He watches me as I am stroking the keys of my keyboard, my fluffy curls all over the place, my red night shirt covering my voluptuous size 22 body. My glasses resting on my nose, my mind jumbled with words and for good reason. I ignore his presence on purpose, the fullness of his lips, his gray eyes, and his wide smile that is made to make you melt like a chocolate bar on a hot day. His biscuit brown complexion, height of 6’6, the scent of his cologne smells of musk arouses me, the way a few buttons on his shirt reveal his chest hair and a man that handsome should be illegal in all fifty states. Why would you not want him you ask? You see I could fall in love with him, I could see myself making love to him at the drop of his commands, slaving in the kitchen cooking meals and bringing it to his office. Dr. Alexander Randolph could become the elixir to my undeniable loneliness and need for companionship. This handsome breast cancer specialist could make me break every rule in my book and I won’t allow him. I think!
I have been focus on my writing my mind is not jumbled with the L-O-V-E word. I have been drama free, lost twenty-five pounds to date and at one with myself. My name is Ocean Daniel, a recently accomplished author and owner of the popular Blog “ Blue Butterfly Chronicles”, an erotica experience for the curvy woman. Writing is my first love it allows me to give my characters what I don’t have a life, a man who falls madly in love with them regardless of her size. I have yet to find that King that I can rave about.
I type “I am out of the love business” on the screen so his kindness and charming smile won’t suck me in. I feel his breath on my neck, his scent waking up every sexual desire in my fiber and for a moment I let his fingers massage the knot in my shoulders, and I sigh. He whispers in my ear, “ I want to make you cum hard. May I do that for you?”
The sound of his voice makes me shiver. I feel my sugar walls contract, my inner thighs moist, and nipples harden. The thought of him stroking all the stress and locked up frustration out of me would be so beautiful and so needed. I jump up because I am falling under his magical spell.
I want to look away from him to avoid falling under his trance that could clearly hypnotize me and have my legs in V-formation.
Before I can utter the response “no” his fingers are tracing my lips, my body ignites, and the air-conditioned room feels like an inferno. I want him I can admit that to myself and though no words are coming out my mouth I have a dozen sentences screaming out loud.
“Say something to me, Hun.”
He kisses my lips and I swear this man is breaking down every fiber of my being. I become fixated on every angle from his head to his feet. I look at us in my mirror and we are the picture perfect couple. Today when he enter in he had denim color shirtsleeves rolled up, tan pants and fedora hat. I love the way he dresses, even in scrubs he is sexy, the way he folds his hands when he’s deep in thought, his hands are large, finger nails manicure and when he bites his lips nothing makes me wetter.
The silence is killing him but Alexander is a man of action. He takes charge by kneeling before me, pushes my seat back, spreading my legs wide open now this is the point I am suppose to stop him. I don’t because the feel of his hands pushing my skirt up my thighs is the best feeling in the world, the fact that I don’t have on any panties is reveal and I gasp.
“ I’m celibate, I made a….” I pant he ignores me let’s his hands roam, massage and his lips kiss my thighs.
“You smell like peaches. I bet your pussy is so juicy and sweet.”
His long tongue now is licking the inside of my left thigh, his long finger massaging my clit and the scene in my dining room slash office is one hell of a one. I hold on to the chair and let him into my secret garden and do whatever it is he wants to do. I finally after he plunges his tongue and finger deep into my coochie and causes mini eruptions of pleasure. I muster up the courage to say,
“Please stop.” I whimper. He looks up at me and sits on the floor leaning his head against my desk. He licks my secretions off his fingers.
“ You want all that I am offering you but you are scare to be liked and loved by a man. Afraid to feel anymore so that’s why you stop me.” I hate when he does that read me like a book as if I have written my life autobiography and sold it on Amazon.
“You think you know me but you really don’t Dr. Randolph.” I cross my legs and they are moist trying to extinguish the small fire he ignited. I fold my arms and begin typing anything. He takes the papers off my desk reads it and nods his head in agreement.
“ You write what you feel. You are the writer of the heart and not the head. When you write from the head you make mistakes it as if you are lying to yourself trying the make the world believe it. The problem is the reader can read right through the lie.”
“All fiction writers make up stories. There you go again analyzing me.’ He chuckles and continues reading the novel.
“Are you writing about me in this novel? The William character is the type of man you want. You want me; Hun and you show it in your writing. I am your William.” He winks at me and rubs my thighs.
“Stop flattering yourself. He is fictional.”
I snatch the first draft from him and I want to shout to him you get me as a writer, as a woman and where have you been all my life. I instead tend to the unfinished manuscript on the screen. I write a line and he is right I created William in the image of him. I am falling for the character in front of me and on the screen. He reads word for word until he is at the last page. How refreshing to find a man who loves to read something other than the local newspaper.
“ You make him too perfect which is the part that will make your reader not believe in him.”
“ I don’t make him perfect. I flaw him like every man.”
I push my glasses off my nose and wipe the sweat off. I feel like kissing him but distract myself by reading over what I wrote. I haven’t met a man like him in well never. Most people who read my writing tell me it’s good or avoid the discussion all together. What I do is not glamorous to many people and unless you love the craft of writing it can be quite boring to some. He listens to me allows me to babble on for hours about literary world and sit just gazing in my eyes. I talk about my love affair of what I do the process, the plot, the characters, and the business of it. He snaps his fingers and waves his hands,
“Earth to Ms. Ocean.”
“ I’m sorry I dove into a writer’s world. I have to be honest you make me think, make me want to prove something to you.”
“I do believe that you are exceptional writer but I also want you to respect the reader. You love what you do and as a writer you sensitive about your shit.” We both laugh.
“ Do you feel that way about being a doctor? He licks lips and runs his hand over his face.
“ No, I do it because I am great at it and I have saved many women lives. My true passion is playing the piano. Man, when I tickle the ivories it’s like making love the best feeling in the world.”
“Will you play for me one day?”
“When you admit you want me in your life.”
He kisses my hand and winks. He has a confidence that speaks with out him saying a word. I love this man’s charm, his gentleness, the way his hands move from my thighs to my feet. I slid down on the floor sit in between his legs, lean against his solid chest, let his fingers rub up and down my arms and his lips kiss my neck. I thin k back to how we met at Roswell Park Institute he is caring for my best friend. She has breast cancer and he is the man working to keep my bestie alive and well.
“ No fair. I let you read my stuff all the time and I can’t get the pleasure of your musical talents.” I pout and fold my arms.
“ You are so damn sexy when you pout?” I wave off his compliment.
“Big girls are not consider sexy, cuddly maybe, cute even but sexy is a Big no!”
“Sexy is an attitude not a look or a body type. I’ve seen women look sexy in rollers and a bathrobe.”
“ Okay now you’re just lying because you know no man wants a girl 250 and up.” He shakes his head and rubs his hand on his face.
“I don’t like the way you feel about yourself, your body and the person God created. You have no clue how beautiful you are. Why do you that yourself?”
The sound of the doorbell saves me from answering his question he helps me up and kisses my hands. I swear I can fall in love with him. I answer the door.
“Who is it?” A tall man holding flowers.
“ Delivery for a Ms. Ocean Daniel’s.” They are assorted in colors of red, yellow, lavender, coral, peach and pink it must be three dozens of them. I sign the form and open the card.
“Yellow is for friendship because these past few months you have become my friend. Pink is for my admiration for you. Lavender is because I find your beauty breathtaking and that I’m falling for you hard. Coral is for the warmth you bring to me whenever I am around you. The peach because I appreciate every moment you allow me to spend with you. Lastly, I am asking you to let me love you and don’t be afraid to receive the love you deserve. Alexander.” I close the card and he looks deeply in my eyes as the tears well up in them.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“ You deserve this and you are very welcome.” I smell the flowers and smile. I kiss him lips softly let my heart weaken and I look into his eyes.
“Dr. Randolph why don’t you let me be, please.” His lips curled up and he takes the flowers from me and puts them on the table. He wraps his hand around my shoulders. He kissed the nape of my neck.
“Because I don’t want to leave you alone. I want you so bad and you my love are afraid that a man will love you like you deserve. You can’t run me away.” I melt in his arms and he rocks me. See what I mean? He always says the right shit at the right time.
“You don’t want a woman like me. I am messy, unorganized and can devour a whole chocolate cake.” He whispers.
“I’d teach you how organize and clean up after yourself. I’d take that chocolate frosting from the cake painting it on your body with my tongue. I have flaws I am not a perfect man. I smoke ganja and I am a stubborn ass mule and I don’t quit until I get what I want which is you.” He folds his hands behind his head.
My mind was stuck on his long pink tongue eating the chocolate off my body and smoking a large spiff, blowing smoke up my pussy. That’s the crazy, needed some dick in me woman trying to escape. I clear my throat and the dirty thoughts still lingered.
“You smoke ganja. You are just saying that? And why do you have to have an answer to every thing?”
“Because I do. Come with me to your bedroom? I’ll be good I promise.” He smirked. I knew that was a lie. Dr. Randolph was always planning and plotting to get to my coochie.
I hesitated because he loves to make love with his lips and the last time he had me ripping up my sheets and screaming obscenities in seven languages. Yet, I follow him he lays down, taking off his pants, his shirt and shoes.
“Lay with me.”
“ No. You think you are so slick and I told you I am celibate.” I sit on the chair to my vanity and turned my back to me.
“I know that and all I ask is that you lay with me. I want to be held and nothing more.” She raises her eyebrows and smirks. I pull the cover down and lies down next to him. I put my arms around him and I was breaking rules, going beyond boundaries. I was weak for him but strong enough to say no. My no’s where weakening to strong yes. Every time he touched or looked at me I was willing and ready to give up my heart to him.
“So what made you stop playing the piano?”
“I play everyday like you write everyday. I just don’t play for the masses or glorification of it. I am good, damn good, but like many artists I feared rejection. The masters are often well hidden for a reason.” He runs his hands up and down my sides as if he practicing a note.
“ I want you to play for me.”
“ I want you to be my woman. I want to eventually make you my wife and have 2.5 babies. When I become your man then I will play for you.” He replies. I shake my head and close my eyes.
“You just want my coochie. You just want to fuck me. Stop with all the charade, okay.” I snapped.
She jumped up and he held her arm. His eyes are wide, he frowns, and he spat out the words.
“I do want to fuck you but I want also want your heart. You want me too, Ocean. What because other men have hurt you so you assume that I am too? That’s not right and unfair. I want to love you but you have steel bars around your heart. Ooh you piss me off, woman.”
I do want him but I’ve been there before. Open up and got railroaded. I love hard and I breakdown hard too. He sits on the edge of the bed; he is beak red and tapping his feet. He is so damn handsome even pissed off.
“When did you start playing the piano?”
He looks at me knowing I am an expert at avoiding situations.
“Seven. My Poppa taught me but it came natural to me. And stop avoiding the situation at hand.” He spoke through clench teeth.
“ I am afraid okay. Here I am around you and I want to love you because I deserve love. But then I think nope be safe and stay in your lane. Love is not my friend. I can’t hurt again it takes me too long to get it together. I like you, I dream about you and miss you when you are not here. Dammit, Alexander you suck because you play unfair.” I wipe the tears from my eyes and look in the air there I go being a sucker for a man. My emotions raw and out there all in the open I am going to be in therapy for another six years. I lean against the wall and he stands up. He walks towards me and he kisses me slow and sensual. He sucks on the bottom of my lip. He does that repeatedly until I am gasping for air.
“You have to trust somebody, you have to trust yourself. Trust me, please!”
“ I can’t because I don’t know how. I don’t trust myself around you. You know what let’s go please. I told you I am wreck and you won’t listen. I am being openly honest which by the way I never do and you won’t hear me.” I scream
“Why do you sketch ugly pictures of yourself? You think I don’t know you have issues, woman? You don’t think people haven’t said stay away? Look at me!” I turn my head and his gray eyes are filled with tears. He continues,
“ But I see what they don’t see in you. I see your heart, your need for love. I see a woman who has craved for it since she was a little girl and now as a grown woman she stills craves to be loved and liked. It’s here and I am willing to love the wreckage but the problem, the major problem is YOU DON’T LOVE YOU! I can’t teach you how to love yourself.”
He sniffles and wipes his eyes. He puts on his shoes, his hats and buttons up his shirt. I feel weak as I am watching what I want walk away. I walk into the dining room walking towards my keyboard. I sit their writing, weeping, and heart aching. I write anything and my fingers glide across the keyboard. I wait for the door to close it would be the goodbye I am used to. I push people away and I am brilliant at watching people walk out the door. It is easier to say goodbye first.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I look behind me.
“Come with me somewhere, please and Ocean don’t give me a hard time.” He snapped.
I save the rest of my work and walk into my bedroom I throw on a pair of jeans, tee shirt, and jacket. I pull my hair into a ponytail and grab my keys. He is on his cell phone and his accent is heavy. He is from Belize. He speaks seven different languages Spanish, Kriol, Garifuna, Maya Mopan, French, Chinese, and Japanese. Raised in Brooklyn by his grandmother and Pop Pop. Migrated to Buffalo because he wanted to work at Roswell Park Institute and the Witness project. He takes me by the hand and he kisses it.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To my sanctuary. The place that brings me peace and tranquility no one has ever come here. I see that with you I have to show you better than I tell you.”
The scenery of the city change through the drive, the music he played was classical and Mozart. He and I didn’t speak. A part of the countryside was beautiful, the trees, the cows, the never ending sky, be able to see the sun set and the homes. In my mind I am formulating a story to write and maybe in his mind he was writing a song to play in private. He pulls up to a house it was white, plain and only two other houses where in the area. I tremble a little because my luck wasn’t on the high peak. He could be planning to cut me up and barbecue my fat ass. He opens the door and extends his hands.
“Are you coming? Are you going to trust me just this one time? You said you wanted to hear me play then come inside.” I said a silent prayer and took his hand. He opens the door and in the living room was a beautiful black piano. The room was painted in a beautiful burgundy and beige. Pictures of his country, his grandmother, his Pop Pop and of marijuana. He sits by the Piano and he pats the stool.
“Sit by me, please.” I slide in and he looks me in the eyes. He kisses me and I melt. I am falling and in this house with just a piano, a handsome man and two hearts needing love. He breaks the kiss and he turns to the piano, he stretches his fingers, shakes them out, and places them on the keys. He begins to play, he bites his bottom lip, closes his eyes, and he plays an unfamiliar tune. It is beautiful, intoxicating and he leans his head back. The music flowing was pure genius. He played a few minutes and I thought of words that could go to the song. So I notice on top is a pen and paper so I grab it and begin to write.
“ This sounds so beautiful.” He doesn’t respond as he continues playing and I continue writing. It doesn’t matter if the words match. He finally stops and takes a deep breath. He inhales and exhales.
“What the name of your song?”
“What the name of what you just wrote?” He and I smile. I kiss him, our tongues dance and I realize I am not going to fight his love. I deserve to take a risk and yes, I am scare of this feeling. He takes me to another room and we sit on the bed.
“ I bought this house a year ago just to play my piano. Like you, I need solitude, peace and tranquility. As you know I am on call 24/7 but this house, my piano and music is where I am my best.”
“ You save lives. You make miracles happen everyday. You are one of the best in your field.” He smirked, pulled out a brown stick, and lit it. The aroma stunk in the air; he took a puff and coughed.
“I am just God’s instrument. I don’t make miracles happen every time a patient lives is because of God’s will. I am tool and he using all of us. You with your writing because whether you realize it or not. You inspire a plus size woman to believe in love even when you don’t.” He smoked some more, his eyes low, and he passes it to me. I put my hand up and push it away.
“True. Do you know why I push you away?” He put the brown stick in the ashtray.
“No, tell me.”
“ I have always felt cursed. I mean like I am a bad luck charm or something. I use to hear as a kid that when I come around bad things happen. I would get with a guy their life would turn upside down, he turn to drugs. I don’t want to be anyone’s curse or bad luck charm. I felt like once I was born things went down hill for my mother, my sister’s died, my brother raped my sister, and life trickle down effect was because of me. I mess up everything I touch. Sounds crazy right?”
I look away from him because he knew my secret. He knew why I called myself a wreck. He would run now because it made sense at least to me. I didn’t want this well off, accomplished piece of perfection to fall because of the curse over my head. He starts laughing, coughing, and his eye water.
“Who’s high you or me? Ocean, are you God or Satan?” He hugs me and kisses me. I push him away.
“I open up and you are laughing at me. I’m serious Alexander I am cursed.” He takes another pull of the blunt and blows out circle. He shakes his head. I am balling and he wipes my tears with his lips.
“You think you are cursed and because you believe it. A woman thinketh so she is so. You’re family, friends and ex carry their own fate. You being in their presence have nothing to do with THEIR CHOICES. Woman, you are carrying burdens that aren’t yours. You are not Jesus and you can’t bear every ones cross.”
I feel like my head is swarming, I take off my shoes and lay in his bed. He takes another puff and puts it out. He kicks off his shoes and lies next to me he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. The song he played earlier is playing in my head.
“You think I am insane?” He kisses me on my forehead and holds me.
“No, I think you are afraid to see the good in life. I see different women sick. I see the survivor, the quitter, and the one who welcomes death. The one who welcomes death is because she is simply tired and I can respect that. She has made an alliance with God. The survivor just is resilient is always smiling, pushing and doing all she can. She too has made an alliance with God to accept the test. The quitter comes in asking when will she die, she tells me all of her ailments and why the medicine is going to kill her. She is defeated before she walks in my office. She doesn’t say a word but her attitude speaks volume. She is afraid of the possibilities of living another day. She too made an alliance to not even seek faith because she has made an alliance with Satan that he has won. You are the survivor. You think you are the quitter but if you where you wouldn’t write about hope. You would encourage women to press forward or that love is real.” He pauses and brings her hands to his lips. He kisses it and continues.
“You get up thinking you are curse but you don’t believe that. You just need reasoning why bad things happen to you, your family, and the loves that went sour. You need understanding why a man like me would want to love a wreck as you call yourself. I love you because you are so much more than the thoughts you filled in your head. I see your heart, your spirit, and your soul. I’m willing and have no problem going deeper because I genuinely love you.”
He could be blowing smoke up my ass but I needed to hear that. I play with his chest hairs and my teardrops. I spread it and share my sorrows.
“Thank you for listening and always being my voice of reason. I love you too.”
“It’s the best voice I can be and the song I wrote is called keyboards of love.”
“The love story is called the keyboards of love.” We both laughed and hold one another.
The End
© 2012 Tamyara Brown- Tamluvstowrite
