeson Ave, one more block to go. My heart pounded as I turned left on Elm and studied the quaint homes for the number 15. Number 11 was a gorgeous yellow cottage, 13 was a darker blue that looked like voodoo was undoubtedly being practiced inside. I could have sworn I saw a chicken's foot hiding in the tall grass of the front yard but I was too chicken myself to double check. And there it was, 15 Elm Street. I'd made it. The house was a bit larger than the rest on the street and the yard was a bit cleaner. Of course. The woman couldn't stray from perfection if she tried. Walking up the veranda steps, I folded the napkin and tucked it neatly in my bra. Knocking on the door, I got my first wiff of cherry pie. 

"You made it!" she exclaimed as she swung open the purple door.

"I made it," I reciprocated, with an uncontrollable smile. 

I opened the screen door and walked past her. Instantly, I picked up on her own pockets of perfume. My mind imagined where particularly she dabbed the fragranced water. She wore miniscule green shorts, a plain black tank-top and bare feet.

"Did you have any trouble finding me?"

"Not at all. You were right; we're very close to each other."

"Uh oh, looks like we'll just have to be best friends now."

We laughed together as we left the foyer and made our way back to her kitchen. The house was airy and bright. She'd decorated everything with a balanced mix of modern design and Southern charm. The cream-colored walls, the light blue accents, the cozy-looking chairs and plush rugs, the smell of pie in the oven, I felt the instant warm welcome of a darling, Southern home. 

"So how are you liking it here so far?" she asked.

"It's definitely not New York but I like it. Seems to be full of surprises."

"Well you never know what you might find yourself enjoying. Surprises can be fun."

"I'm definitely learning this to be true."

"Have a seat. I'll get the pie."

I cleared my throat and followed her instruction. 

"Here we are," she stated, setting down the most pristine cherry pie I'd ever seen in my life.

"That looks amazing! Thank you so much for having me over."

"Of course, love. When I saw you in Bruce's I just had to meet you."

"Really, why's that?"

She sat down across from me and played with the lace on her tablecloth. Her mouth opened to speak but closed just as quickly. 

"I...um, well," she couldn't help but blush.

She continued, "I guess I don't have many friends around here. It was nice to see a new face."

"Oh."

"And besides, you looked absolutely...darling. Your husband's a lucky man."

I cleared my throat.

"Thank you," I said, choking on the words.

"Let me get you some water."

She rubbed my knee and stood from the table. 

One touch and my heart nearly stopped.

"Here you are."

"Thank you."

I sipped.

"Did I startle you?" she asked with unapologetic eye contact.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not shy. I don't apologize for that."

"I don't know what you're trying to imply," I lied.

"Victoria, I find you irresistible."

She touched my knee again.

"Excuse me?"

 

Cherry Dream

Everything about her was welcoming. Looking at her smelled like Thanksgiving dinner. Touching her tasted like warm apple pie. I graze her breasts timidly, my hands slipped under her shirt, while my own body is bare. Her satin blouse feels like my mother’s. I think they have the same perfume as well. Her long rustic hair curls past her shoulders, settling around her breasts, helping me tickle her nipples. She looks at me with love and concern in her eyes. She loves me and is concerned about me. No one else loves me. No one else cares about me or for me.

The sunlight coming through the window kisses her hair so gently it nearly makes me cry. I want to be that sun. She touches my cheek and smiles. She touches my neck and smiles. I flinch and then calm. Her love is overwhelmingly unexpected but too good not to accept.

Now she is naked. Her freckled cream body presented before my smooth brown skin. I want them to touch but it is difficult to move. Maybe I’d take her to the blue light with me. The blue light is where I’m going when I died. We can’t go now because the blue light is dark and her light is too bright for it. It dawns on me that she won’t be able to come with me when I die.  I can’t worry about it. That thought is too heavy. The sunlight intensifies from a kiss on her hair to nearly engulfing her. I focus on one freckle and it is all I can see, the rest of her body just shining a perfect light. The light that comes through the classroom window after an educational film viewing in elementary school on a crisp fall day or the light that’s there when your mother finally comes to pick you up. It’s fleeting but the most intense. A powerful punch before it says goodbye.

 I try to focus on more than one freckle at a time. The sun softens and allows it. Her light lets me in, lets me view most of her. She rubs her hands up and down my arms and her light begins to spread. I feel its warmth travel behind me, on my back, on my backside. It’s not as bright on my skin, though. That’s not possible. I belong to the blue. I’m happy about that but I’m still enjoying her light, its warmth. She holds my hands; her fingers are thin and sensual. I get strong enough to move closer. I look at her stomach and smile. Her breasts lie in the upper corners of my eyes and steal my attention instantly, pink nipples. My tongue goes to them. One lick and I can’t help but cry. She strokes my hair and I descend to my knees. I rest my face onto her waist, nuzzle my nose and smell the skin on her hip bone. It’s warmer than the rest of her body. I wrap my arms around her, resting myself on the cool of her backside.

The winds between her legs begin to blow. They are surprisingly blue, light blue, but still, we are more alike than I thought. She strokes my hair and I am comforted. My ear travels to her belly and I hear the rush. It is coming. I look up to her, a tear diving down my cheek. She whispers, “Go on.” Her legs spread and the winds pick up. There is a single drop and she gasps. I can’t let any more escape; I have to catch it. I place my widely parted lips, plump and ready on her opening and close my eyes, for only a moment. Her light is too beautiful to resist. There is a slight vibration and the blood pours into my mouth, down my throat. I gulp as swiftly as I can, anxious not to miss any. Two streams escape from the corners of my mouth, mixing with my tears. I hate it but still; it’s a small price to pay for the glistening red river feeding my soul: smooth and creamy, salty and fresh. I drink and she loves me. She loves me and cares for me. 

From the Blaxploitation Files: Me and Foxy Brown

So it's our first date. He takes me to a movie. Who doesn't take me to a movie these days, right? We met in sociology class and really connected on this deeper level, you know? It was groovy. I was hoping we could have some dinner or maybe go to the museum or something but... he takes me to a movie. I'm getting pretty damn sick of all these dates and all these movies with people beating the hell outta each other. We went to go see Foxy Brown. My sister said it was righteous so, why not. I've finished my paper so I have nothing else to do. Besides, the brotha is fine!

So I'm ready to go, I got my new cardigan sweater on and the hippest bell bottoms I could find. You know, sophisticated but funky! When he saw the way i was dressed I guess he thought it was a little too sophisticated. He took one look at my sweater and said, "Baby, don't you know we're going to see Foxy Brown!?! You gotta show a little sumthin. sumthin!" I almost smacked him upside the head and shut the door but I'm a lady so I politely said, "Look here, Baby, I am a lady and I dress like one. AND I know I look good!" He responded with an, "Excuuuuuse me, Miss Thang!" We get to the movies and this brotha is on thin ice, okay! I make him buy me two large popcorns, two boxes of candy and a large soda that I did NOT plan on sharing, thank you very much!

I followed him in the theater and the lights went down. I don't know how long it was into the movie before I saw Pam Grier's breasts for the first time. She revealed these two beautiful, brown mountains of flesh and the entire male audience cheered. Some women cheered, some laughed at their dates, some hit their dates, and some closed their eyes. I was stuck in my chair, completely mesmerized. Every time they showed her tits I couldn't help but think about my own! I felt like the entire audience was staring right through my blouse and fondling me with their eyes even though they were all facing the other direction, looking at Foxy. As the movie went on I swear to you I felt my breasts grow into these larger than life mounds that began to cover my face, began to cover my date's face and oh how he loved it! He started fondling my breasts, sucking on my breasts after he would suck the straw in his soda. It was unbelievable! I was appalled by everyone starting at my boobs and this "you know what" sucking on them! I was so appalled because I started to like it!

I popped out of my trance. I looked around and all was normal in the theater. The audience was cheering because some white woman just received her white boyfriend's dick in a pickle jar. I looked down at my chest. I didn't want to, but, I did. My boobs were back to their normal B-cup. I looked at my date who was staring at me like I had 10 heads. He asked if I was alright and I just said, "Of course, why do you ask?" He said i as all sweaty and breathing really hard. I looked at him, carefully, and my heart began to race. I kissed him slowly and I could almost feel my boobs growing again! I told him I was ready to go home, if you know what I mean. When he asked me if I was sure I said, "Don't let the cardigan fool you. I am an erotic beast!" He took my hand and we left.

I don't know what it is about Foxy Brown but that movie introduced me to a more confident, sexual side of myself. It also introduced me to my husband. Every year on our anniversary we watch Foxy Brown before we go to bed.

Loving Luke: Part III

Standing in front of his couch, my heart pounded out of my chest. I could see the blatant rise and fall through this damn dress that was way too tight. What was normally a place of familiarity suddenly felt wildly outside of my comfort zone. I'd been in this apartment hundreds of times but now, standing here, I couldn't tell you my own name, let alone where the bathroom was.

Luke walked over to his kitchen and slid his wallet and keys across the pristine quartz countertop that I picked out for him last year when he bought the place and decided to renovate. 

He turned and stared at me.

I tried to play it cool, tried to steady my chest with a deep breath.

"What's going on, Luke?"

"Tell me you don't think about it."

"About?"

He took a step towards me.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Why are you trying to make me confess something? Don't you get enough attention?"

"You're right. This isn't about how you feel. I already know how you feel about me."

He took another step.

"You do?"

"You make it pretty damn clear, Olivia."

If a black girl could turn red, I'd be red.

"I do?"

"Sure. I know you're not feelin' it anymore but I..."

"You what?"

"I want you so fucking badly."

He was in front of me. 

I wanted to reach out and grab him but the disbelief washing over my body shocked me into stillness. 

"What are you talking about?" I whispered.

"I can't hide it anymore. And I can't take not telling you. I love you. I've always loved you."

I watched his lips as they delivered the words I'd been waiting twelve years to hear. I couldn't believe it.

"Please, say something," he said.

"I can't believe this."

"I'm sorry. I know you don't feel the same. I just had to..."

"I do."

"You do?"

"How could you not know that I do?"

His eyes examined my face for clarity while my eyes searched his for veracity. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"How could I? You were always so..preoccupied."

"I was an idiot. You've always been the one."

"I can't believe..."

His lips wouldn't let me finish.

He kissed me, slowly at first, then passionately, like he'd found water in a desert.

My arms wrapped around his neck while his hands grazed my back before moving south and cupping my behind. 

I returned his passion with my tongue, finding my own water that I'd waited so many years to drink. 

Luke picked me up swiftly, wrapping my legs around his waist, pushing my dress up around my stomach. 

He pulled his face away from mine and I gasped for air. He didn't say a word, just glued his eyes on mine and carried me to his bedroom.

It felt like a dream. 

He sat me down on his bed gently with a sudden tenderness in every twitch of his muscles. As he hovered over me and unzipped the back of my dress, I couldn't help but kiss his chest.

I had no interest in taking my time with him. I started unbuttoning his shirt until I realized there were just too many of them. I ripped the fabric open revealing those perfect pecs and that endless washboard stomach that I'd drooled over for far too long. It was time to make it all mine. 

It didn't take Luke long to notice my blatant rejection of his smooth, slow and sensual vibe. He saw the hunger in my eyes and was obliged to match my speed. 

He finished the removal of his shirt while I clawed at the zipper of his jeans. In no time at all, both his pants and my dress laid abandoned in the corner of his bedroom. 

We collided into each other, hungrily seeking and fervently finding everything we never knew was so readily available all this time. I climbed on top of him, grinding my hips against his girth. His hands grabbed my ass once again and guided my motion. I reached down and slid my right hand under his briefs, freeing the monster that was dying to come out, stretching towards me, wanting me as desperately as I wanted him. God, his dick was perfect. 

Oh shit. 

His dick. 

Was he only offering me his dick? Was his confession of love nothing more than a misconstrued admittance of lust? I could see the two getting confused easily, especially with Luke. He'd never told any woman he loved her before, why the hell would he say it to me? Could I do this? Could I fuck my best friend, knowing his words could dissolve like a morning dew as soon as we both reached orgasmic nirvana? 

I let go of his dick and rolled off of him, creating some distance so I could think.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Is this, you know, all you want?"

"You will always be all I want," he said, stroking my stomach with the tips of his fingers.

"But is THIS all you want from me?"

"If you'll let me," he said rolling on top of me, staring into my terrified eyes, "I will love you for the rest of your life, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. All you have to do is let me."

"I'm scared."

He wiped a tear I didn't know had escaped my eye and kissed me, slowly.

"I understand and that's okay. But, I'm here. I'm here and I love you."

"I love you too, Luke. I always have."

I took his face in my hands and lowered him down for a kiss. Our passions grew once again as we melted into one another. 

We made love until the sun came up, both of our bodies pushed to the brink of exhaustion. For the first time in hours, Luke rolled away from me, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

"So, now that you're my girl," he said, "we're going to need to have a serious conversation about something."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Breakfast. I'm pretty sure you should be making me breakfast."

I laughed and smacked him on his chest, playfully.

"Boy, please. I wish you would even think it. I'll take both butter and jam on my toast, thank you very much. Eggs scrambled, not fried."

"Well, yes, ma'am!"

I laughed with my friend, my best friend, my love. 

 

 

A Knock at the Door

She knocked on the door with a quiet yet fervent panic. If Ryan had been in the bedroom instead of the living room, he probably would have missed her. 

He sat up, hoping the unexpected visitor would realize this was not the apartment they were looking for and go away. It'd been two days since he'd left the apartment. In his state, he had no strength to even open the door. But it came again, the rapid while subdued knocking. 

Ryan groaned as he rolled off of the couch and shuffled to the old door's peep hole. There was a woman standing there. Her hair was messy and her cheek was marked a bright red. She looked up and down the hallway before knocking again. 

Without any further investigation, Ryan knew she was in trouble. He reached for the doorknob but paused. Did he want to invite trouble into his home? He turned and looked at the small, cluttered and downright dirty apartment behind him. He caught his reflection in a small, cloudy mirror that hung alone on the opposite side of the room. His five o'clock shadow was reaching damn near nine thirty. The hair on his head matched the frantic state of whomever this was at his door. He was a mess, a mess with nothing to lose. 

He swung the door open but she was gone. Taking a hesitant step out, he looked to his right and spotted her, hand raised to his next door neighbor's door. Mr. Jenkins was a crotchety old man, never liked to be disturbed. 

"You alright?" Ryan asked her. 

She was startled but took no time to hesitate. As quickly as possible, she moved away from Mr. Jenkins' door and made her way inside of Ryan's apartment. He moved quickly to the side to make room for her in his space. 

"Are you alright?" he asked again.

"Please, close the door," Jessica whispered. 

Ryan obliged. 

"Please, lock it."

He obliged again, without hesitation.

Jessica uncrossed her trembling arms and moved towards the peep hole, practically pushing Ryan out of the way. Her eye searching the hallway frantically as far as it could reach. She didn't see him. He hadn't found her. 

Jessica's heartbeat slowed just a tad. It was close to steady but not quite there. 

"Thank you," she whispered in a quiet fright. She couldn't look at Ryan. She was scared and ashamed. All she could say was, "Thank you."

"Is someone after you?" Ryan asked. "Should I call the police?"

"Please, no police. The police won't help me."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"He's one of them."

Ryan's eyes widened. He searched his apartment for answers and found nothing. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I just..I just ran. I'll go. I'm sorry."

Jessica made a move for the door but Ryan stopped her, holding her hand in his own. She pulled away instantly.

He eyed her face.

"Did he do that to you?"

Jessica lowered her head in shame. 

"Did he?"

She nodded.

"Come, move away from the door."

"He's going to come looking for me."

"I'll keep you safe. Don't worry about him," Ryan assured with unrecognizable confidence. 

"You can't protect me. I shouldn't have come here. What am I doing? I have to go apologize."

"Stop it," Ryan said with a strength that startled not only Jessica.

"You can't leave now," he continued, "We both know what will happen if you do."

She shuddered at the thought. 

"Please, come sit."

Barely able to lift her eyes to meet his strong gaze, Jessica took a seat on the couch. 

"Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"No, thank you."

"It's really no trouble. I was going to make soup."

"Alright, soup then."

As instantly as the first knock that night, there was another, only this one wasn't a quiet panic but a forceful rage. Loud and belligerent, it did not cease. 

Jessica jumped up from the couch, panicked tears rushing down her face. Before she could crumble, Ryan was by her side. He put one hand around her waist, leaned in close and whispered securely in her ear, "I've got you."

His touch made her feel petrified and protected all at once. 

"Go into the bedroom," he whispered again.

Without a word, she went.

Ryan moved towards the door, heart suddenly racing, as Jessica moved out of sight.

The knocking grew in volume. Ryan opened the door, just wanting the noise to stop. 

"Where is she?" he asked straight away, clearly drunk and disheveled. 

"I'm sorry?" Ryan asked, fixating his best poker face across his deceitful facade. 

"My wife, is she here? I thought I saw her come this way."

"Sorry, man. It's only me here, don't get many visitors."

The man stared at Ryan. Ryan stared back, unwavering in the face while the pace of his heart tripled, matching the pace of the heartbeat he could almost hear coming from his occupied bedroom. 

The man stared for one moment more before speaking. 

"Thanks anyway," he said, suspiciously. 

"No problem," Ryan replied, shortly.

He closed the door, his hand remaining on the knob. 

Ryan held his breath. 

Jessica held hers.

Ryan peaked out the peep hole to an empty hallway. 

Slowly, he locked the door, put the deadbolt in place and backed away. 

He moved to his bedroom where he found her seated on the corner of his bed. 

He sat beside her, careful not to startle her. She wept. 

Ryan put his hand around Jessica's shoulders. 

Again, she felt oddly petrified and simultaneously protected. 

"You're safe," he said. "You're safe now."

A Dream

The leaves fell to my face and disintegrated before me. That’s how I knew it was a dream. No matter how much he tried to assure me that he was real, I knew it wasn’t real. I looked deep in his eyes and told myself to remember, knowing it wouldn’t last forever.

I was in my high school. There was an escalator and the bottom and top floors were filled with thousands of people, almost like a stadium. The first sign it was a dream. I went to a large high school but not that large, no schools are that large.

There was a drink in my hand and I couldn’t seem to hold onto the ice tea or lemonade or water or whatever it was and proceed up the escalator at the same time. I had no balance. Awkwardly, I held the cup and tried to sip from the plastic straw while gripping the ascending escalator railing with both hands. I crouched over the side, cup and railing in hands and tried to stand up straight and balance myself. I couldn’t. The top was approaching. I saw two boys that I did actually go to high school with descending casually next to me.They were beautiful, even more beautiful in this world.

I reached the top, nervously. How would I get off of this difficult ride? I stumbled, as I surely knew I would. Stumbling was a common occurrence in my dreams, usually in heels. There were no heels this time but a lack of balance all the same.

My body dropped slowly to the ground as the escalator spit me out onto the top floor of the school. Still gripping that damn cup that I just couldn’t seem to let go of, I let my body fall.

Then, he was there. I had a feeling he would be, simply because this was a highly embarrassing moment. That’s always when they appear, isn’t it?

Suddenly, my high school was no longer my high school. It was my college and the top floor of the high school was now one of the grassy fields filled with trees that covered my college campus. We were outside.

He took my hand and helped me up with a smile. I hated how beautiful his smile was. It was his smile that let me know it was a dream. I hated that beauty because I knew it would flee, when I least expected it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him as we walked through the field.

“I knew you’d be here so I came,” he responded shyly, uncomfortable revealing that truth.

It was hard to believe him. Things that made me blush were always hard to believe.

We walked more and the sensation hit me even stronger. I was fully aware that this was a dream. How strongly you usually don’t know your dreams are fiction is how factually I knew that this would all disappear, that he would disappear. Instead of being sad I instantly told myself to just enjoy it while it lasts.

He knew what I was thinking. I didn’t have to tell him.

“You’re not dreaming. I’m real,” he said, smiling that beautiful, artificial smile, trying his best to reassure me.

His blonde hair was long and scruffy. It settled around his ears and framed his tan face nicely. He looked a bit dirty in his red shirt with white writing that advertised whatever company he worked for. The sleeves were cut off and I could tell he was working hard in the hot sun somewhere before coming to see me. His jeans and boots harbored some specks of color; maybe he was a painter.

In his left hand he held his motorcycle helmet but I didn’t see his bike.

Taking my advice I wrapped both of my arms around his right arm and nestled my face right below his shoulder. The sun glistened on his skin. I inhaled his scent and told myself to remember. Again he heard my thoughts and told me not to worry.

The despair in knowing the dream was a dream became too much weight for me to carry. Letting go of his arm, I dropped to the grassy ground, the sadness shrouding my body with me unable to stop it.

His simulated smile grew into a chuckle as he joined me on the ground, humoring what he perceived to be my dramatic folly.

My face was inches from the ground; the sadness was too heavy and almost pushed my entire head through the grass and dirt. It was too heavy. He stroked my hair and rescued me. I told myself to remember as my head gained some strength. I turned over and lied on my back. The heaviness was easier to bear that way.

He lied down on his back beside me and held my hand. I tried not to cry, tried to focus, tried to remember, store the thoughts for later memories while I was awake.

“What are we doing?” he asked, indulging in the silly fun of this “dream” adventure.

“We’re in the sky now. We’re lying in the sky and looking down on the ground, except, it’s not ground but water. We’re staring at the sea.”

The smiling face turned away from mine and looked up with me as I rolled to my side in order to see what he saw. The waves rippled slowly as a stranded man in a lifeboat washed past our line of sight. This is how I knew for sure that we were indeed in the sky, looking down at the sea. The waves kept passing and I wondered if he could see them, wondered if the sights were the same for him even though it was my dream alone.

“Okay,” he said.

He squeezed my hand and stroked my skin with his thumb.

I told myself to remember as I watched the waves roll by.

Again he read my thoughts and told me not to worry.

I told myself to remember. 

Loving Luke: Part II

luke.jpeg

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

It wasn't just a cliche. With Olivia, it was love at first sight. I'd never seen a girl so gorgeous and smart and down to Earth. That combination was damn near impossible. She was perfect.

She was perfect, but I was sixteen; I knew better than to go there. She was innocent and I had no interest in being innocent. Being her friend was selfish. I got the joy of her company without having to give her more. As much as I recognized her beauty, inside and out, I was too young to know what to even do with all of that. 

In college I could tell it drove her crazy. I'd catch her staring when she thought I wouldn't notice. She was a little too giving and too caring. She behaved the way only a woman in love behaved. It made me feel like shit but what can I say? I was nineteen, twenty, too young and incapable of that sort of reciprocity. College campuses were a breeding ground for bad decisions and I was in no way willing to miss out on my share of scandalous mistakes. 

The one time I tried to have a serious girlfriend, Maxine, she cheated and left without batting an eyelash. She solidified my theory that love was for the birds. Olivia was there for me; to this day, she's the only person to ever see me tear up. I appreciated her too much to risk losing that friendship for a love that I knew would ultimately fail. All love failed in the end and besides, my young dick had other plans.

But none of that matters now. Olivia is a grown woman. She sees through my bullshit and knows better than to want anything to do with me romantically. I don't catch her staring anymore. She's still giving and caring but not too giving, not too caring. She behaves as any other friend would, doesn't get too close, doesn't get too mushy. Like most mature woman she's smart enough to build that wall that protects her from assholes like me.

The only problem is I've grown too. I'm a man now, ready to put childish things behind me. I'm a man smart enough to see the true beauty in front of me. I'm a man in love with his best friend. Unfortunately, I'm also human and terrified of the inevitable rejection that would come with any sort of sentimental confession of love. For years I selfishly accepted her friendship. Now, I cling to it, the only chance I have to be close to her without blowing my cover. I try to suppress the way I feel, make sure not to stare too long, smile too wide, touch too playfully. But, it gets harder every day. I'm a man in love. 

"I brought you a water anyway," she said, returning from the bar.

"Thanks."

"I see you managed to stay afloat in the pussy sea."

"Stranger things have happened. And who knows, maybe this old dog could turn a new leaf."

"Shiiiit."

We laughed together, her from sincere amusement, me with subdued discomfort.

I pulled her close to feel her body and hide my pained expression. I feared if she caught a glimpse of my eyes and asked me what was going on I'd confess my true feelings right there in the middle of that dance floor. Usher singing about what he wanted to do to his own love interest "In This Club" did not help the situation.

Our bodies pressed together and I tried to keep my manhood in check. It was hard to do. She wore a skin-tight, black dress with heels that forced her legs to go on for days. Burying my head in her neck I smelled the perfume she wore all the time. She was intoxicating, always was. We swayed and grooved and grinded to the music. She turned around and pushed her ass against me and continued to move like sex through a valley of sin. What the hell was she trying to do to me? I fought to contain myself. She had me too fucking hard. It was an impossible task. I gave in, refused to put space between us and allowed her to feel my girth. She paused for a split second but then kept on grooving. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pretended she was mine, really mine.

The next thing I knew the lights were on and the music stopped. Closing time already. The brightening room broke my trance and forced me to readjust my dick, no longer protected by darkness.

Olivia stepped away from me and offered up a friendly smile. 

"You need a ride?" she asked, casually.

"No, I, um, came with Steve."

"Well, it doesn't look like you're leaving with him."

She nodded her head towards the crowded exit where Steve and Saundra were making out while making their way out of the door.

"Looks like we've been ditched again, buddy," she continued.

I chuckled.

"What else is new?"

"Not a damn thing," she chuckled with me.

We were both still hot and sweaty. The chilled air blowing through her car window was sobering and refreshing. 

"You're pretty quiet over there."

"Just enjoying this air."

"Sorry if I...ruined anything."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"By dancing with you all night. I was just playing around earlier. I don't want to stand in the way of any, you know, conquests."

"You sure about that?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, slightly blushing.

My heart skipped half of a beat but I continued anyway.

"You never? You know..."

"Know what?"

She sounded almost defensive. Shit, this was a bad idea. 

"Never mind."

We came to a red light and sat in stilled silence. Olivia looked out her window and I looked at her. As her head turned back to check the traffic light I was sure to to remove my gaze in a timely fashion. 

"Do you ever?" she eventually asked, still looking at the light.

"I mean..."

"Because I don't. I meant what I said, I'm really not trying to get in the way."

I took a hard breath.

"Trust me, I know that," I stated plainly.

"Ok, good."

"Great."

Another red light. Another hard silence. I knew she wasn't feeling me like that anymore but damn, she never even thought about it?

"I just don't want you thinking I'm like, obsessed with you, because I'm not. You have enough of these chicken heads running around making you feel too damn special."

"What the hell, Olivia? Are you trying to make me mad?"

"What?! I'm just saying you don't have to worry about me getting in the way!"

"Well, what if I told you I wanted you to get in the way?"

She furrowed her brow in confusion.

"What? Why would you want that?"

I ran my hands over my head and tried to figure out what to say next. Fuck. I was in too deep. Me and my damn mouth. 

"I'm just not interested in it anymore. Girl after girl. Hook up after hook up. I'm tired of that shit."

"If you're serious, Luke, that's great for you. I just don't know what that has to do with me."

I bit my lip and wiped a sweaty palm into my jeans.

"We're here," she said.

"What?"

"We're at your place."

I looked out the window and sure enough we were parked in front of my building. 

"What are you doing for the rest of the night?" I asked her, the words flowing uncontrollably without filter.

"It's 3 o'clock in the morning, I'm going home, Luke."

"Come up for a quick second. I need to talk to you."

I opened the door and stepped out of the car before she could turn me down. Enough was enough. I needed her to know how I felt and I needed her to know now. 

 

Lily: Part II

I barely slept that night. Tossing and turning, my body couldn’t keep still while my mind fixated, steadfast on the woman in the cotton dress, Lily.

Our new bedroom in our new home was hot and sticky, even with the window completely open. Dale attempted to “adjust” the settings on the air conditioner earlier today. The guy will be by any time between twelve and two tomorrow to fix it.

I could hear crickets chirping outside, a persistent soundtrack to my growingly obsessive thoughts. I wondered where she lived. Today when we talked she said, “on Elm”. Where was Elm? Was it close?

It took me the rest of the afternoon to wipe that silly grin off of my face before Dale came home from work. I still couldn’t believe she stopped and talked to me.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked immediately while sitting across from me.

“Yes, my husband and I just moved here from New York.”

“That’s quite the change,” she said in the most seductive, Southern accent, dipped ever so slightly in her own personal delicious drawl.

“Quite,” I replied quietly.

“Where are y’all staying?” she asked.

“Not too far, over on Benson.”

“Not far at all, I’m on Elm. I suppose I’ll have to drop by and bring over a pie.”

“That is so sweet of you. We haven’t met any neighbors yet.”

“Gracious, no, really? Shame on your neighbors. You and your hubby should be drowning in casseroles by now!”

I shrugged my shoulders coyly.

“I would more than appreciate your pie.”

She may have blushed. I know I did, damn word vomit.

“Well, in that case, you’ll be sure to get a big ol’ slice of my famous cherry pie. How’s tomorrow? Will you be ‘round?”

“Yes, tomorrow would be great.”

“Perfect,” she said with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then…my goodness, I didn’t get your name!”

“Virginia.”

“Virginia. What a lovely name. I’m Lily.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Lily.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

We stood and she hugged me, quite the Southern lady. I was startled but no doubt appreciative.

That evening at dinner, I focused all of my energy on Dale’s tale of his first day at the office. My poker face was strong with others but not with Dale; he always knew when something was up with me. I kept my eyes calm and made sure to move my eyebrows and the corners of my mouth up and down in perfect unison with the ups and downs of his day.

Now laying in this bed I was free to let my mind return to its desired subject. The more I focused on her chestnut eyes, her glowing skin and her tight embrace, the hotter and stickier the room became.

My hands trickled down the sheer teddy that clung to my sweating body, and rested on the warmth between my thighs.  Dale, passed out next to me, was quite the deep sleeper. He wouldn’t be disturbed.

With thoughts of Lily swimming through my head, my index and middle fingers circled that spot that these days only I seemed to be able to find. My body wormed its way free from the thin cotton sheet that covered both me and my husband. The slight breeze that managed to accumulate on this hot night reached my body easier. My free hand grazed my cooled nipples while my other was hard at work, each moment fantasizing that these hands were not my own, but hers.

My eyes closed and with each twist my body turned, my mind journeyed back to Bruce’s, back to Lily, back to Vegas. The Vegas trip was my first and last experience with a woman. It was Dale’s thirtieth birthday.

Only because it was his birthday. 

We both worked all the time. The hours we had face-to-face stayed tightly contained between 8 p.m. and 5 a.m.  while we lived in New York. Home at eight, up and out the door by five to catch the train. It was no way for a married couple to live, especially newlyweds, but we were slaves to the office. I figured for the big 3-0 I'd do something special for him, for both of us. I demanded he clear his schedule, knowing it would be just as hard for him as it was for me. 

We arrived in Vegas on a Thursday night and would leave on Sunday morning, giving us ample time to nap Sunday afternoon before getting back to that Monday morning grind. The first night we hit up the buffet and spent the rest of the night on the slot machines. Neither of us were big gamblers so we took it easy, vowed to only do it for one night, didn't need any addictions forming. 

For at least a month before the trip I wrestled with the idea of taking him to a strip club while in Vegas. We'd never been to one as a couple, I'd never been to one at all. I'd never had any desire to watch a woman disrobe; I damn sure couldn't imagine actually paying to watch someone take there clothes off. Dale and I could do that at home for free. But, it was his birthday.

Only because it was his birthday.

On the second night of the trip I went all out. We started with a fancy dinner, followed by a limo ride and a blindfold for Dale. He was hesitant at  first but I rubbed his thigh in the privacy of that tinted vehicle and told him to trust me. A few more rubs that moved further up his thighs, and a suck of the tongue and his nerves calmed while other parts excited. 

We arrived fifteen minutes later. Stepping out of the limo and removing the blindfold, I thought my husband was going to faint right there on the sidewalk.

"You want to go in there?" he asked me.

"Happy birthday," I whispered seductively in his ear. I took a step forward, looked over my shoulder sensually, took his hand and led him inside as if I had a clue of what I was doing. I'd never seen such a monumental smile dance across his face like it had that night, not even at our wedding. 

Sitting in front of the "Main Stage" my husband seemed awfully comfortable while I couldn't help but squirm a bit. How is one supposed to react to a naked lady's parts flapping in your face? The men who looked excited came across as creeps while the stone-faced "cool guys" made me think, "You're not fooling anyone, Buddy." I had no idea where to look or what to do with my hands or facial expressions. I decided to just focus on the pineapple juice and rum I held in my cup. I told the cocktail waitress to keep them coming. 

Even with a growing amount of alcohol flowing through my body, Dale could still sense my discomfort; he always could.

"Come with me," he said, standing swiftly and holding his hand out for mine. 

Without question, I held on to my husband to see where he would take me. That, and my heels were a bit too high and the drinks a bit too strong. Dale gave a large security guard a slight head nod as we walked past a red curtain and into what looked like a much more private area. I'd like it here. I needed a break from all the tits and ass and wanted nothing more than to take off my shoes. 

My husband sat me down on a padded bench tucked away from everyone else in the private area. We were snuggled away in a corner where no one could see us. He sat close and kissed me slowly. I never imagined a strip club could have such potential for romance. 

"Do you trust me?" he asked, in between kisses.

"Of course I do."

"Then I'll be right back."

"What do you mean? Dale, where are you going?"

He didn't respond. Just walked away and left me there, tucked away in that corner, alone. A few minutes later he returned but wasn't alone. He came back with a bikini-clad dancer that looked like nothing I saw on the "Main Stage". She was curvaceous with a plump ass and large breasts. I looked at her and felt something although my mind couldn't process what exactly, couldn't admit to it at that point. 

I looked at her. I looked at him. I figured out what was going on.

"Oh no," was all I could say.

Dale came and sat next to me and asked me once again, "Do you trust me?"

I nodded my head. I knew what was coming. I swore to myself this would never happen again, swore he better engrave this night in his memory because no way it would be repeated. 

Then the music started. A voice sang tantalizingly in French. I couldn't understand one word but I knew I liked it.

With my husband by my side, this woman stood before us and moved her body to the music. I held Dale's hand and stared at her shoes.

She danced in front of us for a mere thirty seconds until the next thing I know she's lifting my chin to meet her gaze and taking my hand away from my husband. She made me touch her stomach, moved my hand up to her breast, cupping her right hand over my left, forcing me to squeeze. She felt good. Too good. I felt shocked and embarrassed as I realized what all the hype was about. Tits were amazing. 

She straddled me and leaned backwards, pussy in my face. She came back up and ran her fingers through my hair. I couldn't move. I couldn't stop her. I had no power here. I prayed she would move on to Dale. It was his birthday after all and he was the man. My prayers would not be answered. I wondered if Dale told her to focus on me. I wondered if he knew I would enjoy this as much as I was. It was definitely a surprise to me. I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to stay forever. I hated that Dale was watching but I was glad he was there. I wouldn't have survived without him. 

Before I knew it, the bikini was gone and a naked woman sat, straddled on my lap. She moved up and down, rubbing herself against me, refusing to let my hands rest anywhere but on her body. From ass to breasts, she left no inch of herself uncovered by my two hands. 

She got on her knees before me and looked deep into my eyes as if she were asking my permission for something. Lost, I looked at Dale who looked just as confused. She spread my legs easily due to the flow of my loosely fitted dress and moved her lips to my right knee, all while maintaining eye contact with me. I looked over at Dale and at this point his jaw was to the floor. Clearly, we were getting more than he paid for. 

Her lips moved up my thigh, deeper and deeper into my body. Biting my lip and stroking her hair, I gave her permission to continue.

Her tongue swiftly pushed my cotton underwear to one side and she dove right in. I was a complete strip club novice but I was pretty sure this was not a part of the usual package. I was unable to protest even if I wanted to which I absolutely did not. I was on fire. 

The circles she drew with her tongue grew more and more concentrated on that spot she found so quickly. I grabbed her head with one hand, my dumbfounded husband's arm with the other. 

I had no idea how she was doing it but she was doing it. She was making me come, with her tongue, in the back of a strip club, with my husband seated next to me. And I loved it. I absolutely loved it.

I twisted and turned in my bed, my mind racing back from Vegas, back to Lily, wishing it were her tongue between my thighs in this moment. My fingers dipped deep inside of myself as my yearning grew. 

"Babe," I heard a groggy voice call out to me from the other side of the bed.

Without a word I grabbed my husband and pulled him on top of me. He needed no instruction or explanation. Seconds later his hard cock was inside of me. We moved instinctively together, falling into our usual rhythm.

"Harder," I told him.

"Faster," I commanded. 

I flipped us over and rode him, rubbed my clit against his body while I imagined her. 

I had to see her again. I had to know if there was any chance, any chance I could have a taste.  

Loving Luke

luke.jpeg

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.

Breaking Up With William

“You realize you’re crazy, right?”

“Why am I crazy? Just because I’m fabricating outrageous stories for a chance to connect with the man I’m desperately in love with?”

“Please tell me that’s rhetorical.”

 “The stories aren’t even that outrageous. They’re things that could totally be happening to me.”

“Yeah, but they’re not.”

“But they could.”

“But they’re not.”

“I know they’re not, but…”

“You, an intern, are asking Devin, the Head of the entire Marketing Department, for relationship advice on this ‘whirlwind love affair’ you’re having with all of these ups and downs, twists and turns, where you’re over the moon one day and distraught the next because Devin is the ‘only man you know that can give you the guy’s perspective on exactly what you should do’ except Devin doesn’t know, and will probably never know, that your torrid love affair with ‘William’ doesn’t exactly exist because William himself doesn’t actually exist.  And this all seems like a perfectly logical plan on how to get a guy to notice you?”

“Of course!”

“Are you insane?”

“It’s innovative dating. A girl’s got to have an angle.”

“It’s not innovative. It’s tired and trite. You’re trying to get a guy to like you by making him feel jealous and threatened by what in actuality amounts merely to an imaginary friend. You’re trying to play this ‘angle’ where you treat Devin like he’s nothing more than a gay best friend or a shoulder to cry on, naturally making him fall in love with you and wish with all of his might that you pined away after him like you do with William. Men, women, everyone, they’ve been doing this shit for years but they never stop to think about what happens when the truth comes out and you’re seen as nothing more than a pathetic liar who’s actually not valuable at all because it’s actually YOU that’s delivering those flowers to your desk at work and giving yourself those hickies that you desperately ‘try to hide’ and then not only does he only see you as a friend, or you know, JUST THE INTERN, which was the case all along because your stupid plan was never working, he will NOW see you as a stalkerish, deranged pest that’s so childish and desperate for a date that he couldn’t possibly speak to you ever again…like ever, for the safety of himself and his future family. I mean, how is he supposed to explain the psycho stalker girl from his past to his future wife? Ain't nobody got time for that!”

“Um, harsh!”

“Well, it’s true!”

“Look, listen to me, alright. Just listen. This can work. My plan is solid, completely tight. I’ve been talking to Devin about all of my issues with William for weeks now but this is the next step. It’s the most important step.”

“What is the most important step?”

“Don’t be facetious. I’m being serious.”

“Apologies. The important step.”

“William and I are breaking up this weekend.”

“That’s the step?”

“Yes, the most important step. I’ll come in to work on Monday, run straight into Devin’s office and dive deep into every heartbreaking detail of my break up with William. His face will light up. He’ll think, ‘Here’s my chance. She’s so sad. She’s like a cute little puppy. She’s vulnerable. She’s single!’ and then boom, BOOM! He’ll practically pounce on me right then and there but he won’t; he won’t because he’s a gentleman and respects me. Instead, he’ll be coy. He’ll act as if he’s taking pity on me, really feeling sorry for my sorrows…”

“Oh, there will definitely be sorrow.”

“…and he’ll sigh deeply and pause. In his mind he’ll keep reminding himself not to smile too wide, not to allow his pulsing love to reveal itself on his face. He’ll have so many emotions to control! He’ll be so incredibly nervous because he’s about to do it. He’s finally about to make his move. It will be glorious. He’ll look up at me and say, ‘Ok, look, I’ve been there. It hurts. Breakups are just awful, I mean, the absolute worst.’ He’ll grow in courage and in undesirable urge to touch me. He’ll take my hand and say, ‘Why don’t you let me buy you a drink. You look like you could use a drink. You look like a beautiful girl that was dumped by an absolute jerk and could use a drink.’”

“No.”

“No?”

“Make it so you’re the one that broke up with William. Don’t be too pathetic.”

“You’re right. He’ll take my hand and say, ‘You know what, you were always too good for William. Good for you for finally taking action and dumping that loser. You shouldn’t even be upset by this breakup. You should be celebrating. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take you out for a drink. That’s right, a celebratory drink because damn it, you deserve it.’ My eyes will light up and I’ll sniffle away my fake tears and give him that smile, you know the one. I’ll say, ‘You know what? You’re right. This was a great idea. Breaking up with William is the smartest thing I’ve done all year and it’s already October! I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Sir. Let’s get a drink.’ And that’s when he’ll smile, you know the one, and he’ll think, ‘Got her,’ without even realizing I, I in fact, I am the one that just got him. It will be glorious!”

“Damn it.”

“What?”

“You just might be right.”

“I mean, duh!”

“It’s still totally pathetic but I can’t help but fully support your crazy. You got this.”

‘I mean, duh!”

        *****

“Well, how did it go? Did he buy it!?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“See, I knew that bitch was crazy.”

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.