Burning Desire Page 3

  So Mister Fix-It is our family business, and it requires very little maintenance. I do no advertising since word of mouth really gets around. And Mr. Wise handles all the rest, like taxes, accounting, and all that. But, just as it was with every other resource, Mister Fix-It also introduces me to an abundance of human resources, such as my first date with Stacy. I met her auntie because of the work I do. I ran into Stacy in the elevator because of the work I do. And there’s no way I would have acknowledged or recognized her at the bowling alley if it w asn’t for my line of work. So it was only fitting that my relationship with JP’s Restaurant (on City Island) would complete the night. It would be con-ve nient both for the drinks that Stacy suggested, as well as food, if necessary.

  Once we got comfortable at one of the isolated booths, I asked “So, are you saying you were kidding about the idea of the date?”

  “Actually, no. I wasn’t kidding. If my auntie knew I was out seeing men instead of bowling, or that I was on a date at the movies, instead of getting my hair done, I’d have some weight on my shoulders. Auntie is anal like that, and I don’t really need that in my life right now. Can you believe she still thinks I’m a virgin, and that she’s preserving me? She calls me and checks on me like a probation officer or something. And even before I do go out, she’s gotta take down notes about my schedule, what I’ll be doing when, and with who.” Stacy gasped at the end of her words, and she began to reach around in her purse.

  “Man. I don’t get it. Why don’t you just lay down the law? Remind her you’re an adult?”

  “It’s not that easy. She’s providing a roof over my head right now. No rent. Very little overhead. So I gotta abide by her rules, if you know what I’m sayin’. But trust and believe, I been wanting to do that for a minute now.”

  “Okay, I’m confused. So why couldn’t you just tell me about the situation between you and Auntie? What was all the drama for in the truck? On one hand, you don’t want the mention of a date. And in the same breath, you were calling me a sucka.”

  Stacy chuckled, now with her little palm mirror in hand, checking her makeup there in front of me.

  “Oh, that’s funny to you?” I asked without want for a reply. And so, now it was time for some of my drama. The waitress had just approached. “Can I have the check, please?”

  Stacy was quiet for the instant. It seemed as if she had an explanation for her ways and that she was about to be humble. But I didn’t wait. I simply handed the waitress my money, including the tip. And while the exchange was going on, while Stacy’s explanation was waiting to be told, I had another engagement.

  “If you don’t mind, excuse me, I need to use the little boys’ room,” I said, complete with my angle of sarcasm. I could see on Stacy’s face that my work was taking its toll. Good.

  BACK IN the truck, still in JP‘s dark parking lot, the rain had tapered off some. There was a light drizzle, enough to shower the windshield so that the neon JP’s sign and everything outside was smeared. And now, Stacy was trying to clean up the mess she had started two hours earlier in Harlem.

  “I was just sayin’ that because of the look on your face. I mean, I don’t really look at you as soft, or a sucka. Maybe I shouldn’t have used those words. But, were you serious? I never expected you to fold that easy. Plus, like, you din’ even argue the issue. You just shut up ‘n’ drove. I mean, is it that easy for a woman to get out of your hair? What if I was attracted to you, and I was just testing you to see your response?” Stacy let out a sharp buzzer sound from her lips. “Game over.”

  STACY

  I hated to come on so strong with this cutie-pie, but I’ve had too many experiences with men (or so-called men) where I’ve been the lush; where I’ve been the pushover. But after the last one? I said, No more. If it was up to me, a nigga had to know that I was ready to go hard at the drop of a dime. This way they wouldn’t get confused and try to act up or act out, or worse— try’na put they hands on me. ‘Cuz then I’m all about the hot ghetto mess. Try’na tell ‘ya. And here he comes with his spit game. Let’s hear it: “Well, Miss Stacy, first of all, I really am not in any kind of shape to be a part of anyone’s test. And not—” I tried to interject, but he cut me off to keep with his point. I can’t lie; as much as I didn’t appreciate it, I’ve always said I sometimes need a boss to shut me up. ‘Cuz I can be a handful. “And not only that; for a long time now I haven’t been in the market for a woman where I can show my top game. So, for me, it’s what ever you say. You wanna know the truth? I’m a pushover these days.” Danté shrugged at the end of his explanation and changed the radio to WBLS. The quiet storm was playing “Is it a Crime,” coincidentally one of my favorite songs from Sade. Without looking him straight in the eye, I couldn’t help how disarmed I felt, and how my bold position had melted. Shit, he damn near made me forget whateva agenda I had— so far he didn’t seem to be putting on an act. Either that, or he was really good with this relationship stuff. And then he had more to say. I inhaled, tryin’ not to be so obvious. All I could hope for was that he didn’t see through me and that I was taking the chance to play with his head. If he did, then he was definitely turning the tables now.

  HE SAID, “And not that you were supposed to know this—I know your auntie does— but I had a couple close family members pass away recently. So my spirits are down some and I’m not as alert as I might be at another time in my life.”

  I didn’t dare wait another second before I blurted, “Ohhh, Danté. I’m so sorry. I never—”

  The conversation and the tension eased so much after that bomb, and I felt like all my defenses were down and that we were building our new relationship from scratch. I was so brokenhearted to hear about his loss— some real talk that was—a nd now I was on the verge of tears. I mean, I felt like things suddenly got so heavy, with Danté’s life drawn out like some ancient painting on me— the canvas— and he was the master artist Vincent van Gogh. Thing is, this was something I might’ve done, especially when I feel the demon inside of me. But then, thinkin’ about it all, I probably deserved every bit of guilt I was feeling, considerin’ how I just tried to play him. Callin’ him a sucka and what not. So, I figure maybe it was only right.

  After a time the two drinks we had shared inside the restaurant began to wear, however I could feel myself turning to putty in Danté’s hands. Even while we were still parked in his truck I could sense sorrow from his aura; no tears, just the whole head-down and filled with remorse. It had a powerful effect on me, whereas I just wanted to lean over and hug this man, someone I hardly knew. One thing I did know was that I had to stop pretending. I’m way less than the scandalous bitch I sometimes project, and for the most part I like to keep it real at all times. So, maybe this was something like Universal Law— what comes around, goes around.

  I EVENTUALLY reached over and rubbed Danté’s hand, tryin’ to soothe him. Then I reached for his shoulders. It was the first time we got to really connect, so I felt that trembling when I get all nervous with a guy. I hesitated and took big swallows of air at that point.

  “You okay, Danté? You need anything? Anything I can do?”

  He cleared his throat and didn’t look at me straight on. His hand went to his face so that I couldn’t see his eyes. I could only imagine the pain he’d endured in the past months, and I got to askin’ myself why I had to test him like I did. Damn. My hands automatically rubbed more of him until I was feeling up his neck. My other hand smoothed along the opposite side of his face. Eventually, I pulled him into my embrace. It was a little difficult in the front of the truck with the emergency break and all, but damned if I wasn’t gonna maneuver here to try’n make things better.

  “It’s gonna be alright, boo. I didn’t mean to come at you so hard,” I said. “And I should know better, because I been there.”

  Danté hugged me tighter and I felt his empathy toward my past issues, but I wasn’t interested in talking about my past, since that would confuse things. After all, wasn’t this mom
ent all about Danté? Pacifying his sorrows?

  At least ten minutes of cuddling passed before I broke down. No act here. Danté really had an impact on me.

  I couldn’t help what came out of my mouth next:

  “Do you want some company to night?”

  DANTÉ

  In my mind I choked back the questions, wondering how she would work this out with her anal auntie. Not that this was a promise of the inevitable— my mind racing with images of Stacy bent over the vanity and sink while I’m looking in the mirror, admiring my own work as I did the punishing from behind. But, I’ll be damned if we weren’t off to a real good start.

  I couldn’t answer her right away, since that was exactly what I was thinking. Instead, I turned to look out the driver’s-side window. Next thing I know, as though she was trying to assist with my decision-making, Stacy had her hands in my lap. My eyes wide, my face still turned, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I didn’t know whether to stop her because I wanted to show respect, despite the bowling-alley nonsense, or if I should grab a chunk of her hair to encourage some of the raunchiest moments of my life. And then I guess I’d say, To hell with it— it was good while it lasted. And of course, if I did that, why would I want to have any extended relationship with her? I mean, did she do this with all the guys? Or was it that my per formance was so moving and me so convincing and handsome and so eligible that she needed to make me feel better by any means necessary? By this time, it didn’t matter because Stacy, the pretty-ass, aggressive, shapely woman who I got to spend time in the elevator with, the disgruntled girl who had sidetracked my night of bowling—my client’s niece! for God sakes— was taking me half erect in her mouth like this was a job interview. And now that she wasn’t looking, it was alright for me to look, and damn I hated to have these thoughts, but it was so redeeming to see her head bobbing up and down in my lap, with her wet and attentive gums accepting some and then all of my rock-hard dick in her mouth.

  Some-all-some-all-lick-lap-lick-lap…

  I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t have a word to say. I just shut up and let nature take its course. And wow, did this ever feel natural. At one point Stacy turned her head some to see my face. But by this time I was leaning back and ever engaged in the moment. I didn’t know where this would lead, and I had no idea if this was the beginning of a great relationship or signs of a failed one. However, who in their right mind would be concerned about all that at a time like this?

  “AHH, STACY?” I muttered her name while at the same time holding back an ejaculation with all my might. No doubt that would have been a mistake. This was impulsive. She was a willing participant. And, unless some act of God got in the way, there was no way I would pass up more of this. “Can we— can we hold off from this? I wanna take you up on your offer about to night.” I said this with the moans and grunts of a confused epileptic. Sure, I wanted more, but within more-comfortable surroundings, please?

  Stacy let up from my lap, not without the sounds of her smacking those overworked lips. I suppose it was good for her since her eyes were reduced to slits and her deep breath seemed to want for more of me. And while Stacy grabbed up the bottle of water she’d started earlier, I got to thinking, Damn, that was some good head. I praised this girl to the high heavens as I wiggled the car out of park and eased out of JP’s. Thanks, JP, for the use of your parking lot. It was so convenient for that impulsive moment. But in the back of my mind I couldn’t help knowing I was raised better than this and that this was way out of character for me and any interaction I ever— I take that back. As I thought this, I also thought about Ms. Thomas. Maybe this was a virus going around and I was the carrier?

  “What will you tell your aunt?” I asked on the parkway back to Park Chester.

  “I got a girlfriend who will vouch for me. She’ll bitch about how her car broke down and how she needed my help to push it back home. We’ll do it on a conference call so Auntie will think we’re in the same house at the same time. Shit, I’ll say everything and anything for some more of that,” she said, waving her pointer finger at my loins.

  Funny how Stacy said that, as if my dick was the next best thing after ice cream. And this girl’s scruples were the worst; but wow, I loved every minute of it.

  THE RAIN had all but subsided, and around 11:00 p.m. back in Park Chester, the neighbors were starting early for this weekend’s Puerto Rican Day parade. The salsa and reggae-tone music was loud, coming from many different sources; most from speakers wedged in apar tment windows. Already there were Puerto Rican flags either taped across the hoods of cars or mounted and proudly streaming through the streets of the Bronx. Somewhere, the scent of weed was wafting in the air. And to think this was only Friday. This was about to be a hot weekend, in more than one way.

  Thinking that the weekend and the parties were the reason it was so easy for me to find a parking space, I was able to keep the truck close to my building. I did the whole gentleman’s gesture of running around to open the door for my date, and I escorted her, arm in arm, down the pathway and to the entrance. The heat was more bearable tonight thanks to all the rain, but I couldn’t help knowing what we faced in my apartment. All the while, the anticipation was boiling in my stomach to know this absolute dime was by my side, and how she practically promised me the pussy would be mine all night long. I got a girlfriend who will vouch for me… Shit, I’ll say everything and anything for some more of that.

  Wow. It couldn’t get any better than this: like an incredibly alluring vacation brochure that was about to deliver on all its promises.

  “Listen, I hate to make excuses, but my car is the clean side of me. My apartment, however, is a whole ’nother story. Remember, it’s been a man’s world for some time now.”

  Stacy shrugged. She said, “Whateva.” But as she did, I could see her eyes reviewing the bulge in my pants. We were stepping into the elevator and before the door even closed, Stacy pulled my arm so that I swung around. Her mouth glued itself to mine and her tongue pried and searched and tossed with my own. Wow, was this ever the impulsive vixen to make my day— my week and my year. And before I could think of something to say, we were against the elevator doors, the walls, and just about to waste no more time before I realized where we were and before I heard the doors slide open again. Stacy and I were about to hit the floor and go at each other when old man Curtis came into view. Oh shit.

  “Alright now, you younguns. ‘Nuff a that foolishness in the— is that you, Danté Garrett? My word, what would your father say?”

  I was already pulling myself together and I encouraged Stacy to do the same with the nudge of my elbow. It was nothing more than Stacy’s shirt and my zipper. We hadn’t gotten so far as to offer the ultimate exposure to the old-timer, but I’m sure his imagination was through the roof, knowing that something raunchy was goin’ on.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Curtis. We were— we—”

  “No need for explainin’, young man. Just please. There’s a time and a place for everything. Show some respect.” Mr. Curtis reached toward the buttons to select his floor, but not without getting a good look at Stacy over his eyeglasses. Meanwhile, I’m telling myself, Damn— the elevator hasn’t moved. I didn’t even get to push the button. And, Thank God he doesn’t like her aunt.

  One day about three years earlier I had to sit through about a half hour of Mr. Curtis ranting about how Mrs. Singletary had turned him down for a date. And my mind calculated that, and the idea of Stacy only recently moving in with her aunt. All told, he might not even know who he was looking at. Beyond that, he was probably getting his dirty old man on with that one slick gaze passed off. No harm done.

  “Alrighty now. Y’all be good, and try— try and keep the noise down, if possible.” Mr. Curtis cracked me up with that one. If possible. The music in our midst was already madness, with the whole b-bump-bump, b-bump-bump from a whole lotta somebodies feeding into the early Puerto Rican Day euphoria. But it didn’t matter to me since I was on a mission ri
ght now.

  AS SOON as we got into my apartment, the heat consumed us as if we’d walked into a sauna.

  “It takes me a minute to cool the apartment down. No sense in leaving the air conditioner on all day.” But, while I said that, I also cursed myself for being the conscious consumer, not the experienced player women might expect to see these days. It sure would’ve paid off to not play consumer-conscious and to leave it on today of all days!

  “Please. We in the ‘hood, Mr. G. This ain’t nothin’ to me,” said Stacy. “In fact, we don’t even need air conditionin’, ‘cause it’s about to get hot up in here anyways. And we— really don’t— have time— for all— of that.”

  Wow. She had already kicked off her shoes, worked her way past the miscellaneous tools I had near the doorway, and basically attacked me. She was already in my arms, my embrace, and my mouth. Wow. Stacy was the most impulsive, spontaneous woman I’d met to date, and I didn’t mind a bit. She pulled my shirt over my head and nibbled at my chest. And while we were attached at the lips, I lifted her through the hallway and farther into the apartment. I had to maneuver past the workbench I had set up earlier to cut a few plumbing fixtures, but we made it to my couch. I would’ve chosen my bed, but (1) the bed wasn’t made and (2) I wanted to have something left that was private, considering this woman was inviting herself to just about everything else belonging to me.

  The moaning, the friction, and the intense heat came second to our sweaty faces. I couldn’t wait to slip her blouse up and over her head, and no sooner did I eventually get my hands full of her slick, C-size breasts. Her breasts were instantly becoming my new addiction, and they reminded me of the Halle Barry, Janet Jackson, and Beyoncé types we always see in the media. Those images are just shot at us through every means, whether it’s T V, magazines, movies, or the Internet, as if they were all loaded in shotguns and aimed at the next pair of eyes. And not that those women defined utter beauty (for me), just that touching Stacy’s body gave me that kind of impression. Tight. Pointed. Shapely. Way different from the sagging madness that Ms. Thomas had in my face just a week or so earlier. And now Stacy’s breasts were in my face like hot honey biscuits I wouldn’t mind stuffing into my mouth; and then they were in my mouth. Salty from sweat and bitter from some residual perfume, I didn’t care either way. I was enjoying these substantial amounts of flesh feeding my moment of ecstasy.