Charli and Bobby

As I left the bus and walked across the parking lot, my little cell phone trilled. I fished it from my little back-pack purse and thumbed the answer button with my thumbnail.

"May I speak with Charli Vargas?" said a polite, stiff voice.

"This is she," I responded.

"I would like to inform you," the voice replied, "that we have received your gallery submission, and you have an appointment at 3 pm Monday afternoon with our endowment committee."

That simple statement, delivered in a clipped, dry tone, left me extremely excited. "Thank you very much!" I said.

"Very good," the voice said. "Have a good day."

"Thank you," I smiled. "Bye-bye." I thumbed the kill button on my cell phone and kept on walking. I came to the front entrance of the convention center and looked in the reflective glass at myself. God, I'm so ordinary looking -- about five-three, a slim figure on the petite side, chocolate-toned skin on the rather pale side, sparking hazel eyes, long straight hair colored like brown sugar with blonde highlights. My hands were suited to painting -- small, slender, with long slim nimble fingers with long natural nails.

And I was dressed ordinarily, too -- a loose brown sweater, that exposed my shoulders, tight faded blue jeans, and white sneakers, my hair pinned up loosely, hardly any makeup. I went inside the door to the atrium, the guy punched my ticket and I went inside to the auditorium itself, and found a seat.

I don't usually go for these lecture slash presentations slash seminars, but this one held some interest for me, because the guy doing the thing was one of my old college professors, Dr. Albert Domano. I minored in African American studies in college, and so naturally I took a couple of courses taught by this man. While I didn't think he had very much expertise when it came to black women, he did have a certain enthusiasm for his subject matter, if you know what I'm saying. But his courses showed me up. They were impressive in their scope.

Well, the presentation, about American Slavery, was very interesting. And his partner, a petite but very curvaceous black woman named Kelli Franklin, was very beautiful. She just seemed to glow from the inside, from some secret souce of happiness.

I went up to them after the seminar. "Hello, Dr. Domano," I started, smiling. Just being around him made me feel better.

Albert stood up. "Charli! How good to see you again," he smiled.

"And you also," I smiled and nodded. "I've been hearing good things about you."

Albert's smile widened slightly. "Thanks. What's been going on with you? I seem to remember you were an art major."

I smiled. He remembered. "Yes, Albert, that's right. I've finally applied at the Avant Garde Art Center to have my work exhibited. I'm so nervous. I don't know how I'm going to persuade these old white men to see my way." I tried to laugh my tension away.

I saw Albert's eyes twinkle in an odd way. "Do you have an email address?"

I nodded. "Sure. Why?"

Albert's demeanor became rather...secretive. He touched my arm and leaned in close. "Just trust me and give me your email. Got something you might be interested in."

So I went ahead and gave him my email address. "Okay," I said, my voice more than a little doubtful. "I'll look for your message, then." I nodded to Kelli, then said, "Good to see you again Albert."

I finally got home and booted up my orange Mac laptop, then signed on to my online service, then accessed my email.

My eyes widened when I saw the message line -- "It's me Albert. Extremely important."

I clicked "Read."

"Dear Charli," I read.

"I'm sorry for my odd manner earlier, but I had to be careful. You will be extremely skeptical after reading the attachment -- so was I, believe me. But the following formula and instructions will give you the best chance at getting the art exhibit you so richly deserve. It will allow you to read minds, and more importantly, change them too. It will also give you physical stamina like you won't believe.

"Wishing you many happy days, Albert."

I wasn't too crazy about the whole situation, I will admit. But I clicked download anyway, then sat and waited. I didn't wait very long, either. I signed off and brought up the file. It was a simple text file. And was simply amazing. It was the last document of a slave owner named Jebediah Harrington, and how he managed to get everything he wanted.

And the reason, was a simple formula? My educated mind -- I had a Bachelor of Arts Degree -- rebelled at the thought. But the part of me that dabbled in aromatherapy, believed in psychics, and played with my deck of tarot cards, was ready to believe.

It was a good thing my roommate Jessica was visiting her folks back home. She'd be shopping for the ingredients already. That made me wonder, not for the last time, how on earth I managed to get a white girl for a roommate, and one that was so opposite from me, and we still managed to get along.

I sneaked a glance at my watch. It wasn't too late so I got my little purse and went down the street to the herbal shop.

I got the stuff. Nobody even took note. I'm always in there. I took the stuff home and threw it together. I poured the steaming liquid from the saucepan into a coffee cup, and slowly sipped it down.

Soon, the stuff was all down the hatch. I sat down on the couch and waited expectantly. I turned on BET's Comic View, laughed and clapped through the humor. And at the end of that hour, I realized -- nothing was different.

Highly disappointed, I went to bed. Maybe the stuff needed to work overnight.

I woke up the next morning, to the sounds of my roommate puttering around.

I was rather groggy still, but my eyes opened wide when I realized I could read her mind, like a proverbial open book. Her mind was seething with disappointment. Apparently things didn't go too well with her boyfriend -- she was a very unsatisfied woman.

I really didn't want to face Jessica in this state. She was a busty redhead, and I do mean busty, with more curves than a mountain road. Most of the time she was sweetness and light, but when she was disappointed, especially in the sexual sense, she wasn't shy about letting people know about it. But mother nature was calling, so I grumbled my way out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, hiked up my night shirt and dropped my lacy thong panties.

As I did my business, I thought to myself how nice it would be if I could disarm Jessica's attitude. I shrugged to myself. Why not? I found her mind again and defused the metaphorical ticking time bomb that was my roommate. After about a minute, I heard her calm down. I was shocked enough, that I didn't even notice when I was finished with my morning routine. When I stood up to let my purple night-shirt down and put my panties back in place, I gasped.

My pussy had changed. I'm serious! Last night, my pussy was like a set of pursed lips, the labia standing out. Now, my pussy was a neat little slit, like a pair of lips pressed together. And warmth was emanating from it. I pulled my panties back into place and the material made a nice neat triangle.

I let down my nightshirt and headed into the kitchen for breakfast, by which time my roommate was actually smiling!

"Good morning, Charli," Jessica chirped.

"Good morning," I smiled back. "How was your trip?"

"It was alright," she replied. "Mom and Dad were nice to me."

I smiled. "That was good of them," I said. "Why were you so upset?"

Jessica rolled her eyes -- but that was all. "My stupid boyfriend. It's nothing, I don't even remember why I was so mad."

"So, what did he do?" I asked, sitting next to her on the couch with a sweet roll, munching on it to hide my astonishment. I'd changed her entire outlook for the day.

Just like that!

Jessica rolled her eyes again. "He pretended to be tired," she smirked. "I could have died, Charli. He knows how horny I am."

I nearly choked on my sweet roll. I picked up from Jessica this one thought -- I'm almost willing to do it with Charli. "Everyone knows how horny you are, Jess," I teased her.

Jessica playfully pushed me. "Well, he's supposed to come over tonight," she said casually. "You were still going to go to that comedy thing, right?"

I smiled and nodded. "Yeah." I finished my sweet roll and said, "Hey, did you make up your mind yet about posing for me?"

I could sense Jessica's mind turning it over. And over. So I made up her mind for her. "Sure, I can pose for you. Lingerie or in the nude?"

"Whichever you prefer," I shrugged.

"Let me get all prettied up," she winked.

"Okay," I smiled. "Can I help?"

Jessica winked again. Then she took my hand and led me to our shower. My heart started beating fast.

The water started coming down, wetting first our hair, then our bodies. I assisted Jessica with getting all lathered up, from her beautiful long wavy auburn hair all the way down to the soles of her feet.

Then she lathered me up. I had never felt such pleasure. It seemed that the formula had had made every inch of my skin more sensitive to touch.

We didn't exactly have sex in the shower, but it was the most intimate contact I've ever had with her -- the most intimate contact I've ever had with any woman. But that was nothing compared to what happened after the shower -- I helped rub baby oil on her wet skin.

Jessica gently took the bottle from me. My moans filled the bathroom as she rubbed me down. "Mmmmm, Jess," I purred. After our skin was soft and subtly shiny, I brought us back to the moment. "Let's get this painting started."

"Right," Jessica said sheepishly.

A few hours later, I drew the cover down over the canvas as I went towards the door.

That was probably the single most productive day I'd ever had as an artist, and Jessica was a perfectly willing model -- after a little bit of persuasion. The picture was turning out well. I would have some excellent additional material to display.

If I got the chance.

I sternly told myself that could wait. Right now, I had to go support the sweetest guy I know. His name was Bobby Jackson, and he was the only white guy I knew who had the guts to get his hair done in dreadlocks, because one of his friends, a black guy, was going to get his hair in dreads, too.

It wasn't such a big leap, though. Bobby was a more liberal guy than the last white guy I knew, by a long shot. Andrew Gibson was a straight arrow, all the way. He was a great guy, but we weren't compatible. Andrew and I still exchange the odd email, but that's about it.

However, Bobby was still shy. I hoped that he would finally get up on that stage tonight and let everyone see how funny he is. Maybe I would give him a mental push.

I stood before the mirror in my room, and adjusted my outfit of a loose flowing ankle length dress, a soft peach-orange color, with a bunch of straps across the front on top, and a very high slit on the bottom, with a pair of clear plastic high heels, and my hair down this time. I put on some more lipstick, ran my nails through my hair again. I finally grabbed my house keys and left for the club.

I got there and saw the line, before anything else. It was a long line, too.

I got in line, and who did I bump into, but Bobby. He was wearing a white t-shirt, black vest, loose black trousers, and sandals with white socks. I stepped back and held him at arm's length. "Bobby, you look very handsome."

He blushed red. "Thanks. And you look beautiful, Charli."

I smiled at him, then gave him a big hug, followed by a quick kiss on the lips. It was then, that I read his mind, and saw what was in there. Quite a few fantasies -- about him and me. It was easy to read his mind because the love just emanated from him like the corona around the sun, and just as brightly.

But his shyness kept him from confessing his love for me, to me.

Bobby's mind was, as I suspected, very busy. On top of his love for me, there was his reluctance to get on stage tonight, his self-doubt. I removed his self-doubt, with all the other negative thoughts, and left in its place only positive feelings and brought forward the thought that he only lived once.

I wasn't the type to appreciate men who love me from afar. I'm not a princess in some castle, you know. I'm a practical girl -- I live in the real world.

I tightly held his hand to steady myself, just the same. I never knew he had these feelings for me. The revelation was pleasantly frightening.

"The show is gonna be all over before we get in there, if this line don't move," Bobby complained.

"Yeah, tell me about it," I agreed. "Let's see if we can get in."

"Are you kidding?" Bobby said incredulously. "Look at that guy."

I smiled at him and squeezed his hand gently. "Watch and learn, grasshopper."

I tugged on his hand and we went to the door together.

Holding Bobby's hand, I came up to the entrance -- and the doorman, who didn't even look at us, just pretended to stare at a clipboard.

The doorman was one of those guys who were too pretty for their own good. I read his mind, and quickly found out, he was not a nice man -- I could see in his mind people standing outside for half an hour, made to wait for a club full of empty tables and bad service from bitchy waitresses.

"If you're not on the list, I can't help you," he said, still not looking at us.

"And why is that?" I asked.

The doorman finally looked at me, then looked me up and down. His eyes were appraising me. And I knew what for. "I'm sure we can work something out," he grinned lecherously. "But your friend here is on his own."

"Sorry," I said, "but we're together." I winked at Bobby's happy reaction.

"Then I can't help you," he said flatly. "Go back to the end of the line." I went in and deftly changed his mind around, like pieces on a checkerboard. "Hey, I just found you," he said suddenly. He opened the door, with a genuine smile this time. "Welcome. Take any table."

I nodded graciously to him, tugged gently on Bobby's hand and we went inside.

"I won't even ask what you did," Bobby cracked.

I laughed. "Let's just have a good time," I suggested.

Bobby agreed. "Yeah, let's get a good table before the show starts."

Smiling brilliantly, we went inside and straight back to where the stage and the tables were, and ordered dinner and drinks, chicken fingers and french fries with ranch dressing for dipping. I hadn't eaten all day. Bobby was a sweetie and picked up the tab for me. We sat and ate and talked and laughed for a little while, then the lights dimmed and the emcee came on the stage. We applauded loudly.

The emcee was a rotund black man, but was extremely funny, making a few cracks at himself and his size, pointing out other brothers of similar size. I laughed so hard, I nearly spewed my drink through my nose.

But the show was just getting started. The first comedian was a brother, too, and that man had me and Bobby rocking in our chairs, we were laughing so hard. Bobby was holding his tummy, a sure sign he was enjoying the show too.

Then two more comedians came on, two women, then another brother, with a dummy. Then the emcee came back on stage and said, "Now that the audience has been warmed up, we'll let someone from the audience come up and try it. Anybody want to come up on stage?" Bobby stood up. He was just the slightest bit hesitant. But he stood up.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

I smiled after him as he went towards the stage. People applauded for him. Including me. He finally got up on stage, but he looked a little frightened. Then he swallowed, and started his act.

Bobby did that all on his own -- no help from me.

However, some dude with an attitude I could sense from across the room, stood up and was about to heckle him. I deftly made him forget what he was gonna say -- just as he was standing up and had everybody's attention.

He sat back down again, blushing beet red.

Bobby continued his act, to the end, and left the stage to a standing ovation. He came back to our table, and I greeted him with a big hug and a kiss that made him grin like an idiot.

After the show was over, the lights came back on, and everyone started talking and laughing at once. A few people started to leave, including a white couple, the woman saying, "Why did you have to go and embarrass me like that?"

I chuckled quietly into my glass of beer.

A few people came over to congratulate Bobby on his bravery, and how much they enjoyed his act -- and even the manager came over, to ask if he would perform again!

Bobby was speechless. Then he shook the manager's hand and said a definite yes.

I hugged Bobby again, kissed him. "See, I knew you could do it!"

"Thanks to you," he said quietly, intensely.

"Bobby," I said, softly. "Is something wrong?"

Bobby took a good slug off his beer. I sat and waited patiently. "I...I want to tell you something," he started.

"What's that?" I asked, in all seriousness. "I hope it's good."

He smiled a little, played with his dreadlocks. "I hope so," he said neutrally.

"Well, what is it?" I asked, with as much patience as I had.

"I've fallen in love," he started.

Pretending ignorance, I let my eyes go wide. "Really? With who?"

And very tenderly, he took my hand, and looked in my eyes. As the song goes, I could see forever in his brown eyes. "With you," he said, simply. "I love you, Charli."

Even with my inside knowledge, I was blown away. I was totally speechless. But I could sense the tranquility in his mind after he'd said it.

"Say something," he said, his voice tremulous. "Just don't laugh. And please don't say you'd rather be friends."

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I would never laugh," I said quietly. Just then, the waitress -- awfully nice tonight -- came over and took the empty plates away and asked if we wanted anything more. I smiled and said no, thanks.

Bobby agreed, and paid our bill.

Then we both stood up. The waitress wished us a good night, then I took Bobby's hand and led him outside to the now empty parking lot.

Bobby started to say something.

I stopped him with a fingertip on his lips. "You don't hear me laughing," I reminded him.

He quieted.

"It took a lot of balls to say what you just said," I observed.

Bobby looked away sheepishly. "Yeah, well..."

I touched his face and turned it back to me. "I can't let something like that go unrewarded," I said softly. I stepped into his space and kissed him on the lips, so softly that I almost didn't feel his lips on mine, but the kiss lasted exactly five heartbeats. I felt Bobby's mind soar like an eagle.

Then I stepped away. Two beats of perfect silence passed between us.

Before I could say anything, Bobby suddenly took my hands, pulled me back towards him and kissed me again...

We broke apart long enough for me to whisper, "Better go to your place. My roommate is having her boyfriend over."

We did just that.

It was midnight love. For real.

It was very convenient -- Bobby and I lived in the same building. We practically ran down the street, got inside, and went down the hall, stopping to kiss, often for more than ten minutes at a time.

Then we got inside. Bobby fumbled a little opening his locks, I giggled through my moans and whispers, but then he finally opened his door. We went inside, quickly closed the door and locked the locks, right before Bobby dropped his keys in his understandable haste.

And then we seriously got our groove on.

Bobby pressed me against the wall and we kissed, slowly but passionately, one tongue dance lasting several minutes before moving to the next kiss slash tongue dance.

Then Bobby moved my hair to one side and began nibbling and kissing and licking, first on my earlobes, and then on the nape of my neck.