Burning Desire Page 4

  “Murder she wrote

  Murder she wro-o-oooote”

  The soundtrack that fueled our tossing and turning was more than mere music; there were also sirens and blips from nearby police activity in the streets. Those trucks driving by with their boomin’ systems set off some car alarms in their wake, and so there was some of that. From the apartment upstairs there were heavy footfalls that made my ceiling rumble, and perhaps that was a motorcycle (or two) with the revving engines outdoors. And none of it mattered. It was all coincidental. The only thing that did matter right now was the embrace that Stacy and I were locked in when she moaned, “I like it raw.” I was trying so hard to prevent any premature ejaculation before the impact of our fun hit the tipping point.

  Yeah, I know there’s supposed to be courting, Granddad. I know old-fashioned wins every time. I remember whatcha told me; but this girl is so different. She just makes me forget everything I ever knew. She changed my whole way of dealing with the opposite sex, and she did it in record time.

  I even had to stop at one point and pull out to adjust my thinking, but the truth was I was about to explode! Stacy, in the meantime, rolled onto the floor, her hands pulling at her hair in frustration. At that very moment she looked so damn good that I went back for her. And right there on the floor I delivered hungry, intense thrusts as Stacy moaned and cried out her want for more. She shouted, “Take it! Take it!” But she didn’t have to encourage me. I was already taking it, and working it, and punishing it, with a focus that (if nothing else) this encounter would never be forgotten in our lifetime. Yes, it was so suddenly my mission to fuck her mind and body in ways they had never been fucked in the past. Her loud wails, the grabbing at my floor rug, the couch, and a nearby chair convinced me that I was indeed accomplishing that mission. But not until Stacy began to cry in those long, hard sobs was I clear that Danté Garrett was an important evolution in her life; a life in which I didn’t mind playing a role. But, even at that late revelation, I stayed the momentum and drove myself thoroughly past even my own expectations. If she was faking up until this point, I’d surely know it! She reached back and grabbed my ass, basically wanting me to maintain the pressure, the friction, and everything I was doing to her. And I did that again and again, thrust after long, wet thrust. I finally went over the top, grabbing her waist and arching her back, so that I could get to the deepest parts of her.

  STACY

  This was so new for me. Not the aggression that I came at him with. Not the feeling of moving too fast, or the idea that we were practically strangers. None of that was as much of an issue as this man filling me and reaching my very core with his thorough, masculine drive. I’ve been with men before, so it wasn’t the strength or the size or even the punishment that was so usual. I didn’t get that from Danté. Danté was hittin’ me with something so different, so unexplainable. And all I could do was reach for something to hold on to so that I could arch my back some more, so he could have more of me. And I don’t know why I was thinking this, but, with all this going on, I found myself testifying! I could almost hear myself sayin’, Lawd have mercy, please don’t take this man out of my life! I mean, the way he was workin’ it, he could do no wrong. I swear, he could put a gun to my head and rob me if he wanted to, so long as I could get some more of this good dick! No problem! After so many thrusts in and out of me, the punishment mixed with ecstasy, my tears of joy were confused with my cries and moans, Danté was still continuously muscling his way into me until I eventually came harder than ever before. I mean, it was like I was peeing myself, only there was a rush of thousand-watt voltage that came with it.

  ALL I remember was how we both collapsed on the floor, glued together, sweaty and spent, and lovin’ it. The music was still pounding from this way and that, even as midnight passed. But instead of its being annoying, it only served as the soundtrack to the numbing spell Danté had on me. Danté— even the way his name rolled off my tongue tasted like newfound love. And probably, for as long as I lived, I wouldn’t ever forget the robbery and the ecstasy that took place here in his apartment. I wouldn’t ever forget the surrender or the absolute elation I felt laying there in that same helpless daze in Danté’s arms.

  DANTÉ

  I hopped up to cut on the air conditioner, then went into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for the two of us. After I helped wipe her once and twice and three times, I came back to carry her into my bedroom. No way did I care about how my bed looked now, since the two of us had basically consummated the relationship and what we meant to each other (however spur-of-the-moment), all in the past couple hours. It was both blissful and promising. She was willing and smart, aggressive and passive. She also looked great: great body and intoxicating attitude. If there was anything to hide, I didn’t see it. But then, I guess I wouldn’t, as blinded as I was by the lust and passion. If there was a red flag to find, I didn’t see it, or didn’t care.

  Looking back on it now, I definitely should have cared.

  [THREE]

  IF YOU LOOKED into the rituals of those day-to-day activities you’d see that Danté Garrett likes to schedule most of his appointments for the afternoons and early evenings. I like to surf the Internet in the late evenings, where I read all the up-to-date articles they print in magazines without having to go get them, only to clutter my apartment any more than it already is. If not that, I catch my favorite house-and-garden shows on cable— even if they’re telling me stuff I already know. During the early morning, if there’s no work scheduled, I’m catching up on sleep. Otherwise, you’d never find me hungover from club or bar hopping, and I don’t do many nights out to the movies. The bootlegs are fine by me, since nowadays they are just as good as going to the theater. And the theaters? That’s another thing. With all the people who frequent the movies (especially at the one closest to where I live), you’d think there was something more to do than to go and show off your girl, or to show out. Fights, stabbings, shootings: all of it over a woman. So I don’t mind being a hard worker and a homebody. If I can avoid trouble I will, unless it confronts me one-on-one. Then it’s up to God who lives or dies.

  But with my routine and my schedule, there’s no way I am up and about, cleaning my house, dishes, and clothes at seven thirty in the morning. I am not dusting bookshelves, cleaning surfaces, or or ga niz ing stuff that’s been out of place for months and years. And I am definitely not cleaning my tub and shower as early as eight in the morning. But that Saturday—”the morning after”—was so different. The encounter with Stacy had me feeling like a marathon man! I did all that, and then had energy to run to the store for a few extra things while Stacy slept like an angel. And to think I intended to revolutionize her life! It was me who was the changed man! After all the cleaning, I made eggs and bacon for the two of us. I even went the extra mile to make tea, to squeeze some fresh orange juice, and to slice up a tomato, pepper, and onion so that she could join me to sprinkle some fresh veggies atop the eggs with some sharp cheddar cheese.

  “You eat this way all the time?” she asked once she was able to open her eyes. She didn’t seem to mind being naked there in front of me and I couldn’t get enough of the sight, or the scent of sex that still hung in the air.

  “No question. I mean I don’t usually do it for two, but I definitely do it. I like to eat healthy. If the body’s treated right, the mind will treat everything else right. You should taste my fried rice. It’s off the hook.”

  “I see,” she said, letting me see her eyes traverse from my face down to the hidden jewels in my shorts. “Well, everything else is already off the hook.”

  I laughed and said, “You so funny.” Then we ate like hungry mammoths.

  “So, do you get down like that all the time? I mean,” she swallowed what she had in her mouth, “you were an absolute animal last night.”

  Not answering her question yet, I asked, “Was I too much?”

  “Too much? Maaaan, if I can get dick like that every day, I’ll follow you to the moo
n and back, ten times.” Stacy exhaled real noticeably.

  I chuckled with my mouth full of food and managed to ask, “Are you always this forward?”

  “Shit, yes. If there’s something on my mind, I hold my tongue for no one. And if there’s something I like, or that I want more of? Better believe I’m a happy woman if I get it. Now I might have to do what I gotta do to keep a safe roof over my head, but at the end of the day, I’ma get mine.” Stacy practically sang her praises and desires while I continued to study her. I couldn’t see any cracks, even if she was over the top with her life’s demands. The thing that I admired about her most was her ability to be the perfect lady, like when we were in the elevator that first day we met, but how she was the aggressor when we were escaping the bowling alley and rushing through the rain. And she could also stay grounded and keep it ‘hood when necessary; how she shrugged off my hot apartment and didn’t quibble about the imperfections in life— the mess in my truck; the mess in my apartment. She was a chameleon, I guessed. And that was fine since everyone was unique in their own way.

  Something struck me, and since she seemed to be allowing access, I didn’t mind asking.

  “Stacy?”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “I was just wondering: you appear to be all that. But, why don’t you have a man? Why hasn’t anyone scooped you up?” What’s wrong with you that I’m not seeing? I wondered to myself. And then I had to ask, “And then I really need to know what was up with the whole ’I like it raw’ comment.”

  “I guess they too afraid of a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “But what about your past boyfriends? I know you had to have few of ‘em?” Pretty mothafucka that you are.

  “Okay, you hittin’ me with a whole lotta questions, Mista’ Ned Stopple. How about I ask you a few questions? How about I rate you on a scale from one to ten? I mean, why I gotta be under the microscope all a sudden? I mean, how chauvinist of you.”

  I thought to apologize after her comments. But then I remembered how she had called me a sucka the night before. So instead of following my reflexes, I said, “ ‘Cuz a nigga like me got a lot to lose. No babies, my own business, money in the bank, and the whole gentleman in the ‘hood thing goin’ on, plus the dick is good. What!”

  Stacy giggled. “Now that was good. You really had me goin’ for a minute there; like, for real. I been around some thugs and,” she snickered again, “that was good. I was ‘specially turned on by the whole way you moved your shoulders and head— like some real thug-shit.” More laughs.

  Oh no, she didn’t play me.

  “Alright, so I never claimed to be a thug, Stacy. But, if you’re gonna beat around the bush about who you deal with, you can at least tell me why it was so important for us to fuck in the raw. I mean, you try’na get pregnant or something?”

  A chuckle, then she said, “I’m very trusting of the right person. I think you’re the right person—’less I’m wrong? And I don’t do it like that with everyone; matter fact, the last time I been with a man was months ago. I felt like a virgin last night. Especially when you came in me. I can’t wait to have your baby.”

  “WHAT!? I thought you said—”

  Stacy cackled like a heckler at Caroline’s.

  “Calm down, playboy. I was only kiddin’. Like I said last night, I use the IUD. No worries. And no babies.”

  “Girrrl!” I immediately tackled and tickled her until she eventually gave in and said uncle.

  When we were normal again, she said, “But seriously, I been givin’ you the benefit of the doubt on that. Not just that you look and eat healthy; you just add up to all the man I need, that’s all. And besides, you get an A for your outstanding effort in bed.”

  “Girl? Outstanding is spelt with a O.”

  “So I missed a few En glish classes. Plan on disciplinin’ me, Mista Danté Garrett? Can a lil’ ol’ girl like me offer you an apology? I mean, you just came and scooped lil’ ol’ me up off the big bad streets of Haahlem, and I’m ever so grateful.…” Stacy moved the tray aside and maneuvered her body so that she was closer to me. “So, you mind, Mista Garrett, if I just show you how grateful I is?” Amid my heavy breathing, Stacy wasn’t waiting for a response, and she proceeded to level her head so that it was down in my lap; and once again her spontaneity was killing me! I hated the way she was playing me— like a fiddle! And I couldn’t help but wonder who this woman really was. But at the same time, she was turning me the fuck on with how she was acting. The whole southern-belle bit, complete with that down-south accent. What would my elders say to me now? There you go, boy; suckered again.

  AND NOW, more dictation. More salacious sounds; and again, Stacy was engrossed with the length of me in and out of her mouth, making that SuperHead bootleg I saw look like an amateur home video.

  To put it mildly, Stacy had me feeling like Superman. And by all the signals she basically gave me permission to do what I wanted with her. So, I went down that road and directed her to stand up. I helped her off the bed so that she easily worked her way to a kneeling position on the floor before me. Meanwhile, she continued with her incredible work. I mean incredible work. And somewhere during my uncontrollable emotions, I looked up to the heavens that promised to be above and beyond the ceiling of my bedroom, wondering if Pop could see and, maybe, even feel how damn incredible this was. And as I was about to reciprocate, trying to reposition myself so that I could bless her with some of the same, Stacy stopped me in midmotion. Even while she was still extrabusy down there, she took my hands and molded them around her neck, encouraging me to— what the hell? She wanted me to choke her?

  Lord have mercy! I quietly exalted, wondering what I was getting into and what else this woman was capable of.

  Needless to say, Stacy never fully answered my question about other men, and why she— pretty, smart, and aggressive— was so available, without a man by her side. After all, wasn’t that the natural way of things? And yet, regardless of my unanswered questions, I surely didn’t argue with anything; just went along with the program. And I didn’t really remember to revisit the issue, either. I can’t imagine what threw me off and made me forget.

  During the next month and a half I found myself getting phone calls from both Ms. Thomas and the ever-sweet Polly Purebread-slash-Video Vixen, Stacy. I didn’t have the heart to tell Ms. Thomas to get a life or to stop calling me. For one: she’s a good client. And maybe I had procrastinated in expressing the importance of separating the business from the plea sure. But then, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings with the whole hit-it-’n’-quit-it attitude. It’s almost always the woman who’s gonna want that attachment after they’ve given up the goodies. But for us, if there’s no love in the first place, there will likely be no love down the road. And the thing with Ms. Thomas was definitely a lust thing. My thing is that, as a man, I may not know what I’m looking for, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop looking! And then, almost always, the fault is ours. We’ll do what ever we have to and say what ever we have to just to get inside, and we won’t think about and won’t care about the consequences. So maybe I’d be a hypocrite to bring that up now, after the evening we had together? After I came on her chest? It was a bit much to figure out, and to have to tell her, Well, gee, Ms. Thomas, I loved crossing the line to mix business with plea sure, but we need to put an end to this. And besides, I’m fucking another client’s niece. Who happens to be more my age and more of the type I’d like to, say, spend the rest of my life with? You think you can handle that and stop calling me? You psycho bitch?

  No, I couldn’t bring it to her that way; wouldn’t want it to get around that I was Mister Fix-It in more than one way. And yet, getting back to her would be necessary at some point since she was (I’m sure) getting desperate, calling me for things I know were not necessary jobs. However, my focus was on just two issues right now: my work, which was still piled sky high, and my new girl, Stacy, who I barely had time for.

  Even this soon, I have to sa
y that Stacy was the best thing that ever happened to me. Just the juice she brought into my life had me hopping onto job sites like I was on something. And some clients who noticed even asked me, Are you smoking something, Danté? And I’d have to respond, Naw. I’m just thrilled to be alive right now! And then they’d say, Well, it’s good to see you come back to life. I was worried about you for a quick minute. But little did folks know, I was cured over and above normal! I was as happy as a pig in shit. But the truth was that Stacy was rockin’ my world, both mentally and physically. Stacy was spending money on me, even though, thanks to Pop’s life insurance, I had a little more than seventy thousand dollars in my bank account. Still, Stacy was showin’ me love from every which direction, even though I worked those long hours and had very little time to spend with her.

  “I know what you’re doin’, baby. I’m in this for the long run,” she’d tell me. Or she’d encourage me, like when I was getting strife from a super over at building 10. Because he wanted most or all of the business to come to him, he would make things difficult for me and, maybe, not allow me easy access, or he’d be less than helpful if I needed to get to the basement on an electrical matter. Funny how the supers never really have time to get to all their issues in a timely manner, but the moment the work gets outsourced to a handyman, they wanna make things extra difficult and raise holy hell about it. My thing is, or ga nize your time and get to your tenants’ problems in an expeditious manner so that they don’t need to call me in the first place. Another thing you can do is get the job done right the first time and they won’t need to call someone who’s more professional, more experienced, and who has a better attitude with people of all nationalities; not just my own. Hello? I found myself ranting like this from time to time, and Stacy just happened to be there— the pillow to cushion my complaints.