She would be home soon. He always liked that time. The anticipation of it brought a smile to the corners of his mouth. She would be climbing out of the super size SUV she insisted on driving. Looking very prim in her man-cut uniform. He always wondered what the men of Engine Company 304 would say if they knew what he knew. Under that blue cotton uniform was a purple lace bra that held those perfect 36D’s in place. And then the matching thong, splitting that beautiful, round, ass just right.
Yes she was an undercover freak, his undercover freak. With a smile he thought back to the night they met…
It had been quite a wild ride since he spotted her in the crowd at Lucy Florence on a warm Tuesday evening. Poetry readings were always a great place to meet women. Something about a woman with an appreciation for words was very attractive to him. That night as she sat with her girlfriends, there was not hint of the dangerous occupation the kept her from him for days at a time. All he saw was the beautiful, caramel skin the long dark hair and those almond shaped eyes that seemed to look right into his soul. They made eye contact and flirted at a distance for a time until she rose from her seat. Tall, slim yet curvy, she started to walk in his direction. He thought she was headed for the ladies room until she was at his elbow smiling “hello”. Close, so close he could smell his favorite fragrance, Angel. Somehow it was different and even more alluring on her. “Is that seat taken?”
She wore a silk, plum-colored blouse, deliciously sheer, unbuttoned to reveal just a hint of a dark purple silk bra and her ample cleavage. Unbelted faded jeans hugged her ass like a second skin. As she greeted him with a sweetly nervous smile he worked to avoid staring at both taut nipples protruding through the thin material of her top. “It is now,” he answered, thanking the coochie gods he had chosen to come alone. “I’m Jason,” he said as he extended his hand. “Rhonda” she replied while taking it. And at just that moment, as their flesh first touched, a slight spark jumped between the two. “Static electricity”, he said easily “happens a lot this time of year”.
Or was it?
“So, what brings a man like you out here alone?” Rhonda asked. “Are you a poet?” He smiled and replied, “and I don’t even know it.” They shared a laugh at the childish pun. He explained that he dabbled in writing short stories and poetry but not the kind usually presented at the coffee shop. Maybe he would let her read some, someday. “Do you write?” he asked. She explained that she had come with some girlfriends just to take in the atmosphere and “get out of the house” for a while. “Same for me” he told her, ”Nice place to be on a Tuesday, especially tonight”. After a little more small talk and a couple of mocha lattes they decided to take a walk around the small Afro-Centric village that served as the home for the coffee house. By then he knew that there was something different about her, but could not quite put his finger on it.
“So when do I get to read some of these stories?” Rhonda asked. “How about now?” he answered. “Are you trying to get me over to your place?” she asked. “Yes” came the response. “Good” she said, “just be careful. Didn't your mama tell you? Never dance with the devil. It may be what you’re craving for”. So they came to be sitting in his comfortable den, listening to smooth jazz, sipping wine, while she read some of his latest work on the computer and he watched her.
No doubt about it, he was good. As she began to read she could feel it. It wasn’t the wine or the music or even the smell of him. It was the words that jumped from the screen and made her nipples swell, made her start to squirm slightly in her seat. She could feel the warmth in her loins, her thong beginning to moisten. There was just a little extra glow on her upper lip as she read his words. “You didn’t tell me these were so, erotic” she breathed softly. He had seen it before. Women always looked at him a little differently after they read him, after they learned his depth.
For her part she knew what she wanted. She knew she would taste him. There, then. She wanted to taste his mind, massage his body, to rub and stroke his soul. And if he knew how to handle himself she just might let him come inside, where few were permitted. “You my be good with words Mr. Writer-man, but sit back cause I’m about to put on a show.”
She stood up close to him, pushed him into the chair she had just vacated, then backed away and put her hand on her blouse to unbutton it, circling with a finger the silhouette of an erect nipple in the opaque cup of her bra, her eyes half-closed as she drank in the sensation. “I’m going to strip for you” she said with a devilish glint in her almond shaped eyes, “and if you’re good we will see what comes after that.” She so loved to be in control.
