JefferyB
The Fires of Lust
Sitting alone in the booth, Mickey was having lunch and reading the newspaper. Mickey was a quiet man, well-read and confident in himself. He owned a small but profitable company. You could say that Mickey met life on his own terms. He had his own home and lived comfortably.
It was hard to say that Mickey had a routine, but he did enjoy his lunchtime, sitting quietly and reading. He was keen on politics and world events. He held disdain for people he felt lacked concern about world and national affairs, preferring to be concerned with their own lives and entertainment. It was not uncommon for his friends or employees to come to him with questions about politics or current events. While he was anything but boastful, he was confident in his knowledge and did not suffer fools.
As a man of color, Mickey had two unique things about him that were gifts from his white father. Unlike his black peers, Mickey had a very un-African American name. His father had insisted that a son be named after his childhood sports hero, Mickey Mantle. The second gift was the result of strong genes; crystal blue eyes. Along with his soft caramel-colored skin, Mickey bore little resemblance to the men of his race.
From his beautiful black mother, Mickey received her calm exterior and a fiery soul. She was a woman that loved all things sexual and was easily consumed in passion. On many occasions, Mickey had thought he had a split personality. During the day, he was his intellectual father, while at night, he morphed into his mother's version of an animal in heat.
For the most part, Mickey was content with his life. His work consumed most of his time, but he enjoyed an occasional round of golf or a game of racquetball with friends at a local club. At 34, he didn't consider himself an athlete, but he stayed in good physical condition. While it was unlikely that women would stop in their tracks to admire his looks, most would say that Mickey was handsome... in a quiet kind of way.
Through the years, Mickey had dated but never seemed to find the right woman. Instead, he found most young women to be what he termed "airheads" or "fuckwits." He had jokingly told a friend once that he wanted a woman that was a princess in the living room and a whore in the bedroom. He required a woman who could carry on an intelligent conversation and also shriek with passion as she rode his face while hanging onto his headboard.
That combination of attributes had been difficult for him to find. There had only been one through the years, but that relationship hadn't lasted. Mickey wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he did feel an emptiness in his life. He wanted female companionship but wasn't willing to settle for beauty without brains.
Having finished eating, Mickey had folded over his newspaper and read the editorial page while he sipped a second cup of coffee. Feeling a presence beside him, he looked up to see an old girlfriend standing beside his booth, seeming to glare at him with a look of displeasure.
Lisa had planned to see Mickey in this restaurant. In fact, he had been on her mind for the past several weeks. The two of them had been together for nearly a year, but that was five years ago. Standing beside him, she felt intense passion rising up. She wanted to walk away, but he pulled her to him like a giant magnet.
Mickey looked up to see her luxurious honey blonde hair surrounding her beautiful face. He took in the big brown eyes that had always excited him. It was impossible for him not to check her out from head to toe, noticing that she had maintained her 'centerfold' body and her exceptional taste in clothes.
She was dressed in a gray skirt and a black silk blouse. It was an effortless combination, but on her, it was a classic look that would draw men's eyes as she passed. As his eyes washed over her, he couldn't miss that she seemed to be breathing hard.
"Hi," he said softly. "Would you like to join me?"
"I would like to punch your face," she snarled through gritted teeth.
"Really?" he answered with a playful grin. "I guess your dislike for me is just as strong as ever."
"Maybe stronger," she snorted.
"Then why don't you sit down and tell me about it," Mickey said in his typical easy manner. "You appear angry and that is not a condition that you should maintain. It will put frown lines in that beautiful face."
He had complimented her and it stopped her following words. "Beautiful?" she asked in a kinder voice.
"Absolutely beautiful," he said with a smile. "Probably the most beautiful face I've ever seen. Now, why don't you sit down?"
Her pulse was still pounding, but she sat down across the table from him.
"How long has it been?" he asked.
Her fire seemed to have left her. She sat across from him, staring into his crystal blue eyes, almost unable to think or speak. "It's been five years," she answered.
"Five years," he almost whispered. "Where has the time gone? So, that makes you about 28 now?"
"Twenty-nine in two weeks," she answered.
"And why was it you left me?" he asked. "As I recall, you stormed out in a huff."
Lisa was still mesmerized by his eyes, seemingly unable to look elsewhere. Her mind remembered his eyes burning into her soul as she cried out in sexual ecstasy. How many hundreds of times had he left her a quivering mass, unable to move or speak?
Taking control of herself, Lisa answered. "I don't remember exactly. We had an argument."
"We did," he said as his eyes drifted down her blouse and seemed to be stripping away the covering over her breasts. She could feel her body heating up and knew beyond a doubt that he would be able to see her hardening nipples through the soft fabric of her bra.
Trying to distract him, she said, "I just remember that you were being a total ass and I left."
His eyes met hers again, locking onto the rich brown color that he had loved to watch when he tortured her with sexual arousal. "We had a political argument," he said. "Do you remember what it was about?"
"No. No, I don't," Lisa answered honestly.
"You were defending one of the President's law-breaking Executive Orders and I was explaining why it was wrong."
Slowly she nodded. "I remember now."
"You insisted on arguing."
"I was tired of you always being right," she told him.
"And you're still mad at me?"
Lisa was getting her nerve back. "To be precise, I hate you."
"That's a pretty strong emotion to have because of a political disagreement," he said with a soft smile.
"
Damn him and that smile
," she said to herself. "I don't hate you because of a stupid political argument."
"Then why?" he asked, showing his confusion.
