Part Two

I don't know how I managed to get her to bed early that night. Selina had a knack for being up until nearly eleven at night, despite all my attempts to get her to sleep otherwise. I swear, you could make the girl go to bed, but you damn sure couldn't make her go to sleep.

I had one of those days. I don't need to tell you about it. Anyway, by the time I got her in the bed at nine that Thursday night, I just wanted to sit back and relax. I wanted a night of peace, away from work, away from my ex, away from Eddie-- who, by the way, was trying to find his way back to my bed, after I'd turned him out over that last argument we'd had-- and even away from Selina, my own daughter. I loved her like nobody else, but she could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

Now, usually, once I have the house to myself, I take a shower. I get undressed in my room, put on my robe, and go into the bathroom...and when I'm done with my shower, I dry off my hair with a hand towel I keep in the bathroom, put on my robe, and go back to my room, so I can rub a little baby oil on my skin and dress for bed.

But, that night.....

I had just-- and I mean just-- gotten out of the shower, when there was a knock at the door. A small part of me wanted it to be Marcus; even after four days, I could still feel his hands against my skin, his touch electrifying me; I wanted him to see me, standing here dripping wet..... the heat of the shower would be nothing next to the heat we could---

God! what was I thinking? First of all, it wouldn't be him. Even if I did want what I kept fantasizing about-- and I wasn't really sure that I didn't-- I couldn't get so lucky that he would show up again so soon. He had never come by more than once every two weeks before. Why would he suddenly decide to stop over in the middle of the week now?

And for another thing, I couldn't do to him-- do with him-- what my mind kept telling me I should. Not for the fact that he was younger than me, but for the simple fact that, whatever happened, it would be like a flare-- it would burn hot and bright, but only for a little while, at best. I didn't want a flare-- I wanted hot, deep, long, satisfying flames of passion-- something that even Eddie hadn't been able to give to me. And I didn't think that Marcus could do that for me. I hadn't seen that in his eyes.

But, to give him the benefit of the doubt, I hadn't been looking for it in him.

Whoever it was at the door, they knocked again. If it was Marcus, I knew that that would be the last time he would knock; then, he would assume that I wasn't home, and leave. I think that decided it for me. I tossed on my robe, and as I trotted out of the bathroom, grabbed the handtowel, and began drying my hair.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" I called out, hoping that my would-be guest would hear.

I tossed the towel down onto the endtable next to the door, and opened it, all in one motion.

It was Marcus.

The part of me that had started my imagination going when he had knocked on the door was getting more insistent now. My nerves burned with the memory of his touch. I could feel myself-- parts of myself-- becoming aroused, like waking up from a long nap, and all I did was open the door. And all he did was look at me.

I realized that after a momentl. He was smiling, looking at me-- not down my robe, which, my mind belately told me- probably on purpose- that I was exposing a bit more of my personals than I wanted.........

Didn't I want him to see/

Did I want him to see now ?

But he was standing in the doorway.

I think that decided it; I didn't want the rest of the block to be able to see me up close and personal, and if I were going to show him, he'd at least have to be in the house before I showed him.

I must be in worse shape than I thought.

"May I come in?" he asked, his voice rich and deep, not Barry White deep, but enough to make my body shiver, just a bit.

"Sure," I mumbled, and pulled the door oen wider for him.

He came in, stopping just inside the door. I closed it behind him, and turned to him.

I suppose now I get to give you that massage we talked about the other night," he said, his smile growing a little bigger.

Huh?, I almost said, and then remembered; he had asked me if I'd wanted a massage. I had told him that it would have to be sometime after I'd taken a shower If I weren't so dark, I think I would have blushed as I thought of the coincidence of things, and what my mind was thinking in light of the situation. For a moment, all I could think about was him touching me, his hands roaming across my skin, exploring--

Maybe what I need is more exercise. Yeah.

He looked at me, the question in his eyes, patience in his face, and his hands in his pockets.

Yes? or No? the questions bounced in my head.

Yes, because I wanted him to give me a massage; not only did I actually need one-- hurray for that justifiable excuse!-- but I wanted to feel his touch again. At the very least, if I chickened out, I could get him to give me a foot-and-leg- massage, like last time.

And no, because........

I couldn't think of a reason to say no.

"Sure," I said again, and smiled.

"Okay," he smiled even wider, "so, we're gonna need a towel, a sheet, and some lotion."

"How 'bout some baby oil?" I asked.

If it were possible, his smile got even wider still. "Even better," he replied.

"What do we need a sheet for?" I asked, going towards my bedroom. Of course, Selina was asleep in there, and I knew that we couldn't do it there, but the towels were in the closet, and I was sure that he wouldn't mind being on the floor. It was carpeted.

"For modesty," I heard him say. Confused for a second, I turned back to him. "And," he added, "so you don't get cold."

"Oh," I exhaled. I went to get the towel.

My mind was working. Was he only going to give me a massage? did I want more thand a massage? was he being sincere-- about covering me up? or did he have a motive? what would I do if he did more than give me a massage? what if he didn't?

I came back with the towel, and I still hadn't been able to answer any of my questions.

He took the towel from me, and spread it out on the floor. It was a big beach towel; it was bigger than I was, at 5'3"; it was even bigger than he was, at six-feet tall. I had bought it back when going to the beach during the summer was still something I could do a lot of, before I'd gotten this apartment and all of the bills that seemed to come with it, before I'd gained 40 lbs to weigh 165. That was when my ex and I were still together, before he and I stopped loving each other and started fighting. Lucky for me, Selina was too young to remember that; she was only three, then.

He took off his jacket. "Do you mind if I get more comfortable?" He asked me, his hands at the button on his pants. A flurry of thoughts ran through my mind, but apparently, my mouth decided that it was time for action, not thinking.

"Not at all," I heard my mouth say, and didn't know whether to be mad or glad at myself. I watched him, as if I had been put under a spell, as he took off his pants.

He was wearing biker shorts underneath.

I actually found myself disappointed. And I was surprised because I was disappointed. To think, I had been anticipating seeing him getting undressed.....

I knew then what it was. Lust. Pure and simple. Maybe I didn't know if I wanted him, but my body did, and it was telling me as loudly as it could. Now that I knew that, the question was, did I wanna give in to my lust?

He saw me looking at him. "I was working out earlier," he explained, "and I haven't been home yet to change out of these." He turned around, to grab a chair from the kitchen, and I saw the most beautiful sight in the world.

My God! what an ass! If I hadn't been too stunned to do anything, I think I would have come up behind him, just to touch him, to find out if it were really real. I mean, Arsenio Hall had a nice ass, but the was something a little bit better.

But I didn't move-- quickly enough, my mind screamed at me-- and the moment was over; he turned back around, and sat down in the chair that he had grabbed.

He untied, and then took off, his shoes and his socks; having done that, he finished taking off his pants. He stood up, and put them down in the corner by the couch, nearest to me. Then he looked at me, as if he were waiting for something.

"Oh," I said, realizing that he was waiting for something; he was waiting for me to lay down on the towel. I turned my back to him, and unbelted my robe. I let the thick terrycloth slide slowly down my back, and I swear that I could feel his eyes on my body as it was revealed, inch by inch, by the falling robe. When the robe finally reached the floor, I knelt down, and laid out on my stomach, my arms up over my head.

I heard him moving, cloth against cloth-- was he taking his shirt off? The answer came sailing into the corner, where he'd put his pants. I almost lifted my head, to turn and see what he looked like without he shirt on; somewhere inside, I had wondered that for quite a while. I didn't move, willing myself to stay still. I wasn't some adolescent teenaged girl waiting for her first time. I could get a handle on my desires. I knew I could.....just as long as he wasn't touching me.

I didn't know where he was until I heard the water running in the kitchen. What is he doing? I thought to myself, and turned over slightly, to look behind me and see.

If I had thought that he was well built, then now I knew. I could see the muscles, though just barely, rippling beneath his back. He turned around, and then I could see the same thing at his chest, his pecs looking hard and firm, his shoulders broad, his arms bulky but lean, and his stomach--

"I'm just warming up the baby oil," he said, shaking me out of my reverie, "don't want me to pour cold oil on you, do you?" He smiled. I guess I must have looked confused, because he continued, "You looked at me like you wanted to know what I was doing. I'm running hot water over the bottle, to warm up the oil."

"Oh," I said, heading off an even longer explanation. He could do that, sometimes.

He turned off the water, and began walking back into the living room. I turned back around, and laid flat. Once he got to the carpet, I couldn't feel him walking across the floor, and I didn't know where he was until I felt, more than saw, him putting the bottle of oil down next to me.

"Ready?" he asked me.

"Um-hmm," I mumbled.

And, at first, nothing; I couldn't tell if he had moved at all. Then, warm and slippery, I felt the oil as he began pouring it across my back. Then I felt him.

That's the only way I can say it-- it wasn't just his hands, as he seemed to materialize upon my back. I could feel his legs, the muscles well toned, against my hips, and his thighs, equally strong-feeling, against my behind. His hands touched me almost as an afterthought, falling onto my shoulders with a featherweight feel. They became more solid instantly, and I could feel his strength in the palms of his hands upon my back.

His hands started to move, and I could feel the fires within me welling up to a roar, the electric sensations that he had given me before paling before the power surge that his touch caused in me. I couldn't help letting out a low moan.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked me, his voice much closer to my ear than I would have thought he would be. I could almost feel its warmth, caressing the nape of my neck, and I shivered, just a bit.

"Noooo," I moaned; how could I hope to explain this feeling to him? It felt too good for words; if I tried to explain it..... all I knew was, instinctively, that my words wouldn't do justice to the sensations that he was sending through my body.

And it was through my body; I could sense it at the nape of my neck-- his every touch there almost made me whimper. I could sense it in my breasts-- my nipples getting hard and knotted up, and aching with a longing that was hard to describe, but was on the tip of my tongue. I could sense it in my stomach-- butterflies on crack were dancing inside, trying to spread warmth into my groin. That wasn't happening; there was already enough of a fire, producing it's own heat-- I could sense it there, too. My body was tingling all over, but it was concentrated in the depths of my womb. I could feel it, swelling, waiting to explode.

And all this from just the feel of his hands across my shoulders, working the tightened muscles into relaxation.

God, if that was all he was doing, and I was feeling like this, I didn't know what I was going to do to hold myself together until he finished.

His hands moved slowly, surely, down the contours of my back, kneading the muscles, caressing the flesh, exciting the senses. I could feel his touch, deep within me, as if his hands were stirring up my insides. I could feel myself becoming wet. What effect did this man have on me, to make me so aroused, to excite me that much, that I could barely control my lust? What was he doing to me? And couldhe simply keep doing it forever?

I don't remember the last time I felt like this for anyone; not love, but lust, a desire so strong that I wanted to throw him down on the floor and--

I needed to get a grip, and fast, or I was going to do more than think about what my obdy wanted from me.....and him.

But get a grip on what? my mind lecherously asked me. I decided not to answer that.

His hands continued their ministrations; they swirled, pushed, kneaded and rubbed in the middle of my back; occasionally, he would slow down, so he could add some more baby oil.

But then he stopped. It took a few seconds for me to realize that, and just as I was about to ask him why, he moved.

Hekissed me at the nape of my neck.

His kiss, his touch, was soft and gentle, warm and moist.

It took all of my self-control not to moan at his touch, and to stay on the floor where I lay. My excitement was growing.

He continued, his hands caressing the skin and rolling the muscles down my back, slowly coming to the small of my back and the beginning humps of my butt. He didn't stop there; he kept on, his hands moving to the muscles of my behind, pulling, pinching, kneading, and rolling each cheek. His hands were so warm, and soft, and smooth, sliding over my flesh, exciting the nerves of my skin. Everywhere his hands had been, they had left a trail of liquid heat slowly burning over my skin, teasing me, exciting me, making me feel like I was on fire. And guess who I wanted to quench the flames?

I couldn't believe that I was so ready to seduce this man, to pull him down on top of me and satisfy the both of us. Then I felt it.

His tongue began at the valley between my buttocks, at the very very top, and slowly, lightly-- almost as if he weren't there, but too intensely real for him not to be-- made its way up my spine, and ended at the nape of my neck, where his first kiss had touched me. The feelings that shot through me in that second made a shiver flow through my body that I couldn't even try to hold back.

If I had thought I was wet before, if I had thought that I was hot before, if I had thought that he couldn't do for me what I wanted from him-- all of what I had felt and what I had thought was blown away in that moment. I actually had to stop myself from rolling over and pulling him down to the floor with me. And it wasn't just his touch that had me thinking like this. I knew now, like I hadn't known before, that he wanted me almost as much as I wanted him. Maybe even more. I could feel him, firm and solid, pressing against me briefly, as he branded me wiith his tongue. But, apparently, he was playing this out to some hidden end. Oh, it wouldn't be to hurt me-- and would most likely give me great pleasure.......but he was going to make me wait.

Oh, I could play this game. I could make him wait, too.

Suddenly, his hands were gripping the cheeks of my derriere-- gently, but unyieldingly. His hands pushed the flesh back, opening up my hidden valley for him to see, and in one quick motion, he kissed me where no one had kissed me before, where I had never known anyone to kiss anyone else before, where I had thought it absolutely perverted for anyone to do anything even remotely like this before. The fact that I had taken a shower less than an hour before didn't even cross my mind until later. The muscles down there and in my legs spasmed like a kid on caffeine, and this new sensation almost rivaled the last one. No one had ever done that before, had ever asked to do that, had ever even thought of it, and as weird as my mind thought it was, my body wasn't denyin that it felt good!

My arousal shot up another level, and I tensed up. I could feel him tensing up, too, waiting for me to do something. I forced myself to get under control-- at the very least, let him finish massaging my back, and then get him when I had to turn over.

The next twenty minutes were a grueling time in passing-- he seemed to slow down and take extra time massaging my legs, which felt great, but which was also maddening, since for every minute he delayed was one minute more I had to wait to turn over. By now I had decided that, even if we couldn't get to the bed tonight, something was gonna happen. I wasn't gonna let him leave like he had Sunday night.

Finally, he was done.

"You can turn over now," he said, his voice soft, low, and husky. God, I almost shivered just from that. And, as I started to turn over, as I could see him out of the corner of my eye, shifting his position, bringing him closer to me--

The phone rang.

His head jerked up towards the sound, as did mine.

"I'll get it for you," he said, and got up to get the phone.

I was going to kill whoever it was on the phone; their timing couldn't have gotten any worse. All I could think of was that it had better not be--

"Girrrrll, did you hear about Rayshaun and Tamequa? She done got pregnant by that boy! and they ain't nu'in but kids theyselves--" started Cynthia, as soon as I said hello.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marcus going over into the corner to get his clothes. I watched him for a moment, only half paying attention to Cynthia. He pulled on his shirt.

Oh, great. He was going to leave.

Uh-uh. I had to put a stop to that one, right now.

"Um, Cynthia, this ain't a good time to be callin'," I said softly into the phone.

"Why? You got Eddie over there?"

"No!" I hissed at her, "I wouldn't let him get next to me even if he grew another three inches."

"Oh, girl, now you know that was cold!" Cynthia chuckled. I could agree with that. "So you got someone else over there with you, huh?" I could hear the lecherous smile in her voice.

"You could say that," I replied.

"Oh, so you tryin to get yo groove on, huh?" Her smile was getting wider; I could hear it.

"You could say that," I repeated.

"Girrrll, is he any good? You got to tell me all about it." She was practically bubbling with happy nosiness.

"Well, maybe I could, if you got off the phone," I said, good nature creeping into my voice even though I wanted to strangle her for picking the worst moment in the world to call me to gossip.

"Okay, miss thang," she laughed, "I'll be waitin for details by the end of the week."

Finally, I hung up on her, and looked around for Marcus.

After a moment, he came out of the bathroom, fully dressed except his pants and jacket; he had them tucked beneath his arm in a roll.

I picked up my robe from off of the floor, and pulled it around me, as I got up to meet him.

We paused, our bodies less than an arms length away. He looked at me; I looked back at him. Slowly, gently, his hand lifted toward my face, and brushed against my cheek. He turned it over, and cupped my face in his hand. I held his hand there, with my own hands, revelling in the sensations of his touch against my skin. He moved a half-step closer, and by instinct and by knowing, I moved to meet him halfway.

As his lips met mine, I felt a jolt of electricity pass between us. His hand moved away from my face, and wrapped around my waist, joining his other hand. He pulled my waist toward his, and I felt his thigh ride up in between my legs. That accidental caress sent a river of sensations coursing through me, from the heat of my loins to the swell of my breasts and back again. I couldn't hold back the low, throaty moan that tumbled from me.

He did it again, and I moaned again, a little louder this time, into his mouth as we kissed. For a second, I wondered if he knew what he was doing, if this were really accidental; then he pulled me to him a little harder, and this time my moan turned into a whimper of pleasure, as I could feel myself becoming more and more aroused, more and more excited. And he didn't stop; his hands gently pulling me toward him, bumping against his thigh, my legs threatening to collapse each time. I joined him after a minute; I could feel my hips moving almost by themselves, thrusting to meet him, our tongues dancing together in a hot, wet tango. God, I didn't want this to stop; I didn't want there to be an ending to this; I wanted this to only be the beginning. Oh, you don't know just how much I wanted to simply cut loose right then and there. I could feel my passions cycling higher and higher; I was getting closer and closer to that mountaintop where Eddie had taken me to all too rarely. I was soo close. Just another moment, and I would be there. And this time, nothing could stop me-- not the phone, not a knock at the door, not even a fire would do it. I was going to--

"Mommy?" I heard from behind me, towards my bedroom.

I stopped instantly; just as suddenly, I regretted it. Like the crowd of the Apollo Theater after a bad performance, my body was screaming at me for release, to finish what I had so very nearly almost done. But, I couldn't. I turned around, closing my robe as I did so.

Selina was standing in the doorway to my room, rubbing her eyes. She was still mostly asleep.

"Did the telephone ring?" she asked, the warmth of the bed still in her voice.

"Yeah, sweetie. You go on back to bed." I said, praying that she was too tired and still too asleep to argue about it.

I think God was smiling on me, for just that moment. "Okay," she said, and turned to go back into the bedroom.

I gave her another moment to have hopped back into the bed, then turned around to Marcus.

He had his jacket on.

"I should be going, huh? he said, a look on his face that could have been anything: sarcasm, frustration, fatigue, anger, relief. I couldn't tell.

He stepped over to me, and ever so briefly, ran his hands down my body. Then he kissed me, and turned to walk out of the door.

What I saw, as he turned and walked out of the door, made me both smile and blush in embarrassment.

There was a large wet spot on the leg of his shorts.