Chapter 2: Wild Nights of Fantasy Passion

Chapter 2: Wild Nighs of Fantasy Passion

I had apparently dozed off in a fitful sleep waiting for Maurice to show up. It was almost two o’clock but still no signs of him having been to my house. The heat was unbearable. I had to peel the soaking wet sheets from my body to get out of bed. Why in the world was it so hot in here? I staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face to try and cool off. Now, I was just hot and wet.

I made a face at myself in the mirror and wandered into the living room to see what temperature the thermostat was set on. Somebody must have accidentally turned the heat on by mistake. But that couldn’t be right. Maurice wasn’t in the house enough to be messing around with the thermostat, and I didn’t even think Tomika realized what it was for.

I could see a dim light around the corner as I started down the hall towards the living room. That’s strange. Tomika and I like complete darkness when we go to sleep, so we never leave lights on in the house at night. Maurice is the one who’s afraid of the dark. He always comes in at some God forsaken hour turning on lights, talking about how he can’t see. If he ever spent any real time here, he wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into things in the dark. He would instinctively know how to maneuver around them like we do.

He must have fallen asleep in the living room watching television or something. But he wasn’t on the couch. And he wasn’t in the bathroom. I just left there. Maybe he left and just forgot to turn the light off.

As I approached the kitchen to get a drink of water, I saw that the light was coming through my open refrigerator door. I know he didn’t leave my refrigerator open. As I made my way over close to it, I froze in my tracks noticing a figure bent over, rummaging in my fridge. What the hell? He was so engrossed in its contents that he didn’t seem to notice that I had come in. I backed away from the kitchen’s entrance slowly, hoping to make a clean break to my room and retrieve the aluminum baseball bat that I kept under my bed. As I did an about face, he spoke.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to join me for a midnight snack.”

I froze in a silent panic.

He spoke again.

“You got any whipped cream?”

What was he planning to do, eat me?

I found my voice and demanded, “How the hell did you get in my house?”

The man turned from whatever had his attention in my refrigerator and looked at me. I could barely make out his face in the dim light emanating from the fridge, but there was something strangely familiar about him.

“I told you. I am wherever you will me to be, my love.”

My mouth dropped.

“Desmond?”

He smiled.

“You know that surprised act is getting a bit old.”

He casually rose to a standing position, opened my freezer, and scooped some ice cubes into a bowl he was holding.

“Desmond, what are you doing here?” I asked again, staring at him in disbelief.

“Relax, baby. I came to cool you off.”

He took me by the hand and led me into my bedroom.

Too dumbfounded to say anything else, I watched him as he set the bowl of ice on my nightstand. He slowly and playfully peeled off my pajamas, scooped me off my feet, and laid me gently on the bed.

“Oh, I couldn’t find the whipped cream, but this will work,” he said, nonchalantly holding up a bottle of chocolate syrup.

“Desmond!” I gasped. But there was nothing else for me to say. I was speechless.

He sat down on the bed next to where I lay, leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“Good,” he said, satisfied. “I just want you to lay back and enjoy the ride.”

Desmond took a chunk of ice from the bowl on the nightstand and put it in his mouth. Then he moved down to the foot of the bed. He lifted my legs over his shoulders and lowered himself down on his stomach between my thighs. I could feel his icy breath tickling my insides before his lips even made contact.

“Ohhhh, Desmond,” I moaned…

I jolted straight up in bed, panting. My pajamas and sheets were covered with wet, sticky remnants of a dream that I never wanted to wake up from. It was a dream with a recurrent theme, becoming more and more real with every forty winks that I took. I had been having these wild nights of fantasy passion ever since I reacquainted myself with Desmond Wright a year ago.

It started as a harmless-platonic-haven’t seen my old friend in a while-let’s keep in touch kind of thing. All I did was stop by my old job to visit people that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Well, I really did want to see Desmond in particular, but I swear it was completely innocent. Aside from the fact that I had always had a secret obsession with Desmond, I considered him to be enough of a friend to want to keep in contact with after I left my job with Global Technology. So, I stand by my decision to pay him a visit after not having seen him in a couple of years, even if my motives weren’t necessarily pure.

I met Desmond about five years earlier while working a temporary job at Global Technology, one of the major corporations in the Research Triangle Park area. I had previously separated from the army after four years of active duty service, where I served as a hospital medic at Fort Ord in California. I had trouble finding a job once I returned home to North Carolina that would accommodate my skills without the civilian credentials. The civilian work force was not very accepting of military training methods and most places refused to hire even the most qualified candidates without formal schooling. So, I secured a position driving a forklift in one of Global Technology’s warehouses while I put myself through school. There, Desmond also worked as an up and coming young professional.

The first time I laid eyes on him every ounce of religion I ever had oozed right into my panties, along with the excitement that welled up me as I shook his hand. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He was about five-foot-ten with a medium build and slightly bowed legs. His mocha chocolate complexion was flawless, and I was sure that he could read my mind with those piercing, dark brown eyes. His bright, sincere smile turned up only at the left corner, giving him the look of a young boy up to no good. And the waves in his hair made me seasick.

He wore an oatmeal-colored sweater that clung to his frame nicely. It was a crew neck sweater with two buttons at the neck with no collar. And those brown steel-toe boots made me wonder if it was true what they said about men with big feet.

But it wasn’t his handsome face, that well chiseled body, or those huge feet that captivated me attention. It was his hands. His nails were uncharacteristically clean for a warehouse worker and wrinkles around his knuckles gave his hands an inviting look, like slightly worn leather. I could tell by looking at those hands that he was no stranger to hard work, but they felt smooth like a new baseball glove. His strong grip oozed confidence. And I could just feel them caressing my body. I couldn’t help but notice how that simple gold band on his left finger made the rest of his hand that much more attractive.

People gravitated to Desmond. The staff always went to him when they had issues even though he wasn’t supervisor. He was always willing to help and always had a kind word for everyone. He had a way of making you feel seen and appreciated. So, the guys on the job respected him. And the women shameless fell all over him.

Somehow, he took a shine to me and would frequent my work area just to chitchat whenever we had down time. He was always intrigued by my outside interests. We had a lot in common like our love for motorcycles, our love for the beach, and jazz music. Our close association didn’t sit well with the rest of the female staff, who felt like I was getting too much of Desmond’s attention. I was regularly interrogated.

“I noticed that Desmond picked you to go with him to the new warehouse this week. Are you sure that’s the only place y’all went?” Pam, one of my co-workers asked me one day.

They always tried to make light of their accusations, but I knew they were hoping I would confirm their suspicions to justify their hating on the close contact I had with him.

“Girl, we went to his house and had a long lunch,” I would tease with a smirk. Nosy heifers.

I finally found a job in my field at an obstetrics practice and left the jealous women of Global Technologies, along with my friendship with Desmond. But the energy between us was unmatched and Desmond expressed his desire to keep in touch after leaving the job. I gladly gave him my number and agreed to meet for lunch or something whenever time allowed.

We talked on the phone quite a bit at first. But after a few months I guess we both got busy, and the calls became less and less frequent. Then, I moved to another part of the city, changed to an unlisted number, and became engrossed in other things and other men. I still thought about him from time to time, but when I finally tried to contact him at work, his extension and his beeper number had both been assigned to someone else within the company. I hadn’t spoken with him in a couple of years until recently.

I won’t pretend like it was by sheer accident or fate that I ran into Desmond again after all this time. My boyfriend Maurice had been missing in action so much lately that instead of absence making the heart grow fonder, it made my mind wander. So, one evening after work about eight or nine months ago, after having been stood up the night before for the hundredth time, I decided to pay the old Global Technology crew a visit. Okay, so I really had no interest in seeing anyone else. My sole motive for driving thirteen and a half miles in the opposite direction of home was to see if there might be a chance that Desmond still worked there. I figured that a little harmless ego stroke from another man was just what I needed to boost my morale. It wasn’t like we were going to cuddle or anything. It was just harmless conversation. And Maurice was always too busy for conversation.

Desmond indeed, still on the job, was now in charge of the second shift crew with a lot more time to talk on the phone these days, and he seemed to be just as starved for soothing small talk as I did. Since that day, we conversed almost every night around right around ten o’clock and then he haunted my dreams for the rest of the evening. I rolled over and turned on the lamp on my bedside table to wake myself up. I felt like I had actually had a man in my bed the night before. These dreams had become more vivid and intense in nature, each one leaving me breathless and horny. It was like being trapped in a porno movie. Fortunately for me, Maurice was out of town. These wet dreams made me feel like I was cheating, and I was beginning to feel a little guilty about reopening this little can of worms, even though Desmond and I were doing nothing more than talking on the phone. And the last thing I needed was to have an orgasm in my sleep and breathe Desmond’s name in the process.

I went into the bathroom and turned on the water for a shower. I briefly entertained the notion of turning on the cold tap in order to snap myself out of the horny state I was in, but quickly dismissed it. Hell, it hadn’t gotten quite that bad, yet. I chuckled under my breath and went into the other room to wake up my daughter, Tomika.

Tomika lay on her stomach spread eagle in the middle of the bed, like the coyote after the landing at the bottom of a cliff. Her mouth hung open, but she had her thumb stuck in it just the same. She looked so peaceful lying there that I hated to wake her. I stood there for a minute and watched her. She was the spitting image of me when I was a child, but she looked just like her father when she was asleep. It was always amazing to me how a child could look exactly like both parents at the same time. Too bad Lance wasn’t interested in what she looked like. We hadn’t heard from him since she was two years old.

I turned on the light and called to her.

“Time to get up, baby,” I said to her, as gently as I could. Neither of us are morning people so we always treaded lightly in each other’s territory in the mornings. When it comes to stank attitudes, I gave birth to myself. As sweet as she was as a child, she could really test my gangster, if provoked. So, I quickly left the room so I would not have to see that first eye roll or hear that first mumble under her breath.

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