closer to the live Adonis who had walked into the store and (blessings abound!) into her area.
“No, but I’ll keep shopping on my own,” Cy murmured as he eyed something on the other side of the store. The salesperson followed without thought. “I’ll let you know if I need any help,” he said with emphasis.
“No problem, I’m here if you need me.” The salesclerk turned around, a look of regret barely concealed behind her cheery smile. Cy was oblivious to the wistful stares his six-foot-two frame elicited from the saleswoman and other shoppers. His naturally curly jet black hair may have been hidden under a Lakers cap, but his raw sexuality was in plain sight. He had no idea that his sparkling white smile lit up the room like the noonday sun or that the dimple that flashed at the side of his grin was like a finger beckoning women closer.
Cy picked up a bra and panty set that had Hope’s name written all over it. It was a soft, lacy, yellow number. The panty was designed like a pair of shorts—very short shorts—and Cy reacted physically as he thought of Hope’s bubble booty filling them out. He quickly added this set to the black and beige more traditional sets he’d selected earlier.
While making his way to the perfume counter, another outfit caught his eye—the perfect backdrop for the diamond pendant. It was a lavender-colored sheer nightgown with matching floor-length jacket. The beauty was in its simplicity, and he smiled again as he thought of how Hope would look wearing this purple paradise. He held it up and closed his eyes, mentally picturing her ebony splendor wrapped luxuriously inside the soft material rubbing against her silken skin as he kissed her sweet lips.
Cy felt the presence of someone behind him. Figuring it was the attentive saleswoman, he turned to apologize for taking so long to make his decisions, and for the growing pile of lingerie she’d collected on his behalf. The smile died on his lips, however, as did the clever banter he’d thought to deliver as he completed the turn and stared into the eyes of the person he’d most like to remember to forget…Millicent Sims.
Or so he thought, initially. The woman could have been Millicent’s twin sister; that’s how much alike they looked. But after the initial shock subsided, Cy realized it wasn’t her. The eyes were similar, but this woman’s nose and lips were larger. Her face was a bit fuller, the cheekbones less prominent. One thing was definitely the same though; the woman looked at him as if he were a chicken nugget and she the dipping sauce. He quickly excused himself and went around her, making a beeline for the cash register. A close encounter of the Millicent kind had cooled his shopping frenzy.
Moments later, he closed the rear door of his newly purchased BMW SUV. It had been hard to get him out of his Azure, but looking back it hadn’t made sense for a Bentley to be his main driving vehicle. As the salesman had promised, Cy found the BMW to be a perfect ride for jetting around the city. He fired up the engine, hit the CD button, and zoomed out of the parking lot. The sounds of Luther Vandross’s greatest hits, redone to perfection in snazzy jazz styles as a tribute to his memory, oozed out of the stereo. Cy bobbed his head as Mindi Abair got ridiculous with her alto sax version of “Stop to Love.” As he crossed lanes and merged onto the 405 Interstate, his thoughts drifted back to Millicent. His heart had nearly stopped when he thought he saw her; it had been a while since she’d crossed his mind. He wondered how she was doing, where she was. Even after “the incident,” he wished her well.
The incident. It had been a while since he’d thought about that, too. But seeing Millicent’s near twin in Victoria’s Secret had brought the memories back with a vengeance. That crazy Sunday when out of the blue, and in the middle of a regular church service, Millicent had wafted down the aisle in full wedding regalia. It had shocked everyone in the sanctuary, him most of all.
Cy had had months to replay those events in his mind, and they’d mellowed with time. Now, he thought about the Millicent Sims he knew before she’d lost her mind that Sunday morning. He remembered the way he felt when he first saw her, tall and regal with beautiful hair, flawless skin, legs forever, and a smile that made his heart skip a beat. He’d quickly asked her out, knowing those fine looks would test the limits of his celibacy vow. But it hadn’t taken him long to realize that aside from good looks and Kingdom Citizens Christian Center, they had little in common. He also quickly felt Millicent’s desire to take their relationship to another level, one of the physical kind. Though sorely tempted, he did the right thing and broke it off with her after a couple months. Now, however, he wondered what it would have been like to have those long legs wrapped around him, his dick tapping that flawless skin. His manhood jumped in response to these thoughts, the smaller head seconding the bigger head’s thoughts.
As Cy exited the 90 Freeway into Marina Del Rey, Millicent’s words from that fateful day of their last encounter drifted through the melodies of Rick Braun’s rendition of “Dance With My Father.” He could hear them as loudly as if they were actually being spoken: Come! It is our time…. Cy’s dick went limp.
A horn honked. The red light he’d reached had turned green. Cy floored the gas pedal as if trying to outrun the memories of Millicent from that Sunday and his wandering sexual thoughts just now. He thought of Hope, physically different from Millicent yet beautiful both inside and out. His dick jumped again. He massaged it mindlessly, even as he once again tried to divert his thoughts and calm “Mr. Man” down. Man, sleeping next to my baby is gonna be hard tonight!
As Cy turned into his garage, he smiled. A yellow MG sat parked in the stall next to his. Hope. What an appropriate name she’d been given, because hope was exactly what she’d given him. Hope that he could have the love he’d always envisioned, that he’d seen his parents experience. Hope that he could find someone both spiritual and sexy, who could love God like an angel and love him like a courtesan. He now had no doubt that that was exactly what he had in the chocolate pudding waiting upstairs for him. They’d agreed to remain celibate until their wedding took place, but that hadn’t prevented them from getting to know each other. He hadn’t played the piano, but he’d definitely stroked the keys.
Cy turned the key and activated the elevator to the penthouse floor. Humming to himself, he looked at the lingerie packet and Tiffany box he’d concealed in a plain brown bag. He wanted to see her in something different every night of their honeymoon, before he saw her in nothing but his arms.
The house was quiet as he went inside. “Hey, baby,” he called out, noting the silence of the almost always playing stereo. He entered the large open space that was the living, dining, and den area. No Hope. He continued to the kitchen, where he saw the note as soon as he turned the corner:
Hey, Baby, tried to reach you on your cell. I’m with Frieda. Hollah.
Love you, Hope.
He set down the packages, pulled the cell phone from his briefcase, and noted a couple of missed calls. Belatedly, he remembered how poor the cell phone reception was in some of the mall stores. Smiling, he hid Hope’s honeymoon package in the closet and decided to fix a protein drink before calling his baby. Yes, Hope was the woman he wanted to be thinking about, the one he wanted on his mind. He hoped Millicent was happy, but she was his past. The woman occupying number one on his speed dial was his future.
2
God, Always with You…
“Look, you know yo ass can’t wait to get some dickage. God created the bone, ain’t nothin’ wrong with saying you want to handle the meat for a minute, damn!”
“Frieda, you have no sense.” Hope laughed as she entered her cousin’s newly decorated apartment near Baldwin Hills, an area of Los Angeles that at one time boasted the city’s most affluent Black residents. A month after Hope had relocated from Kansas City, she’d suggested to Frieda that she do the same. One visit was all it had taken. One trip to Magic Johnson’s theater followed by a stroll through the mall next door and Frieda had agreed that LA was her kind of place. “Umm…thirty-two flavors, just like Baskin-Robbins,” she had commented after seeing the plentiful, multicultural, multiethnic mix of testosterone who shopped there.
Hope couldn’t have been happier. There had not been a moment’s hesitation when Cy had asked her to move in with