Welcome Back, My Love

by Niobia Bryant

  Meena could care less as she slowly massaged him with her thumb easing over the smooth tip. His dick was perfection. Hard. Long. Thick. Curving.

  Its been a long six weeks.

  Raising up on the tip of her toes she nuzzled her face against his beard, remembering how the feel of those soft hairs against her nipples once pushed her over the edge.

  Armstrong quickly lowered his head and captured her plump mouth with his own, deepening the kiss with a moan drawn from deep within him. His tongue circled hers as his arms did the same around her body to grab up inch upon inch of her dress into his fist until her buttocks were bared.

  Meena released a tiny cry as his large hands cupped her and kneaded the soft flesh.

  “Yes,” she sighed into his open mouth. “Yes.”

  He wrapped a strong arm around her waist to easily hoist her body upward against his. Forced to release his dick, she gripped his shoulders when he eased one hand down between her butt cheeks to slide his middle finger inside her moist core from behind.

  With his face now pressed against her neck, he cried out from the feel of her tightness and wetness. “Damn,” he moaned. “Damn, damn, damn.”

  Lost in the desire and uncaring of judgment, Meena rotated her hips in tight circles as he stroked his finger inside her so deeply that his knuckles pressed against her bald plump lips. She used one hand to jerk her strapless top down below her plump breasts before clasping her hands behind his neck, leaning backward to thrust her taut nipples high.

  Armstrong lifted her body higher to suckle one nipple into his eager mouth. Lightly he raked his teeth across the bud before circling it with his tongue.

  Her hands gripped his nape as desire shot through her body like tiny arrows. She felt mindless, hardly able to stand the pleasure as he also continued to stroke and circle his finger against the warm walls of her intimacy.

  She raised up to press her upper body to his, licking at his lobe as she whispered to him. “Make love to me, Mann-Mann.”

  He looked at her, leaving her nipples moist and victim to a chill that breezed across their bodies. “I can’t.”

  “You want me,” she said, feeling emboldened. “Why not just get this urge we have off.”

  Armstrong set her down on her feet and tried to step back from her.

  She gripped his hard dick, holding him in place with it. “Unless you haven’t waited the six weeks like I have?” she asked, looking up into his warm brown eyes.

  “I haven’t been with anyone either, Meena,” he said, his eyes dipping down to take in her licking her bottom lip.

  Meena released a shaky breath that was both relief and sexual frustration. “Then let’s recapture some of what we shared. It's still here. Not in the past. Not lost with your memories. We’re living this right now. Let's have it.”

  “Because I can’t make you any promises,” Armstrong said. “What if I never remember you?”

  The thought of that scared her.

  “Then let’s start again?” she asked.

  “How can I learn to love you again when I don’t even know myself anymore,” he insisted, his conviction clear in the lines of his face.

  Meena released his hardness. “And if you never regain your memory? Then what? That’s the end of us for good?” she asked, giving him another viewpoint of the same issue.

  She was pleased to see that she confused him. It was clear on his face even as he pulled his pants back up around his waist.

  Meena lightly poked a finger against where his heart lay in his chest. “You don’t know it right now, but I am in there,” she said. “Just like you are in every bit of mine.”

  Their eyes locked.

  He dipped his head and kissed her. Briefly. Sweetly.

  It warmed her soul.

  “I swear I wish I could remember you.”

  “Let’s create new memories,” she suggested. “I’m the same person.”

  “But I’m not.”

  True.

  Meena turned away from him, pulling her strapless top back up over her breasts as she felt her hope for reconciliation fading. She’d lost him once to her foolishness and now she losing him once again.

  It hurt like hell.

  “I better go home,” she said.

  “Where do you live?” he asked.

  “Summerville,” she supplied, looking over at him as she straightened her maxi dress from its twisted position on her body. “It’s like ten maybe fifteen minutes from here.”

  “In a yellow house?” he asked.

  Meena paused. “You remember the yellow house?”

  He closed his eyes and winced before nodding. “Yeah, a yellow house on the corner with a street with a lot of trees,” he said, his face filling with hope. “Am I right?”

  At that moment he reminded her of young student hoping to be rewarded by his teacher for a correct answer. It further endeared him to her. She walked over to him with a beguiling smile. “I don’t live there but it's my dream home and you’ve been there with me a couple of times. So, yes you are right and you are remembering us,” she stressed, pressing her hand to his face. “Little by little.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Another work day is done,” Armstrong said as he climbed behind the wheel of his pickup truck and slammed the door.

  “And another Saturday night begins,” Paco said, already texting away on his phone.

  Armstrong and Eli shared a look before they chuckled.

  “Working all day and screwing all night is going to wear you out,” Armstrong said.

  Paco shrugged one broad shoulder before turning around his phone to show them a pretty brown skinned young woman in a fitted tank and skin-tight jean shorts that put her thick thighs on display. “For her, I will find the energy,” he said. “Muslos gruesos salvan vidas.”

  “Huh?” Armstrong and Eli said in unison, their faces filled with confusion.

  Paco laughed. “Thick thighs save lives,” he translated.

  “Save me, dammit,” Eli said, turning around to look out the window with a shake of his head.

  Armstrong said nothing as he made the drive from the construction site of an apartment complex Jamison & Jamison were building in North Charleston. When he reached Summerville and passed the road leading to Meena’s house he glanced in that direction, thinking of her and the time they shared earlier that week.

  “Make love to me, Mann-Mann.”

  Lord knows he wanted to and many times over the last week he wished he took her up on the offer. Just made love to her and laid between her thighs lost inside her. Over and over again.

  A clear vision of her leaning back with her breasts thrust high in the air for him to taste flashed before him.

  “Hey! Get back in your lane,” Eli roared.

  The image faded and Armstrong quickly focused on steering his truck the inch or so back over the yellow line. “My bad,” he said, giving Eli a grin.

  “My bad my ass,” he balked, reaching for his seat belt to pull across his chest to buckle.

  In the rearview mirror, he saw Paco buckle the middle seat belt across his lap.

  He ignored them both, letting his thoughts go back to Meena while being sure to keep any erotic visions at bay. With school out, Meena had accepted a position as a tutor for a non-profit specializing in helping at-risk youth better prepare for the upcoming school year. The job kept her busy throughout the week, but she made sure to call him ever every night with a story to help him jog his memory and a few times there was a text message with a risqué photo meant to jog his libido.

  The very thought of her made him feel excitement and anticipation.

  He couldn’t deny that he was drawn to her.

  Reaching Holtsville, he dropped Eli to Cyrus Dobb’s one-pump gas station as requested and waved at Cyrus sitting on a rocker on the wooden porch outside the storefront. As always he was whittling away at a small piece of wood making figurines that he gifted to those he liked. The old man with the toothy grin too bright n
ot to be fake was as big a staple of Holtsville as the original town sign still hanging on the side of Highway 17. Any time spent by his side meant an entertaining tale on the past, the latest gossip that spread through the small town with far too much ease, or stories about his epic love for his deceased wife Mabel.

  “Will you take me to my sister’s house?” Paco asked from the backseat.

  “No problem. Just tell me how to get there.”

  With Paco as his guide, Armstrong soon turned down a dirt-packed road to a sizable two-story brick home in the center of manicured lands that looked to be two to three acres. As he pulled to a stop on the paved drive his truck did its customary loud rumble and shake. He leaned forward a bit to tap the dash.

  A tall and broad figure on a beautiful jet-black horse trotted up to the porch. He was dressed in a Dickies uniform and hunting boots but controlled the beast with the ease of a Stetson and spurs wearing cowboy.

  “Thank, bro,” Paco said before climbing from the truck and leaning back against the truck door to close it. He threw his hand up to the man on the horse before jogging up the stairs.

  The front door opened and a little boy of no more than seven with a head full of curls came racing towards Paco to fling himself off the porch without a care in the world. Paco caught him with ease, carrying him inside the house over his shoulder. “Hi, Mann-Mann,” the boy called to him in a teasing voice with a wave.

  Mann-Mann? How does he know—.

  The man climbed off the horse and lightly tossed the reins around the railing of the post before coming over to the truck.

  “It’s good to see you, Armstrong,” he said.

  Yet another face he didn’t recognize.

  The man chuckled. “Meena said you hadn’t gotten your memory back.”

  Meena?

  Armstrong gave the man another look from his dusty boots to his silvery curls. His hair said senior citizen but his face was that of a much younger man. “How do you know Meena, sir?” he asked, acutely aware of the jealousy boiling in his gut that this man—who he was forced to admit was nice looking—knew her.

  The man flung his head back and laughed, before looking down at him with mirth in his eyes. “I’m her uncle Kade,” he said. “So relax.”

  And relax he did. “I apologize,” he said, holding up his hands.

  “No worries. It’s good to see you home,” Kade said, turning to look at the porch as a beautiful woman with hair flowing down her back came down the steps towards them with a large plastic container in hand.

  Armstrong glanced through the windshield at her.

  “My wife, Garcelle,” Kade supplied.

  So, Paco is the brother of Meena’s uncle’s wife.

  “Hello, Armstrong,” she said with a heavy Spanish accent.

  Like Paco her skin was brown and the texture of her hair was thick like that of a Black woman.

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Paco told me you dropped him off and I pulled out some Sancocho de Siete Carnes I had in the freezer,” she said, handing him the container through the open window. “You love my seven-meat stew. Trust me. Just let it thaw and warm it up or put the whole thing in the microwave.”

  “Damn, baby, I love your sancocho too,” Kade complained.

  She gave her husband a chastising look. “You weren’t laid up in a hospital for three weeks,” she said. “Its good to see you, Armstrong.”

  “Thank you,” he said, touched by her generosity.

  Meena’s family seemed to know him well. Like he was their family, too. That touched him, especially in these days of him trying to rediscover his life and overcome the loneliness he felt.

  “I really appreciate it,” Armstrong said.

  “No problem,” Kade said, tapping the roof of his truck before they stepped back. “Drive careful.”

  With a final wave, he made a circle atop the wide drive and drove away.

  He was glad to reach home, pulling his truck to a stop in between Zora’s electric blue compact car and Meena’s crimson red convertible. He hadn’t been expecting Meena and Zora arrived in Holtsville while he was at work, insisting on still coming when he told her he would be gone all morning. He’d given her his address to put in her GPS and left his front door unlocked.

  Smiling, he took the steps two at a time, happy the two women had finally met each other. “Hello,” he said.

  Meena and Zora sat on opposites ends of his sofa. He looked from one to the other, noticing neither one looked very pleased. Throwing them a huge smile he walked over to them. Both rose to their feet. “I see you two have met. Good,” he said.

  “So good,” Meena said, with an arched brow that seemed to want to touch the skies.

  “Yes. Just great,” Zora added, looking uncomfortable.

  What the hell happened?

  “Meena, Zora is the nurse who helped me discover my identity,” he explained, dropping his keys onto the living room coffee table before resting his hands on his hips. “Zora, this is Meena Ali—”

  “Your girlfriend,” Zora interjected. “Yes, she made that very clear even though I explained to her we are just friends.”

  Armstrong frowned at the obvious tension, looking from one woman to the other again. “Although you and I have not gotten back together what Zora said is true. She’s just a friend who really helped me out when I needed it.”

  “That’s all, Meena,” Zora said, her voice amenable as she turned to face her. “I just wanted to lay eyes on my former patient to make sure he’s okay after his ordeal.”

  “Your dedication is commendable,” Meena said, forcing a smile.

  Armstrong covered his hand with his mouth and dragged his lips down to keep from smiling at Meena’s quip. They both eyed him. He cleared his throat and clapped his large hands. “Zora’s just here for the day and there’s no need we all can’t hang out. Just a bunch of friends chillin’,” he said, with a toothy grin as he placed a platonic hand on each of their shoulders.

  “Friends?” Meena drawled, looking petulant.

  Zora smiled. “You can tell me all about Armstrong,” she said, reaching over to squeeze the other woman’s hand.

  Meena looked down at her touch before pointedly eyeing Armstrong. “I bought some steaks for dinner,” she said. “I thought you could grill them while I made a garden salad and garlic bread. Everything is in the fridge.”

  “Rib eyes?” he asked.

  “Yup. You remembered it's your favorite,” Meena said, her eyes twinkling as she looked at him. “See? Little by little.”

  Armstrong nodded. “Little by little,” he agreed, reaching out to brush his fingers against her chin.

  He couldn’t lie that at that moment that same energy pulsed between them like a quiet storm. He saw the same awareness of their chemistry in her eyes.

  “Uhm,” Zora spoke into the silence. “Steaks sound good but I thought you could use some soul food so I made a big pot of lima beans and neckbones.”

  He looked away from Meena with reluctance, having momentarily forgotten Zora was even there. “Lima beans,” he said, rubbing his flat stomach. “That does sound good. I think I love lima beans.”

  Zora smiled. “Of course you do, especially on some white rice with a big old piece of cornbread and a glass of sweet tea. It’s all cooked and on the stove,” she said, doing a shimmy with her hips.

  Meena tried and failed to hide a scowl.

  He couldn’t lie that he preferred lima beans and neck bones to steak. He was a country boy through and through.

  Armstrong turned back to Meena. “We could save the steaks for another time. Is that okay?” he asked, really anxious for a home-cooked meal.

  Meena threw up her hands and smiled. “Sure, the steaks can wait. We’ll have plenty of dinners together,” she said with sugary sweetness.

  ∞

  Two weeks later

  “To new memories.”

  Meena took a sip of her fresh squeezed lemonade after her brief toast, looking at
Armstrong over the rim of her glass. And he looked good. Fresh haircut and trimmed beard. Handsome face. A dark blue dress shirt that brought out his smooth caramel complexion.

  Just fine as hell.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, looking down at his near-empty plate.

  “Thank you for cooking for me. Everything was good,” he said, sitting back in the dining room chair and rubbing his belly. “You made so much.

  She sure did. Smothered pork chops, chicken perlo rice, collard greens with ham hocks, mac and cheese, and potato salad.

  Meena stood up, smoothing her crimson red sundress over her shapely frame before reaching down to pick up both their plates. “Nurse Zora is not the only one who can cook,” she said, very aware of his eyes on her.

  Armstrong chuckled as he turned on his chair to watch her walk into the kitchen. “So, we haven’t moved on from the lima beans?” he asked, his deep tone amused.

  “Absolutely not,” she admitted, sitting the plates on the counter.

  “Zora is—”

  “Just a friend,” Meena finished for him as she came back into the dining room to stand before him. She reached out to stroke his soft beard. “You better open your eyes. Your friend wants more from you.”

  He shook his head, his eyes locked on hers as he looked up at her. “She just felt sorry for me,” he explained. “She has her own life in Greenville and it was nice of her to come and check on me.”

  Meena traced his bottom lip with her thumb. “And is she coming back to...check on you,” she said, raising her hand to do “quotation marks”.

  He chuckled. “Yes,” he began. “She did mention coming down in a week or so.”

  Meena shook her head woefully as she kicked off her shoes and hitched up the skirt of her sundress. “I can’t really blame her,” she said softly, straddling his lap. “You are irresistible.”

  Armstrong leaned back from her temptation. “Meena,” he said, his resolve sounding weak.

  “What, Mann-Mann,” she said. “I put on a little pressure and you’re ready to run? Huh? Don’t go. Please don’t go. Please...”

  He looked startled as he looked up into her face, his eyes searching hers. “What?” he asked.