Three The Hard Way

by Glenn, Roy

  "Thank you." I accepted, thinking that it might help me relax as I sat down on the bed.

  I watched as he unlocked the mini bar and removed a bottle of Absolute Vodka and Pierre water. "They don’t have any lemon juice so I can’t make you a Vodka Collins."

  "Vodka and Pierre will be fine."

  He fixed my drink and poured himself a glass of Remy Martin. He sat down on the bed very close to me and sipped his drink, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes, watching as I sipped my drink. "Would you mind if I turned on some music?" he asked.

  "That would be nice."

  He put his drink down and walked around to the other side of the bed where he tuned the radio to a jazz station. The melodic sounds of saxophone filled the room. I took another sip that was more a swallow than a sip. I put the glass down as he stood before me. "Do you mind if I take a shower?"

  "Do you mind if I join you?" I can’t believe I said that.

  "Only if you let me bathe you."

  "Only if you let me bathe you." Who are you?

  "Deal," he said and extended his hand, which I accepted, unable to fathom just how nervous I was. Still coming to grips with what I was doing. No more time to rationalize, I stood up and my hand shook a little. He took both hands in his and gently raised them to his lips. I guess he could tell how nervous I was. "You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Carla," he said and kissed my hands.

  "I want to."

  He took a step closer and once again our bodies touched. He slowly tilted my head back. I closed my eyes in breathless anticipation of the fullness of his lips against mine. Maybe it was the alcohol, but his kiss, long and passionate, made my head spin. He released my hands and soon I felt his strong hands in the small of my back, drawing me close into his embrace.

  I reached up, touched his shoulder, and glided my hands slowly down his back, finally resting them around his waist. He touched my hands, removing them from his waist. He stepped away causing our lips to part. He led me by the hand into the bathroom.

  Once he turned the shower on, he reached out for me and kissed my lips a little more forcefully this time. He grabbed the nape of my neck and pulled me closer. He kissed my neck over and over again. My head drifted back. I was in ecstasy as he slowly and methodically worked the first of my weak spots. I reached behind my back and pulled down the zipper on my skirt. I began to wiggle my way out of it. He unbuttoned my blouse, slid it off my shoulders, and then used my neck as a gate to my cleavage; gliding his tongue along the lacy edges as I moaned.

  I allowed my skirt to drop to the floor with my hands free to explore his body. I decided to see what kind of night I was going to have. I reached for his crouch, thinking what a shame it would be if he had me this hot from foreplay and didn’t have the tools to back it up.

  I grabbed it, gently of course. My eyes opened wide, he smiled and unhooked my bra with one hand and quickly returned to my chest; moving my bra out of the way with his teeth, his tongue slide across my erect nipples.

  My knees went weak.

  I squeezed him, felt the firm length of his erection. Even though I felt him while we danced, it was completely different feeling him in my hand. I became more excited. Like a greedy crack fiend I quickly unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his pants, reached inside his briefs, and felt its warmth, then glided my hands up and down his shaft; distracted only by my bra sliding down my arms and dangling from my wrists.

  We broke contact suddenly. He led me by the hand into the shower, picked up a bar of soap—Lever 2000, and not the hotel issued soap. He began rubbing the soap between his hands until both were lathered; heavily. I occupied myself by rubbing his rather large and very hard erection between my hands.

  With the soap in one hand, he began to lather my body sliding his hands delicately over what felt like every inch of my body. Once again, my eyes drifted shut and my head drifted back as I continued to massage his erection. I always have been just a little dick happy, you know . . . excited to the point of smiling from ear to ear at the sight of one, and the feel of it in my hand. Soft and silky to the touch, yet hard and firm. "Oooh, my goodness!"

  Once I had soap all over my body he pulled me to his chest, wrapped his arms around me and began to slide his body up and down against my soapy body, staring into my eyes the whole time.

  "You are so beautiful," he said.

  I tried to say something along the line of, "Thank you for the compliment," and I know my mouth was moving, but no words came out. All I could do was moan at the site of this man sliding his hard body against mine. The feeling of his chest against my nipples made them swell. His erection found its mark between my legs; it slid effortlessly across my soapy pubic hairs, occasionally finding its way to my clit.

  "Turn around," he said.

  I quickly complied, turning my body into the shower. He started again, sliding his body against mine. He massaged my breasts gently, squeezing my nipples as the water beat against my body washing away the soap. He then ran his hand across my stomach; fingering my navel. His hand made the occasional pass across my pubic hair. He started kissing and licking my neck, sucking and gently biting my ear lobes. Then his index finger found my clit. My eyes and mouth both opened wide; my other weak spot.

  Again I tried to speak as his finger massaged my clit, again no words came out. His touch was soft and gentle, but firm all at once. It felt as if waves of current emanated from my clit and spread throughout my body. I reached for the wall to steady myself; my knees locked, my body shuddered from the inside out.

  I forced myself to pull away from him. I quickly washed the remaining soap from his body and pulled him out of the shower. We toweled each other dry and I led him to the bed. On the way I gave some more thought to what I was doing here. The answer was simple. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye: at his face, then at his erection. "I’m fucking you tonight." I said under my breath.

  "Did you say something, Carla?" he said as we arrived at the bed.

  "Yes, lay down."

  He quickly complied with my request. He laid spread eagle across the bed and I crawled across the bed to him. I looked at it again, gawked at it actually, and contemplated going down on him. I had broken all the rest of the rules, why not this one too? I asked myself as I straddled his torso. Not today. I grabbed hold of it and glided him inside me.

  I was tight or he was big.

  More like a combination of the two.

  He smiled and placed his hands on my ass. As my hands dropped to his chest, he spread my cheeks and slowly moved me up and down, inching deeper and deeper inside me. The deeper he got, the wetter I got. Soon I was sliding up and down on him effortlessly. He didn’t move at first, he seemed very content to allow me to work at my own pace. My pace was slow and steady; there was a true rhythm to my movement, almost musical. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of his stiffness inside me.

  The thickness of him filled me, the warmth of him inside me—long and stiff—excited me. My hips shook. I began to quiver from the inside. I stopped moving, tried to slow my roll, but I couldn’t. My entire body was quivering uncontrollably.

  For a second, maybe two or three, I felt like I was outside of myself. My excitement only proved to intensify the motion of my hips. He held me tighter, began to move with me. When I felt him throbbing inside me, I was no longer able to control myself.

  My voice returned "Yes, baby yes!" I screamed as we thrust our bodies against one another.

  I could hear him moaning quietly, his face twisted and contoured. He throbbed and I felt him expand. My fingers dug into his chest. His body became ridged. I pumped harder. His mouth was open; his eyes were locked in mine now. I knew now I had him.

  Part IV

  The annoying intrusion of the telephone ringing interrupted the bliss that was my morning. I reached out for the phone angrily, only to find that it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I opened my eyes and quickly realized that it wasn’t just the phone that was out of place. I was
too. "Hello," I said shyly.

  A female voice crept into my ear, "Will you be checking out this morning or will you be staying another night with us?"

  Like a cold slap in the face, I was suddenly very aware of where I was, how I got here, and most of all, what I had done when I got here.

  "Mr. Assante has made arrangements in the event you wish to stay.’

  "No, I’ll be checking out."

  "Are you sure? You have complete access to the hotel. That includes use of our exercise facilities, our spa, all of our restaurants and bars, and our gift shop," the now bubbly female said.

  "No thank you," I said thinking about the spa. "I’ll be checking out within the hour."

  "Okay," she chirped. "But if you change your mind, you can simply charge it to the room."

  "Thank you," I said in the same sing-songy way, and hung up the phone. I wasn’t quite sure how I should take what I’d just heard. I already had some issues with what I had allowed myself to do last night. I believe "hoochie" is the word I used to describe myself. Now I feel used and cheap. Was this his way of paying me for services rendered, like some cheap hooker?

  "Excuse me . . . high-priced hooker," I said and rolled out of bed.

  As I paddled my way to the shower, I thought that maybe he was just being a gentlemen. Maybe this was how he would have treated me if he were able to stay.

  "Maybe," I said and turned on the shower. I looked at my naked body in the mirror. I shook my head and placed my hands on my pouch—my children’s gift to me. I didn’t think I looked bad for a mother of two. Apparently he didn’t either.

  I stepped into the shower and slowly washed his scent from my body. The movie projector in my mind replayed for me the finer more memorable moments of this morning’s love making, which we did repeatedly until I saw the sun coming up. I had never met a man with that much stamina, not to mention staying power.

  When we were done, my body felt limp, but wonderfully and thoroughly satisfied. The last thing I remember before I passed out was him getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

  As I drove home, a conflict raged within me. My morals and my sexuality were having a no holds barred, knock down, drag out fight about this morning’s behavior. My morals were, as they have been of late, dominating. My sexuality’s only defense against this breach of moral code was; it’s been damn near three years, gimme a break. And I had to agree. But my morals would have none of that. I was a hoochie, but a well-fucked hoochie. So I told my morals to kiss any part of my ass that Zavier may have missed.

  I considered stopping at Wendy’s on the way home, now regretting not taking advantage of the hotel facilities. At least some breakfast, or lunch or brunch, whatever was appropriate, but I drove on knowing that I didn’t want to go in dressed like I’d been out fucking all night. I briefly considered the drive-thru but I was showing way too much thigh for that. Once I was home, I fixed myself something to eat, crawled into bed, and slept straight through to Sunday.

  I went to work Monday morning to begin what I thought was going to be another dull workweek, and was caught off guard when I was met by a dozen long-stem red roses on my desk. The card read:

  Thank you for a wonderful evening and the sensational morning! Sorry that I had to leave so early, but I’d like to make it up to you. I’ll be back in Atlanta on Friday. Maybe I could see you again.

  Zavier

  Once I finished reading the card, the office exploded in applause. Everybody knew I hadn’t been out much since my divorce, so the arrival of roses to them signaled the end of my dry spell. The workweek was still dull and seemed to drag on even more than usual. The difference was me. Now I was filled with excitement and anticipation of the weekend. Each morning my arrival at work was met with flowers and questions. Questions, questions, everyday more questions.

  Who is he?

  What does he do?

  Where’s he from?

  All questions that I wouldn’t answer, mainly because I couldn’t. As much as we talked about me, he was very elusive about everything about himself. At first it didn’t bother me, but day by day, those questions floated endlessly around in my mind.

  Who is he?

  What does he do?

  Where’s he from?

  On Friday morning I was surprised to see an e-mail from xassante@hotmail.com—surprised because I had never given him my e-mail address. I did, however, tell him where I worked, so it wouldn’t be to big a leap to figure it out. I eagerly opened it and found that he had forwarded me his travel itinerary. He was scheduled to arrive at Hartsfield at 7:15 that evening. The e-mail contained no other information, so I assumed that he forwarded it to me so I could meet him.

  I was there at the airport in time to see him looking around as he walked slowly toward the baggage claim area. He smiled when he saw me, as I did when I saw him. "Hello, Carla," he said and kissed me gently on the cheek. "I guess you got my e-mail?"

  "I sure did." I was only a little put out by the cheap peck on the cheek, but I tried not to let it show. "I wasn’t sure if it meant that you wanted me to meet you or not. So I decided to take a chance and come on down."

  "I’m glad that you did, Carla."

  We made our way out of the terminal and I started to walk toward the parking deck. "I’m parked in the parking deck. It’s not far."

  "Well, like I said I wasn’t sure if you were goin’ to meet me, so I made other arrangements."

  "Oh." I know he could hear the disappointment in my voice. And this time I made no attempt to hide it.

  "Don’t sound like that, Carla. All my arrangements this weekend are built around you. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got a plan in progress for the weekend. Come on, your car will be all right in the parking lot for the weekend," he said and took my hand.

  As we walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, he continued to look around like he was looking for somebody. Suddenly, a black limousine came screeching to a halt in front of us. When the driver jumped out, I saw that easy smile return to his face.

  "Zavier! Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a mess coming through downtown," the driver said as he took the bag from Zavier and placed it in the trunk. "Braves game."

  "Who they playin’?"

  "Mets," the driver replied as he held open the door.

  "Damn, sure wish I’d known that. I could have gotten here earlier and we could have gone to the game. Do you like baseball, Carla?" he asked once we were in the car.

  "It’s okay. I mean, I like it, but I just can’t watch it on television. Too slow and too much talk. So, you’re a Mets fan, huh?"

  "Yankee fan, actually."

  "Are you from New York?" I asked as my mission to find out something, anything about him, began.

  "No."

  "Where are you from?"

  "From parts unknown," he smiled. "I always wanted to say that. When I was a kid I used to watch a lot of wrestling and the masked guys were always from parts unknown."

  "Oooo-kay." Angry at his unbelievable evasion.

  "I did spend a lot of time in New York growing up, but I’m from Antigua."

  "So that’s where that sexy accent comes from." I said; satisfied that I now knew something about him. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to make my apprehensiveness subside for the time being. But I knew I had plenty more questions.

  We’d been riding for a while when I noticed that we had driven through downtown Atlanta and were heading north on Georgia 400. My apprehension kicked in again. "Where are we goin’?"

  "Oh, I’m sorry, Carla. Do you like the mountains?"

  "Yes, I love the mountains. Why?"

  "I made reservations at a resort in the mountains for the weekend."

  "Did you really?"

  "Yes, really. I know I should have told you, but I wanted to surprise you. You know, make up for slipping out on you at the crack of dawn. I hope you don’t mind?"

  "That’s right; you do have a lot to make up for. And no, I don’t mind, but that is a little pr
esumptive of you, don’t you think? I mean, I could’ve had plans for the weekend," I said, knowing that I had nothing to do and no place to go. Just another weekend of watching movies I’d rented and eating popcorn.

  "When you put it that way, yeah, I guess it was quite presumptive of me. So, let’s start over. Carla?"

  "Yes, Zavier."

  "If you don’t have any plans, I’d like to take you away for the weekend."

  "No, Zavier," I replied, smiling all over myself, but trying to sound as formal as possible. "I don’t have any thing in particular planned for the weekend. I think I would enjoy spending the weekend with you."

  I knew that once we got where we were going that I would call Shika and let her know where I was. She already knew I would be with Zavier. I had to laugh at myself because this is exactly how it went last weekend. Me hoping that somebody saw me with this man. I had never been one to jump and run off with a man at the drop of a dime, even in my wildest days. I thought that you got more conservative with age, but just the opposite was happening with me. The list of chances I have taken with this man, a man I hardly know, was growing, and I seemed powerless to stop it. And if I choose to be honest with myself, I really didn’t want to stop myself.

  The weekend was wonderful. Our cabin had a mini-kitchen, which consisted of a small refrigerator and a microwave. It had a cozy little living room with a fireplace, which, even though it was ninety degrees outside, I felt compelled to light, and a big bedroom with a Jacuzzi. The bedroom had French doors that covered most of the wall and led to a deck that faced the woods. I couldn’t have asked for a more romantic setting. When we arrived in the cabin, we opened the doors in the bedroom and we made love. No music, no lights, just the sounds of the great outdoors and the sounds of our passion.

  I felt myself drifting off to a place where women go after they’ve been made love to and satisfied, when I felt Zavier roll out of bed. I lifted my head to ask him where he was going, but my head drifted slowly back to the pillow. I heard water running and shortly after, Zavier returned to bed. He laid down next to me and put his arms around me. I snuggled closer to him and buried my head in his chest. "I’m goin’ to get in the Jacuzzi for a while."