Monday, December 11, 2006
8:23pm
Today’s meeting with Victor was interesting because it turned me on from my dream. Every time he spoke to me or looked at me, it felt as though he was undressing me. His scent captivated me, just like it did in the dream. Maybe I should call him. He offered to take me to lunch afterwards, but I declined, afraid of what might happen. Not necessarily what he would do, but more of what I would do. The only other person I’ve felt such attraction towards is Carmen. I don’t want to mix business with pleasure, but damn! How do I contain myself when he comes around? It’s hard to believe that he’ll be able to contain himself, considering how he looks at me. I saw him becoming bashful by some of my comments—nothing flirtatious—and he even made the statement that I flattered him.
Being so attracted and turned on by him makes me think of some statements my mother has made. Am I confused? He makes me feel the way Carmen did when she and I first met, and before we had sex. As bad as I want that dream to count, it doesn’t. As bad as I need love I can’t.
My mother… I wonder if she got her test results back; knowing her, she probably hasn’t even returned doc’s calls. I’ll contact Raven tomorrow and check to see if she has. Am I a replica of her? Allowing sex—or the thought of it—to dictate what love is in my eyes? I had another appointment with Dr. Young today, and the session got more in depth compared to the last one. It felt like she was tearing me a new asshole. She says no relationship will work for me unless I face my underlying issues. What are my underlying issues? Do I even care to figure them out? These are questions I must answer first. She told me I’ll gravitate towards physical, mental, emotional, and sexual abuse because those are the matters I witnessed growing up, and are the same things I’m witnessing now as an adult. How in the hell does she know? Could these be some situations she and my mother discuss? She told me in order for things to change; I have to make a conscious decision to break the cycle, especially if I want to raise children of my own. Apparently, I have a hard time trusting and committing one hundred percent to relationships because I’m not “mentally stimulated” by the people that try to have a relationship with me. It’s so easy for me to walk away from Carmen because she didn’t stimulate me mentally. Meaning, she didn’t fuck me but made love to me, and she doesn’t argue with me. She says that me running or not wanting anything to do with Carmen anymore is my version of love because that’s what I’m used to and it’s my foundation. She also told me it’s my choice to decide what type of relationship I want to have. The last thing she said before our session ended was that I’m making the right mental choice to give Victor the run around, but not the right physical choice because I’m so attracted to him. I shouldn’t have told her about last night’s fantasy.
I don’t think it’s a superb idea to see the same therapist as my mother. I’ve decided not to go to my next appointment and find my own therapists. Had I known what I know now, I wouldn’t have gone to her. She gave me some brilliant advice, but I didn’t find our conversations very therapeutic. She knows entirely too much information about my family, which for me only allowed her to form her opinion of me prior to our meeting. Maybe my mother wanted me to go to her so she could know all of my business, and maybe it was her way of keeping tabs on me when it relates to Carmen. Whatever her motive was or is, I will let her know tomorrow that I don’t feel comfortable talking to Ms. Young, and since I’m working and can afford my therapist, I plan to find one and pay for it myself…
An alert from my cell phone distracts my writing. I wonder who this could be. No one has this number except for my mom, Lucia, and Raven. I put my journal down and fumble through my purse, retrieving my phone. It’s a message from Victor: You looked amazing today. I guess I must keep asking you out until you agree? Dinner Saturday? I forgot he was the first person my mother and Sam gave this number to. Instead of responding, I place my phone on my nightstand and continue writing.
… Victor. I wonder how long I’ll be able to ignore him on a personal level before giving up the cookie. If he’s anything like my dream, he can munch on it any day. No matter how much I try to convince myself the opposite, that’s one thing I can say I really miss about Carmen is the way she went downtown on me. She was definitely my little cookie monster. She knew exactly what to do and when to do it. Too bad I can’t say the same about Jarmaine. Jarmaine. I wonder how he’s doing. Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask my mother if she’s spoken to his mother lately. Christmas is coming up, maybe I’ll even send him a Christmas card. Now that I think about it, if Carmen wanted to find me or contact me, he is the one person she could reach out to. Maybe she’s moved on and forgotten about me in these past two weeks. With that thought in mind, I vow to forget about her too. Maybe I will take Victor up on his offers, and I might even fuck him, or let him taste my cookie.
From those written thoughts, I reach to the nightstand and grab my phone. I reply to Victor: Thank you. Maybe. I don’t send it because I want him to beg, but then I second guess myself. If I make him beg for too long, maybe he’ll find interest in someone else. The ‘send’ button is tempting. As I place my phone on the nightstand, another message comes through: And YOU ARE! I don’t respond because I know that’s his way of trying to get me to respond. What the fuck is he talking about? I am what? Instead of replying, I close my journal for night and turn the light off. Tomorrow is an early day.
Sitting at my desk and reviewing applications for a personal assistant, my office phone buzzes. I answer it on the first buzz, knowing it’s nobody but that talkative ass Fernando. I don’t see how Felicia can deal with him regularly. I must hurry and find my assistant. Sure enough, it’s him. “Look up,” he whispers on the phone. Victor stands in the doorway looking fine as fuck in a pair of nice fitting jeans, casual shoes, polo shirt and blazer. I say nothing as I hang the receiver up.
“So, you can’t respond to a brother’s messages.” He invites himself in and takes a seat.
“Come in, have a seat,” I say sarcastically.
“I already did.” His smirk is sexy and charming.
“Clearly.” I smirk back.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Moore.”
“Now why would I want to do that when I can… never mind.” I catch myself.
“So, since you didn’t respond last night, I thought I’d pay you a visit and get a direct answer from you today. And I plan to do so every time you ignore me.” He crosses his long lanky legs one over the other.
“Thank you. Maybe. I’m what?” I respond to the text from last night.
“You’re welcome. Maybe isn’t an answer. Irresistible.”
“Okay then, no. What do you mean by irresistible?” I’m confused because this seems like a conversation from my dream. How does he know about my dream?
“You’ll say yes to allowing me to take you out one of these days. And come on, Ms. Moore, you know you’re irresistible.”
“We’ll see about that. Thanks. Now, is that what you really came all the way across town for? To see why I didn’t respond to your text messages?”
“No, I came all the way across town because you’re irresistible and I wanted to see what you look like today.”
“Please don’t flatter yourself, Mr. White.”
“Why flatter myself when I can flatter you?”
“Well, please don’t flatter me, Mr. White. I have a client coming in about thirty minutes that I must prepare for. If you don’t mind leaving, it’s appreciated.” A lie is told so I can escape to the restroom and dry my now moistened cookie.
He does as he’s asked and stands to leave. When he reaches the door, he turns and says, “Please, call me Victor.” Once he’s out of sight, I retrieve my purse from my desk drawer and make my way to the restroom.
“What was that about?” Fernando questions.
“Oh nothing, we just needed to go over some numbers,” I answer.
“Mm hm.” He rolls his eyes in the back of his head.
“Wouldn’t lie.” My pace picks up, leaving him behind as I turn the corner.
Thank God no one else is in here. The thought of this man makes me want to have a mid-day masturbation session by myself. I walk into the stall and when I turn around to close the door, it’s stopped.
“What the hell are you doing in here,” I ask Victor.
“I knew I got your pussy wet.” The closer he gets, the more I can smell his minty breath. It smells just like it did in my dreams.
“Actually—”
He places his finger over my mouth, leans me up against the wall of the stall, lifts my skirt, moves my panties to the side, and fumbles in my wetness. “How much longer will you continue to lie and deny?” he asks. “Don’t answer that,” he follows. For some strange reason, I don’t stop him. He slowly slides his middle finger in and out as my juices overflow. His shoulder is where my head rests, and one foot steps on the toilet. He grabs the same leg and wraps it around his waist instead, causing me to stand on my toes with the other foot. He presses his body up against mine as he teases me with attempted kisses to the lips. Every time I attempt to kiss him back, he moves his head out of reach. Either this is turning me on, or I’m dreaming again. I bite down on my bottom lip as hard as I can to assure that it’s not a dream and sure enough, it isn’t because that shit hurt like hell. Still moving in a slow motion, I move with him.
“Why are you moving,” he whispers to me as he stops with his gestures and presses his finger against my g-spot. This doesn’t stop me from moving so he asks, “Why must you be so defiant, Ms. Moore?”
When I finally obey, his motions start back up. “Why do you ask so many questions,” I mumble.
“The same reason you wish to ignore me,” he replies.
Left speechless, I don’t say another word. I allow him to do whatever until the muscles in my stomach, back, vagina, and thighs tighten up. I remove his finger, let my leg down, pull my skirt down, and exit the stall. As I leave the restroom, my juices run down my thighs.
I lock the door to my office before I enter the walk-in closet to catch my breath and change my pantyhose. What the fuck just happened… is the only thought I can arrange in my mind right now. An alert goes off in my purse. It’s a message from Victor: SHADY! SO SHADY! You taste just as good as I imagined. I ignore the message as I finish changing and go back to my desk as if nothing happened. My door remains locked because I’m not in the mood for Fernando for the rest of the day.