Author's comments: One thing sorely needs to be mentioned before I continue: As much as I'm trying to bring some sense of realism to this first ever endeavor, it is still a work of fiction, an erotic odyssey for the mind. It is not intended to give anyone license to sally forth with foolish disregard for the starker realities of life. The world is a dangerous enough arena without venturing into it with little or no concern for the minefields it is littered with. And I am not simply referring to the all-too-real threat of AIDS. Be true to yourselves, be discriminating and play safe, and always keep the Faith. Now, on with the show!
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Chapter 2 The real thing…. At last!
How bringing a computer into the house irrevocably effected the rest of my life would be the sensible place to begin this chapter. After all, it was my next predestined step in that whirling, upward spiraling/downward plunging journey from who I once was into the person I am today.
The day began in what had become "normal" fashion for me; Brian left for work and out from hiding came my porno friends. We enjoyed ourselves immensely and with their help, along my trusty zucchini's cunt-filling assistance, I orgasmed quite a number of times before noon when I was forced to shut everything down and make things presentable around the house. The man scheduled to bring the computer to the house, set it up, and then give me a crash course on using it was supposed to be at the house at 1:30 that afternoon and I hadn't wanted to chance being so into my fantasy world that I wouldn't hear the front doorbell. "Or "God forbid!" getting no response to the bell, that he might try peeking through the window and catch the white lady of the house naked on the living room floor, fucking herself with a large, black zucchini to interracial porn.
It was doubly lucky for me that I did have everything in non-revealing order by 1:00, including having a fresh pot of coffee made, because Brian bounded through the front door at 1:20, five hours earlier then he should have been getting home from work. "Babycakes," he said excitedly, grabbing my hand like a little boy with a big secret he just had to share with someone, "you've got to come see this."
I allowed him to pull me outside and there in the driveway sat a brand new, 1 ton, extended cab pickup truck--with a just-as-brand-new camper shell over the bed--instead of his eight year old Explorer. His "Exploder" I had always called it, because the vehicle had been a mechanical nightmare, constantly throwing this, or blowing that, or dropping something else. "Can we afford this, Honey?" I asked, walking around the big shiny truck.
"Easily," he chirped. It had been a dumb question. Brian made damned good money as a finish carpenter, doing the meticulous work in a new house that people take for granted. It takes a good eye, a steady hand, and a lot of patience to make the baseboards, window and door moldings all fit precisely so they don't look like piece of wood slapped around things to conceal gaps or mistakes. Which, believe it or not, is exactly what molding is for in a house. That, and ascetics.
"Besides, with this, it's a tax write off." He opened the driver's door and the smaller jump-seat door, pulled out one of those magnetized signs and slapped it on the door. There was his name, that he was a licensed and bonded contractor, and our phone number. "Now it's a business expense." He peeled the sign off. "Now it's a personal rig," he said, putting it back on. "Business expense, personal rig. Business expense, personal rig."
I couldn't help smiling; my "supposedly" adult husband was acting like a kid with a new toy. I placed my palm flat on the door panel. The pickup's glossy, fire engine red color was only a shade or two lighter the fresh polish on my manicured nails. "She sure is pretty," I said, admiringly. "What are we going to name her?"
"Her!" My husband looked like I had just doubled up my fist and hit him in the stomach. "Honey, this is a man's truck. You wanna give your T-bird a tootsie/cutesy girl's name, fine. This bad boy's already got tough name."
Actually, my two-year-old Thunderbird's name wasn't really all that feminine. She was Moria, meaning the wind. I crossed my arms underneath my modest breast, lowered my chin to my chest and scowled at him. "Ok, so what's this 'bad boy' already named?"
"Butch," Brian replied without hesitation. "That's what I've been calling him ever since I drove him off the lot."
"Now that shows a lot of genuine imagination," I scoffed. "You think that up all by yourself?"
Brian almost, but not quite, scowled back at me, but it was going to take more then some good-natured sarcasm from me to dampen the joy he was getting out of his new toy. "Come on, Babycakes, hop in and we'll go for a spin. I'll show you what this bad boy can do."
"I would, Honey," I said, "but I'm waiting for the guy from the computer store to show up."
"Damn, forgot all about that." My husband looked at his watch. "What time's he suppose to get here? It's already 1:40."
"1:30," I answered.
"Okay, we give him five more minutes. He isn't here by then, we're going for a spin in Butch."
"Honey, we need that computer," I argued. "You need it for business, if you're truly serious about becoming an independent, and I could use it for managing the household bills." And also for a few "other" things I had in mind, as soon as I learned the ins and outs of surfing the net.
"Damn!" My husband was clearly heart broken that he couldn't take me out and show off Butch, but he also knew how necessary the computer would be to him for keeping accurate records of estimates, billing, materials, overdue customer accounts bills, and the really important ones, paid up accounts.
A white mini van pulling up in front of the house right then rendered any further discussion mote. The gold lettering on the side read,
SAUL'S COMPUTER SERVICE INSTALATIONS and UPGRADES ONE ON ONE INSTRUCTION AVAILABLE But it sure gonna cost ya!
I smiled at the whimsical tag line as a large man unfolded himself out the driver's door. He stood up and arched his back. "I got to get me a bigger van one of these days," he said with a open, friendly grin, showing a perfect set of gleaming ivory teeth. Erect, he appeared to me to be about 6' 8', maybe 6'10", 200+ pounds, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and the way his white polo shirt fit him, it left no doubt that his upper torso would be well defined.
But, it wasn't his height or his impressive physique, or his short, crinkly, ink black hair, not even his deep, penetrating onyx eyes that I swear I actually felt wash over me--not once, but twice--which set my stomach roiling. It was the plain, simple fact that this damned good-looking specimen of sensual masculinity was encased in a dark black wrapper. His handsome face and corded neck, his muscular arms and large, thick-fingered hands--all that I could see of his flesh--was the color of hand polished ebony. My fantasy man was standing less then ten feet form me… in the flesh.
His onyx eyes washed over me once more--all to briefly--as he walked up and extended is hand to Brian. "My name's Cal Saul. Sorry I'm a bit late, but my previous stop…" He shrugged his big, wide, powerful shoulders. "Well, she just couldn't seem to get the hang of shutting the thing down when she was done playing with it." He half turned his face to me. "Every time she tried, the damn thing kept coming back up, over and over again."
My breath caught in my throat and I felt myself blush. Was he talking about her computer screen? Or… something else?
"Well, you're here now," Brian said as sternly as he could muster. My husband looked very uncomfortable at that moment. "So, you might as…"
"Right, I might as well get after it," Mr. Saul finished for him with another of his captivating grins. "I'll start unloading the cartons…" He turned his face fully in my direction "…and you can show me where you want me to put it."
Without the aid of my porn, without touching myself, without my husband's hands or white dick substituting in my mind for a black man's hands or cock, my panties became instantly wet from a short, but incredibly hard orgasm. "I… I mean we," I stammered, "we already have a place picked out. We bought a computer desk the other day and it's already right where I… where we want it."
"You sure about that, Ma'am?"
"And just what's that supposed to mean?" my husband quickly demanded. "Mister Saul."
Mr. Saul turned back to Brian. "Just that people don't always take into account certain things when they pick their spot for a computer. Like, you don't want it where the light from a big picture window is going to shine right on the screen. It tends to wash out the imaging. And there has to be one or two electrical sockets close by. With the setup you've ordered I 'm hoping they're GFI surge protected sockets. Otherwise, I'm going to have to install the surge protection before I'll even let you boot up. You're laying out some long, heavy green for this system…" He turned back to me "…and we don't want a sudden surge of power blowing things sky high, do we?"
I managed to murmur, "Ah, no we certainly don't want that." When what I literally wanted to shout was, 'God, Yesssssssss! I want you to power surge the living hell out of me, you luscious ebony god.'
"Then let's get after it," Mr. Saul quipped good-naturedly and headed toward the back of his van. And I, once again, spurted in my now wet panties.
"You purchased top of the line equipment." Mr. Saul said, setting the forth big carton down in the middle of the empty spare bedroom that was about to become our computer room. "State of the art shit, as they say in the trade."
"Something I learned from my father," Brian replied. "Always buy the best you can afford. It's cheaper in the long run."
"You daddy was a smart man," Mr. Saul remarked, surveying the room. "Good choice you made. Plenty of light in this room, none of it directly on where the screen will be, though. Corner unit, and a big one. Good, give you plenty of workspace." He spun the new computer chair--which I had picked out--around. "Good choice in chairs, too, adjustable, seat nicely padded, arms too." He looked right at me. "It'll make those long hours sitting at the keyboard a whole easier on your lower back, and the backs of your thighs and the seat of your pants will be a whole lot more comfortable." He had said pants, but I distinctly heard panties. "Ok, now for the million dollar question, what we got to plug all this sweet hardware into?"
'Me!!!' my mind screamed. "Double GFIs on both adjoining walls," Brian responded snootily. "I'm an independent contractor. I know what's what when it comes to power surge protection."
"Most people don't," Mr. Saul said. "Now, let's get all the pieces parts assembled and fire this bad boy up."
It took over an hour for Brian and Mr. Saul to get everything set up to Mr. Saul's exacting standards. The tower had be just so in its cabinet, the screen precisely aligned on the raised dais, the scanner/printer/copier/fax off to the side, yet reachable for me when I was sitting at the keyboard, and all of the snaking cables hidden neatly out of sight. "Only one thing missing," he said when he was at last satisfied with the setup.
