Sixty-Nine (22 page)

He leaned his elbows to his knees, looking toward her to give her his full attention. “So, what do you do? What’s your line
of work?”

“I was a dental technician, but I quit my job back in March. I own a store. A boutique in Midtown.”

“I see. A businesswoman. Nice. I like that. We’re off to a good start already. You are single, right?” He looked hopeful,
checking out her left hand.

“I’m a widow.”

His eyes expanded and he rubbed his trimmed goatee with his thumb and index finger. “I’m a widower. My wife died in a plane
crash ten years ago.”

Darla patted her hand along his upper arm for one second. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

He moved closer. “Thanks. I’m sorry for your loss, too. It takes time to move on. It’s not about replacing. You just want
to be the best you can inside so you don’t bring your hurt, or baggage, into someone else’s life, you know?”

Darla put her purse on the wooden table. “I agree. Have you been successful at that?”

“I think so. I always say time will tell.”

“I see.” Darla rubbed the back of her tapered neck and checked out his white teeth, wondering if he’d had work done, they
looked so perfect. She was turned on. She swallowed hard. Her inquiring mind wanted to know. “So, no relationship since then?”

He watched her mouth and then spoke. “I had a brief one about a year ago for a few months. Someone I met while I was on the
road in DC. She couldn’t handle the long distance part of it. Plus with my busy tour schedule, I mean I’m always on the road
and she didn’t come along with me. She didn’t like to fly, of all things. Can’t say that I blame her. She wanted someone local.
I live here in Miami.”

“I’m local, too. So you have no trouble flying?”

“Flying was part of my recovery. I had to get on a plane just to get past all that. I can’t limit myself. But, like I said,
I understand the fear. I just couldn’t make it mine.” He shifted his thoughts. “Listen, I know you had one before, but can
I get you a drink?” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got one more real quick set and then I’m done for the night.”

“Okay, sure. Thanks.”

“Would you mind waiting here for me? My way of keeping you away from the wolves,” he joked.

She grinned. “That’d be nice.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of. Anything you want, I’ve got it. If you’re hungry or whatever, just say the word.
And I can understand if you’re not hungry this late, but I promise you, they have the best chocolate chip pancakes. They’re
known for them, day or night.”

“Oh, no thanks. But, I’m sure they’re good.”

He stood. “They are. My favorite. So what can I have them bring you? What were you drinking before?”

“Vodka.”

“Okay.”

She spoke up. “No. I guess I’ll try something different. I’ll try the espresso margarita, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Great choice. I’ll have one with you.” He got ready to step away, and turned back to her. “So, Darla, what’s your favorite
song?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her face showed shy.

“Just think of one. Anything that comes to mind. I’ll play it just for you.”

She looked up at him as though impressed. “You can play anything?”

“I can. Rap. Old School. Whatever. All on the sax.”

“Okay. How about ‘A House Is Not a Home.’ ”

He flashed a big smile. “I’m gonna like you. Keep an ear out. I’ll make sure your drink is sent over and then I’ll be back
in about thirty. Okay?”

“Okay.” Darla sat back along the sofa cushions, crossing her legs, getting comfortable. So comfortable that she leaned forward
and pulled off her jacket, placing it next to her on the sofa. She began rubbing her arms as though she was cold.

Her mind spoke loud.
I’m sitting here with “the sky’s the limit” thoughts in my head, about to share a drink with this man I just met, wondering
if it would really be so bad to take a chance and just do something crazy like ask him over. But no. I can’t. Not me. That
would be a move for someone else to make, not Darla. One thing I know is, that’s just not me.

Later, Darla heard the melody of the Luther song that had been her mantra, “I am not meant to live alone, turn this house
into a home,” that he, Grainger the sax man, sang close to her skin. But it wasn’t the skin of her earlobe, it was the skin
of her right thigh, as Darla looked down and watched Grainger sing his lyrics close to her vagina, teasing her lower lips
with his song, while his gifted sax-playing hands grabbed her wide hips.

He looked like he was in the womb of heaven.

She was bare.

Her polka-dot baby-doll was intermingled among his clothes, across the white settee at the foot of the bed.

The room smelled like the scented lemongrass candle.

It wasn’t her place.

It wasn’t his place.

It was a neutral zone, perfect for sexploration.

Or even saxploration for that matter.

Two floors up from the club, in the Catalina Hotel.

In a hotel with a strange man like Rebe had done the first morning of the year.

Darla did her best to yield, and the espresso margaritas were just the right amount of liquid courage needed as she squirmed
like a snake, feeling his warm breath against the crevice that resided where her pubic area and leg adjoined.

The candle flickered in the pure darkness of the swanky red and white hotel room. She lay on her back with her legs wide open,
giving permission for her new lover to please her with his mouth. Her nipples were hard and big and long, like a stack of
pennies.

Grainger ceased his singing and began to kiss her middle split and then inserted his long tongue with precision, wiggling
it inside of her like it was now a snake charmer. It moved from side to side with a soulful rhythm like a wave, and she shook.
Her left leg began to involuntarily quiver. She couldn’t stop it from acting out on its own, couldn’t stop it from telling
on her wild sensation. She felt uneasy that her own extremity was doing its own dance, but she gave a surrendering sigh, resting
her head back on the feather-down pillow, looking up toward the tray ceiling.

She felt dizzy and focused her mind on Grainger’s serious mouth work. It was like he was blowing the mouthpiece of his saxophone,
playing her pussy as though seeking a melodic reaction to his mouth magic. She moaned and he flicked her sugar lips harder,
even licking the chocolate mole on her labia, and she felt like she could really, actually, maybe, let go inside of his mouth
if he could just do—something. Something more perhaps. Something that would top off the feeling of him licking the turned-on
meat of her insides over and over while he looked up at her anticipating her cum. She fought it, and then told herself not
to, and felt her breaths quicken from the nervous anticipation, and from the fact that what he was doing was not working.

I’ll fake it
, she told herself. “That’s so good. I like that. Yes. That feels nice.”

“Uh-huh,” he moaned from between her legs like he was the man. He readjusted himself and again licked her inside like a lollipop,
up and down. But something was still missing.

She squirmed downward to get his tongue to meet her clit and when it did, she jumped and felt her vagina clench. The heat
inside of her turned up a notch and she wanted more. Darla thought back to what Magnolia had told her about speaking up and
telling a man what pleases her, and that she should simply ask for it. And so, she said, “Can you suck it please? My clit
I mean. Can you suck it?” The tone of her request was extra polite.

And without another word from her, or a word from him, he centered his mouth over her clitoris and brought his tongue to the
underside of it, and quickly flicked while he sucked it in and out of his mouth, moving his head up and down, with a force.
Her ass muscles tightened, and she squeezed the sheets and scooted back, saying as though in a panic, “Wait.” She seemed out
of breath. Her blood raced. She wondered if she should be a little more careful in what she asked for.

“Uh-uh,” he said, denying her request to wait and coming back to get it just right. Again he centered himself and sucked.
Fast. Flicking. Fury. Her clit was getting a suck-fuck.

The voice in Darla’s head told her not to enjoy. That it would be betrayal. That she would be a bad girl if she went ahead.
That this was a sin. A sin to be in bed with another man when after all, her husband died in bed with her. And it was her
fault.

As the voices reminded her of what they’d taught for five long years, instantly Darla felt like she was going to lose it and
scream for dear life if he kept it up, so she scooted again.

Again, he found her and sucked, flicked and held tight to her ass, placing his hand under her plump cheeks to keep her in
place. “Take this,” he said into her opening.

The voices still spoke and she felt again like she wanted to scream and realized maybe the screaming would be the only way
to silence the unwelcomed guilt that had her so stuck in abstinence. She knew about unsaintly Aaron, who suddenly became so
saintly once he passed away, like most. Her mind dismissed him and said it was her turn to be unsaintly, and she tightened
her jaw. And even though another voice that sounded maternal grew even louder, reminding her that she didn’t even know this
man who had her vagina in his mouth, Darla said aloud without even being able to catch herself, “That’s all part of the turn-on.
Oh hell.”

Grainger said nothing in reply to her nonsensical sentence as she groaned loudly, and began bucking, grinding back at his
face like she was the one screwing his mouth, and in an instant, Darla pressed a feeling forward, forcing all of the negativity
from her very being in a liquid rush like she was going to pee on herself, and then, her slit throbbed like it was being squeezed
by a ghost. She rode through the dizzying feeling and pressed her orgasm from her opening. Her blood rushed and her muscles
tightened and her voice went off in a curdling scream like she was being hurt and pleased at the same time. She rode it. “Oh.
Oh. No. Yes. Oh. No. Yes. Oh, Grainger. Help me please. Yes. Yes. Yes.” And Darla busted a slow, freshman nut that curled
her hair, toes, fingers, and crossed her eyes, bringing her to tears as Grainger simply took it all, waiting until her clit
ceased its powerful throbbing and she ceased her high-pitched yelling.

And then, while she breathed as though she’d run a marathon, and cried as though she’d been reborn, he licked her secretions
from her insides, kissed her clit as he backed away, and within fifteen seconds, he had on a rubber and inserted the full
length and girth of his instrument into Darla’s tight, wet, abandoned vagina, inch by inch.

Darla kept her eyes shut and could hear the juices from her cum that escorted his penetration. Each and every millimeter of
her insides that met his hard dick gave off a feeling that she’d never known. She lay back, sniffing the scent of his blue
rain cologne, and Darla found the strength to just let it all happen, letting this big man, just the way she liked them, knock
the back out of her deepest nooks and crannies, pressing himself in and out at a slow pace, while he lay his long and muscular
body on her curves, kissing her earlobe, saying, “You are amazing. I want you. I want you to be mine. I want this to be all
mine. I want you Darla. Say you want me, too.”

“I do.” Her hips accentuated her voice.

“Open your eyes. Tell me you want me.”

She inched them open. Her eyes looked wet from her tears.

Their eyes locked.

She said as though in a trance, “I want you.”

“Kiss me,” he said like it was an order, just as he hit a spot that made Darla tighten up.

The order was followed. She kissed his dark brown lips and sucked his tongue as he ground inside of her and she ground back
in exact response. The headboard was pressing against the wall with pounding sounds, and just as quickly as the X-rated sound
sped up, it stopped and Grainger ceased his kissing and threw his head back and grunted, “Uuuggh, I’m coming. Ahh, damn, I’m
coming. Damn. Tight ass hot pussy got me coming hard. Dammit.”

Darla felt his pulsating dick shoot his hot fluid into his condom as the fatness of his dick was wall-to-wall. She was full.

He didn’t die while inside of her like the last time she had sex. His head fell upon her shoulder and he lay on her, and she
kept track of his breathing. It was fast and deep.

She said softly, looking up at the ceiling again, “Oh, my God.”

“Oh, God, is right.” Grainger lifted his head to look at her face. His nose and forehead were sweaty. His breathing was fast.
“Darla. Darling Darla. You came so good, baby. I know men in your life love watching you get off like that. You sure know
your body.”

“You’d think so, huh?” She didn’t tell him he was the first to make her come. And she wouldn’t.

Before she knew it, Grainger was up, in the bathroom, and then stepping back toward her, placing his excited hands on her
baby-making hips, and adjusting his face between her curvaceous legs again for a tongue-ride. “Yep, I knew you had a killer
body,” he said, eyeing her down as he again spoke from the giver position.

She looked down at him as he kissed her anatomy. Her stare was different. Sexy. Liking. Her pheromone rush had caused her
to see him in a new, adoring light. Out of the blue she asked, “Chocolate chip pancakes in the morning?”

He gave her a sexy, liking look back. “My second favorite thing.” And again, he went to work, licking her pussy, moving up
slightly to focus his attention on her awaiting clit. He sucked.

Darla exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut again.

No voices.

No sight of Aaron in her runaway mind.

No sight of anything.

Just the feeling of being satisfied sexually.

And the thought of one day enjoying her own house as a home, with someone, maybe Grainger. Maybe not.

But the orgasms tonight would do.

Later, they slept.

She didn’t wake at 4:44 in the morning.

Grainger by her side, spooning the shape of her thickness, head to toe.