The End of a Love Affair (3)

           Kit went to a nearby restaurant and brought back a bag of absolute sinful goodness: big bacon double cheeseburgers, seasoned fries from Five Guys, and stopped by a bakery for thick slabs of chocolate cake.  We enjoyed the caloric volcano that was our meal while watching another SyFy cheese biscuit: ‘Sea Snakes.’  I discovered that he and I had that in common: an appreciation for mediocre sci-fi scripts, bad acting, and cheesy F/X, and nobody delivered like the SyFy channel. 

            After wiping my chocolatey fingers on a napkin, I covered my mouth to stifle a very loud unflattering burp.  Kit looked at me and chuckled.

            “Nice,” he said.

            “Excuse me,” I said, smiling.  “That was fantastic, but I know I’m going to pay for this later.  My little one is going to keep me up because of all that grease.”

            “Do you know what you’re having?”

            “I’ve decided it’s better if I don’t.”

            He nodded.  “Do you have a preference?”

            “Healthy.”

            “Fair enough.”  Then a dark look passed over his face.  “That’s all that really matters, Zuri.”

When the movie ended, Kit rose, dusting off his jeans.  I stared at his body, really seeing it for the first time.  I normally saw him in suits, but never like this.  It was certainly a nice view.  I hadn’t had a view like that in a damn long time.  Briefly, I wondered if Kit had a girlfriend, but then put the thought out of my mind.  He wanted to be my friend.  And frankly, that was fine with me.

Was it?           

“Zuri, I have to go.  Thanks for letting me hang out.  I enjoyed myself.  I haven’t had a chance to lounge in a long time.”

I got up to walk him to the door.  “I had a good time too.  It’s a shame we never took the time to talk like this before, but that was all my fault.  I’m sure you tried, but—”

He waved his hand, as if blowing off my last comment.  “Not all your fault.”

“I’m glad you came by, Kit.” I said.  It was refreshing, having a man in my house that did not hog the conversation or talk incessantly about work.  “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”  That last rolled off my tongue so easily I didn’t realize I’d said it until he looked at me.  And then I found myself caught in his dark-eyed gaze and decided I meant it.

After a long moment, Kit smiled.  “I’d like that, Zuri.” 

He turned and left.  I locked my door and had to sit down and gather my thoughts.  Something had happened today; something I hadn’t expected and certainly was not prepared for.

I met with Louis Brady, the A.D. Monday morning and explained my reasons for wanting to transfer out of Violent Crimes.  He looked at me for a very long time.

“Zuri, you are an asset to this field office.  I can’t say that I blame you, after everything you’ve gone through, but you are irreplaceable.  First off, you are the smartest, quickest agent I’ve ever worked with and your work is always impeccable.  Never mind your innate skill with firearms.  And you can work with and handle J____, which I can assure you no one else can.  Does he know you’re leaving?”

“He’ll figure it out soon enough.”  My words were cool, my tone anything but.

Louis shook his head.  “So you’re going back to Quantico to be a firearms instructor?”

“The hours are good and it’s not that far from my house.  It’s time for a change.”

“I understand.  They’re going to get an awesome teacher for Hogan’s Alley.  Zuri, I’ll see to it that this transfer goes through.”  He made some sort of note on the application.  “So, you’ll be with us for another three months or so?”

“Until my baby is born.”

He nodded again.  “Well, let me be the first to say that you’ll be missed.”

I nodded and stood up.  He wasn’t the first, but he might have been the only other to do so.  Truth be told, I was going to be happy to get out of that field office and away from those covertly bigoted bastards who smiled in my face, but were quick to throw me under the bus at any given opportunity.

            I sat down at my desk and sighed.  Two more cases sat on my already cluttered desk.  Kit was there, reading a case file.  I looked at him.  “Good morning, Kit.”

            “Good morning, Zuri.  And before you ask, J____’s gone.  He said something about a clandestine meeting with one of his informants; that you’d know where he went.”

            “Oh,” I said, waving that off.  “What are we dealing with?”

            “Double rape and murder; two of them.  The cases are similar, but the locals don’t want to say if it’s a serial or not.  But my review of the files makes it possible.”

            “Where?”

            “Alexandria.”

            I picked up the phone.  “I’ll get us a car.”

           

            J____ eventually joined us in Alexandria, but Kit and I were too engrossed in our investigation to care.  He didn’t like being ignored and we ended up having an argument; one where I allowed my already volatile emotions to go out of control.  Kit had to pull me away and it took me a long time to calm down.  When we took time off for lunch, Kit found a diner not too far from the sheriff’s office.  I was starving and couldn’t pick anything I wanted to eat because everything sounded good.  I finally decided on the chicken fried steak platter and Kit placed our orders.  We were talking about the next scheduled SyFy marathon when J____ came in and sat next to me in the booth, rudely pushing me to one side.

            “J_____!  What the hell!”

            “Sorry, Zuri,” he said.  “I just got a lead on this case.  According to—”

            Kit looked angry.  “Do you mind, Agent J_____?  We’re at lunch!”

            J_____ ignored Kit and looked at me.  “I need you to come with me and meet with this guy who says he knows who’s behind the killings.”

            I closed my eyes, feeling my blood pressure rise.  “I’m.  Having.  Lunch.”

            “We need to go, Zuri.  He won’t wait around for long.  I’ll get you a burger or something on the way.”

            I started to speak, but Kit beat me to it.  “No.”

            J_____ looked at him.  “I don’t believe I was addressing you, Agent Eastman.  This is between Zuri and me.”

            “Agent Troy is my partner now.  I think you’ve forgotten that.”

            J_____ looked at me and actually grabbed my arm.  “Zuri, we don’t have time for this.”

            “I’m not going,” I said.  “I’m hungry and I’m having lunch.  Let me go, J_____.  Let me go.  I’m not going with you.  I’m done trailing in your wake like a groupie.  If you want to meet with that guy, then go on.  But don’t expect me to follow.  I’m getting reassigned.”  I carelessly tossed out that last part, wondering if he even heard me.

            You would have thought I sucker-punched him in the face, but it was evident he didn’t hear that last.  “What is with you, Zuri?”

            Kit looked at me.  “I’m going to say this once.  Leave Agent Troy alone.  Get up and walk away, J____.  I won’t have you coming in here and deliberately upsetting Zuri again.  Either you shut up and join us for a nice quiet lunch or you can get the hell out of here.”

“Or what?”

J____’s tone was sharp, but Kit was impassive.  For a second, I wondered which one of them would win in a fight.  I thought Kit might.

“There is no ‘what.’  You are not going to upset her anymore.  Whatever you do, it won’t be that.”  Kit’s voice was calm, controlled.  “So decide.  Either shut up and have lunch with us, or leave us alone.”

J_____ obviously had deduced the same thing.  His eyes took on a wary look and he got up and stalked out of the restaurant. 

I took several deep breaths and sipped some tea.  “I don’t get it.  How can he be so obtuse?”  I was really hurt by his actions.  I guess a lot of it could be due to my overactive hormones, but truth be told, I was hurt.  J_____ was different now.  He wasn’t the man I used to know.  After everything we’d gone through the past seven years; after all that we’d shared, after everything…to be so thoroughly ignored and disrespected by a man I loved for stung.  When I calmed myself, I looked at Kit and saw that he was angry.

“Zuri, are you okay?”

“I will be.”  Then I looked Kit in the eye.  “I used to love him, you know.”

He touched my hand.  “You don’t need this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You want some time alone?”

“No.  I just need a moment.”  I put my fingers against my eyes and wiggled them, took two deep breaths and slowed my pulse.  I was already tired and my feet hurt and I decided to put the incident with J____ out of my mind.  I wasn’t about to let him ruin my day.  When I opened my eyes, I caught Kit staring at me.  The expression on his face was thoughtful and there was a light in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before.  I looked at him; he smiled sheepishly and looked away.  I couldn’t help but grin. 

“Busted,” I said.

He grinned and it lit up his face.  I found myself staring at him and then I found myself wondering about that, as we waited for the food and then as we ate.  Had I been completely unaware this whole time?  Had I, in my obstinacy and rejection of Kit as my partner, missed something serious?  Something significant?  It was one thing to show up at my house under the pretense of wanting to be friends, but the look on Kit’s face was more than mere friendship.  Suddenly, I was warm all over and there were butterflies in my stomach not caused by my child.  It became difficult to look at him while eating.  I was grateful for the food; it kept me from having to look in his eyes.  The silence was companionable, as it had to be due to my hunger.  I was wolfing down everything on my plate, totally unembarrassed.  I did notice, however, that Kit was sneaking looks at me between bites of his steak.  I couldn’t help but smile.  His concern for me made a lot more sense now.  As had his unexpected visit to my house.  Friends, indeed.

to be continued...

The End of a Love Affair (2)

             I didn’t smile back.  “Well, what’s the other reason?”

“I was concerned about you, Zuri.  I meant it.  No one else in the field office showed the least bit of concern about you or what had happened.  Especially not J_____.  When I made a comment about it to Wolf Bridges, he said that you guys were always like that.  Then he told me that J_____ was the father of your baby, and that you guys were probably fighting about it.”

I closed my eyes as my face got warm.  How do I explain this to a guy—my sometime partner--I’d been working with for the past three months?
            “Zuri, I don’t care about that part.  What you do and who you do it with is your business.  I just don’t like the fact that nobody seemed to care, not even J_____ that you might be hurt.”
            “Kit,” I said, sitting up.  “Thank you.  And you’re right; very few seem to care what happens to me.  I’ve not endeared myself to anyone in the field office because of my loyalty to J_____.  You see how he ostracizes everyone. You know how I’ve treated you.  So I’m surprised that you’re sitting in my house, demonstrating that you care enough to check on me.  I haven’t given you a reason to be so concerned.”
            “I know we didn’t get along at first; you thought I was trying to replace J_____ when he went missing.  And your penchant for going off by yourself without notifying me irritated the hell out of me.  We were partners and I didn’t know you were pregnant then.  Your stubbornness could have gotten you and your baby killed.  You could have at least considered your child’s safety, Zuri.”
            “It was very early.  And I wasn’t sure if I was pregnant.  I really didn’t mean to worry you, Kit.  I guess J_____ has rubbed off on me more than I thought.”
            “He’s rather notorious, isn’t he?”
            “You have no idea.”
            “How is it that you’ve stayed with him so long?”
            “We’ve been through a lot.  You know how it can be, working with someone 24/7, sometimes so close you’re like one body.  J_____ isn’t a bad guy; he’s just misunderstood because nobody knows what motivates him.”
            “Do you?”
            “I thought I did.  But I’ve since learned that he really is a selfish bastard and it’s time for me to get away from him.”
            Kit blinked.  Then he looked at me.  “Zuri, do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
            I knew what he was going to ask me.
            “There’s gossip going around; Wolf was the one who told me, but I never put any weight in hearsay.  Is J______ the father of your child?”
            I wasn’t sure what to tell him.  J_____ and I had sex a few times and I had been trying to get pregnant.  He knew it and we already had an understanding about our relationship should I conceive.  But Kit didn’t need to know all of that.  “No. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, but I went to a fertility clinic.”
            “Hmm,” Kit said.  “Then why does everyone think he is?”
            “Kit, what’s with all the questions?”
            “I’m just trying to fill in all the blanks.  I don’t like what people are saying about you and what that means for me as your new partner.”
            “I don’t care what people say about me, Kit.  They can get in line with the rest of the assholes waiting for me to give a shit.  They’ll never get within shouting distance of the truth.   J_____ and I had an affair, but he didn’t impregnate me.  If you’re thinking that I’m a loose woman who fucks every partner I get, then let me make life easy for you and point you towards the door.  I don’t have to get along with or like anyone in that office; I’m there to work.”
            “You misunderstand, Zuri.  I never thought that.  I just heard the rumors and thought I’d come straight to the source.  Like it or not, we work together.  J_____ has issues with it; he’s territorial about you, but he’s just going to have to get over it.”
            I decided to tell Kit the truth.  “J____  has opted to treat this event as if it doesn’t matter to him at all.”
            Kit looked like someone had just goosed him.  “What?”
            “When I saw him in the hospital after he returned, he took one look at me and asked how the cases were going.  He was rather nonchalant at seeing my pregnant state.  I admit, it hurt me that he could be so nonplussed about something that means so much to me.  He knew how much I wanted a baby.  Since then, I’ve decided that my child is more important than our friendship.”
            “What an asshole,” Kit said.
            “Eight months ago, I would have defended J_____.  But I’m tired of him.  I’m tired of working in that field office and having nothing to come home to.  I need to get control of my life and that means getting away from J_____.  I’ve decided to get reassigned.”
            “What?  When were you going to tell me?”
            “In a few weeks, but I may as well tell you now.  I want to transfer back to Quantico as a firearms instructor.  I’d keep normal hours, do something I like, and most importantly, be able to be a mother to my child.”
            “You’re leaving?”
            “I need to,” I said.  “J_____ has proven himself to be what everyone’s been saying all those years.  A selfish, inconsiderate bastard.  I don’t have time for that anymore.  I’m going to be a mother and I want to put all my energies into being the best mother possible.”
            “You know he won’t just let you go, Zuri.  J_____ is possessive of you.”
            “Did he tell you that?”
            Kit closed his eyes and sighed.  “He didn’t have to.  I know the look.  Maybe it’s best that you get reassigned.”
            “I promise I was going to tell you.”
            Kit got up and sat next to me.  I stared at him; at those piercing obsidian orbs and at his mouth.  He had a beautiful mouth.  Why hadn’t I seen that before?
            “I believe you,” he said.  “Your obligations are to you and your baby.  You don’t owe me anything, Zuri.  Not even an explanation.”  Absently, he ran one hand over my bare foot and it was as if I’d received an electric shock.  I took a quick breath and looked at him.  He trailed one finger over my instep and I closed my eyes.
            “Kit...” I decided to ignore his actions and concentrate on the facts.  “I did mean to tell you.  I hadn’t quite worked it all out.  I was going to put in my request next week and hopefully be able to start back at Quantico after my baby is born. I’ve spoken with my old instructor and he’s pulling strings.  I always loved my firearms classes.”
            Kit seemed entranced by my foot.  I was glad I’d gotten a pedicure yesterday after leaving work. “That’s reasonable, Zuri,” he said.  “I know how good you are with your weapon.”  Then he murmured, “I’ll miss you, though.”
            I looked him dead in the face.  I didn’t hear the man right, I’m sure. Kit and I had been working together on and off for about three months, and we'd never once been able to have a conversation without it becoming heated.  I resented him for trying to replace J____ especially when I didn't know if he was dead.  It didn’t matter to me that it hadn't been Kit's choice to be partnered up with a woman everyone else called “the bitch.”

            “Why, Kit? This is the first time we've ever been able to sit down and actually talk.  I was sure you didn’t like me.  I sure as hell didn’t like you.”  No point in lying about it.

            “I’ll miss working with you.  You’re an all right partner, better than most I’ve had, in spite of the fact that we didn't get along.”

            “Kit, that doesn’t make a lick of sense.  We never knew each other and I pushed you away every chance I got.  I’d think you’d be relieved that you didn’t have to put up with me anymore.”

            He looked at me.  “Once I learned that you were pregnant, I could overlook your early erratic behavior.  And now knowing the truth of your relationship with J_____, I can forgive you for it.”

            “Thank you, Kit.  That’s very magnanimous of you.”  It was; for I’d been nothing but nasty to him when we first started working together.  “You’re very kind.”

            “Zuri, I’d like to be friends,” he said.  “You don’t have an ally in that office.  Not one.  Louis, maybe, but he plays the middle and sometimes you can’t trust him.”

            “Figured that out, have you?”

            “Didn’t take but two days.  Anyway, I came by to extend the hand of friendship.”  He did so, stretching his hand.  I grabbed it; his palm was warm and his hand was strong.

            “I accept,” I said.  It might be nice, having such a handsome man as a friend.  “But once I’m back at Quantico, you’re going to be stuck with J_____.  Good luck with that.  Let me recommend you keep a nice bottle of vodka, scotch or tequila in your desk. You'll want a nice stiff drink after dealing with him on a regular basis.”

            “I don’t drink,” he said.  “Do you?”

“Wine, occasionally. I'm just giving you a heads-up.  Once J_____ knows I’m gone and he’s working with you, you’re going to catch all kinds of hell.”

Kit laughed; it was a pleasant rumble and a dark lock of his hair escaped the ponytail. He smoothed it back into place with one easy swipe and smiled at me.  “I can handle J_____.  And just in case you’re wondering, your being at Quantico can’t stop me being your friend.”

            Why hadn’t I tried to get to know this man before?

            Kit sat back and looked at me.  “Are you hungry, Zuri?”

            I was amused to see that he hadn't made a move towards the door. As if he didn't want to leave. I wasn't bothered by Kit's presence; in fact, I was enjoying the company. J_____ was as close as I’d come to having male company in many years.  I cursed myself for allowing him to put a chokehold on my life.  But never again.

            I smiled at him and rubbed my thickening middle.  “I’m starving.”

...to be continued...

Shortie: The End of A Love Affair (1)

Rating: R for language and adult situations.


I guess I’ve had enough of J_____.  I’ve been sitting here thinking about things as they used to be and as they are now and it has occurred to me that I’m seeing things a lot more clearly.  Maybe it’s because I’m pregnant and incapable of bullshit.  Be that as it may, I’ve simply had enough.  Yes, I was glad to see that he was all right; that his latest adventure left him no worse for wear.  I will never deny the bond we had, the friendship we’d built, or the love we shared.  I am not that kind of woman.  He meant a lot to me.  But his nonchalance at my pregnancy was the last straw.  He knew what it meant to me to finally be able to conceive; in fact, he’d helped me out a couple of times, but I never caught pregnant.  When he disappeared, I tried to move on with my life and sought out a fertility clinic.  I was successful the second time around, and when he came back, I thought I could count on his full support.  His words to the contrary cut me to the quick.  He just looked at me and tossed off banal congratulations as though he was reading one of the reports we have to submit to our supervisor.  I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.  How could he be so blasé about the most important thing in my life?  I think that was the beginning of the end. 

We weren’t meant to be a couple, and it was something we both understood early on in our relationship.  We’re better as friends; or at least we were.  I guess my hurt feelings were what got me to looking in another direction. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be J_____’s friend and will help him in any way I can, but it will never again be the way it used to be.  Not anymore.  In the solace of my apartment, I took the time to really think about everything.  By the grace of God, I’d been given a wonderful blessing. I’d wanted a baby for years, ever since my miscarriage and I tried to do it the right way.  But I allowed my career to take precedence, to take over, to nearly consume me as it did him.  One day, I realized that I had to at least try and give myself a chance at an actual life.  Which, for me, included a baby, another job, and maybe even a boyfriend. 

I took my time planning my breakaway.  After I gave birth, I would put in for a transfer and go back to work three months after I had my baby.  There were so many options for a woman with my skills and abilities, but I wanted to make sure that I chose the right path for my baby and me.  I wanted sensible hours, less stress, and weekends off.   J_____ knew something was off.  I didn’t behave any differently, but he has always been a perceptive man and picked up on a vibe or something.  Anyway, he asked me if I was mad at him and I told him I wasn’t.  He didn’t believe me, and I honestly didn’t care.  He kept trying to get me to talk about it, but I absorbed myself in my work and ignored him.  He wasn’t used to that; I’d spoiled him by always giving him my full attention, and when he wasn’t getting it, his petulance showed.

One weekend, about five months into my pregnancy, I did something I hadn’t done in years; lose myself in television.  The glut of sitcoms and reality television had driven me from the idiot box, but for whatever reason, I wanted to indulge in being a pregnant couch potato.  I surrounded myself with snacks and curled up on my couch.  There were a few good mini-marathons running simultaneously, and I alternated back and forth, enjoying doing nothing.  My doorbell rang.  I hadn’t expected anybody to come by; I didn’t have many friends outside of my job at the Bureau, and they really weren’t friends, just acquaintances.  When I made it to the door, I peeked out and saw one of my new colleagues.  He’d been assigned to Violent Crimes about three months ago.  We’d worked together on a few cases, but nothing major.  His name was Kitchi Eastman and everybody called him Kit.  I opened the door, curious as to why he was there.  I guess my shock was evident because I have not given this man any reason to like me, but he seemed to in spite of it.

“Agent Troy?”

“Agent Eastman?”  I was looking at him as if he had grown another head.  I really was surprised to see him standing at my door, casually dressed in black jeans and a heavy black sweater that set off his obsidian eyes and midnight hair.  Kit wore his hair tied in a neat tail, and I’d heard more than one of my colleagues—male and female—wonder aloud what it felt like.

“I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here?”

“You think?” I said, a smile creasing my face.  This was odd, but not entirely unpleasant.  Kit’s handsome.  I moved to bid him entrance, and he came in.

“Have a seat,” I said, and went into the living room with him following behind me.  “I must admit, I am surprised to see you here.”

I resumed my seat on the couch and he sat in the chair.  Kit’s skin was a dark tan, which was a pleasant contrast to his hair and made his smile even brighter.  He looked at me.  “I was wondering how you’re doing.  I didn’t see you come back to the office.”

“Oh,” I said.  “That.”  J______ had actually instigated an argument with me in the cafeteria, questioning my aloofness and how I didn’t seem to care about him or our cases anymore.  I refused to engage him, and he became downright petulant, raising his voice and carrying on like a spoiled child.  I was embarrassed, and in trying to walk away, tripped and fell.  Louis, our supervisor, let me go home for the day.  “Louis was scared I was going to miscarry and let me go home early.

“I don’t want to overstep my bounds, Agent Troy, but I really wanted to smack J_____.”

“Call me Zuri,” I said.  “And no, you’re not.  J_____ deserved a punch, not a smack.  But to answer your question, I’m just fine.  The baby’s okay.  My shoulder’s a little sore, but I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Zuri,” he said, as if tasting my name.  “Good.  I was concerned.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m okay.”  I leaned forward and grabbed my bottle of water.  “Care for something to drink?  I was in the middle of a SyFy snake marathon.”

Kit snorted.  “There is nothing quite like a SyFy original movie.  What’s on?”

“Boa vs. Python.”

His expression was one of mild surprise.  I’m sure he wasn’t expecting me to be so courteous, but what the hell.  I could do with some company.  And he was easy on the eyes.  “Do you want something to drink?”

           “No thanks.  I’m fine.”  He eased back into the chair.  I was amused to see him relax; he’d gotten what he presumably came for, but showed no signs of leaving.  I decided not to call him on it.  Instead, I tucked my feet underneath my legs and relaxed on the couch.  A few minutes passed and then my curiosity got the better of me.

“Kit?”

“Yes?”

“Was that all you wanted?”

He looked down for a second, and then back up at me with a smile on his face.  “No.”


                                                       ...to be continued...

A/N:  Kit Eastman is inspired by the gorgeous Jay Tavare.  

Rediscovering Sexy

First off, let me state for the record: I’m single and happily so.

I wasn’t always, and having had that experience has really made me appreciate my current lifestyle.  I’ve never been one to stay manned-up, mainly because of the distraction that really serious relationships are.  But I have dated seriously, and can therefore speak about this.  Before you start assuming that I’m one of those women who hate men and have been dogged out, nothing could be further from the truth.  All of the men I dated seriously are very good men and will make (or have made) other women excellent husbands.  I value my body far too much than to just throw my sex at any man; I don’t give a shit how fine he is.  Hell, I’m picky about my shoes and they go on my feet.

After my last relationship ended (where my ex thought I would break down and cry; he was sorely disappointed), I didn’t try to get involved with anyone else.  My duty as a caregiver ended and for a while, I was lost.  I  had no idea who I was as a woman, and my femininity had shriveled up like a raisin.  I had no desire to do much of anything because I was tired.  People encouraged me to go out and I just couldn’t bring myself to get near a guy, much less date one.  Family members told me it was time for me to get married, and the very thought of it made me nauseous.

Years later, I understand why.  I didn't want to be crowded. And I’m grateful that I listened to my own instincts and did what my heart and mind needed me to do: heal.  Recover.  Rediscover.  Redefine.  Being single allowed me to do just that.  I dealt with my past hurts and failed relationships; I found my femininity and sexuality, and I found freedom in finding me and being me.  I now know exactly who I am and what I like.  I’ve learned that I’m not meant to walk the path that most women take, and that it’s perfectly okay.  I’m truly enjoying my life for the first time in over two decades and I’m having a ball doing everything that I want to do when I want to do it.  Being constantly manned-up can blind a woman to this realization.  If I had gotten married during those tumultuous years, I would have been screwed (and not in a good way).  How fair would it have been to him for me to commit without knowing who I really was?  The marriage wouldn’t have lasted and his time (and mine) would have been wasted.
 
Once upon a time, I longed to get in my car and drive away...now I keep a bag packed just because I can get away anytime I choose, without having to clear it with a boyfriend or make arrangements for the care of another.  Once upon a time, I had to worry about how my decisions affected those around me; now I don’t give a damn, because it’s all about me.  I can change my appearance at will, without having to worry about what HE thinks and HIS approval.  I can spend my money any way I please and I don’t have to negotiate my budget and hide my purchases.  I can lounge around my house and stay in bed all day if I feel like it.  If I don’t want to cook, I don’t cook.  If I don’t want to clean my house, I don’t.  I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.  I can choose to be wonderfully and completely unreliable, and unless it’s something I want to do, I am.  I won’t even get a pet!

Another benefit of being single for a considerable amount of time?  I know my body far better now than I did back then.  I know exactly what it takes to keep an instrument as fine as this *slaps ass* perfectly tuned.  I know in which direction my desires flow and I can give my next man a proper instruction and maintenance manual so that he’ll know what he’s dealing with and how to handle it.  I don’t think there’s a real man out there who will begrudge a woman who can give him a road map to her orgasm, and I’m not just talking about sexual ones.  I know who I am, what I like, and what I want.  I like my life and I’m in no hurry to change it.

My question to women in unsatisfied relationships:  Do you know who you are?  If you don’t, you can be sure he doesn’t know either.  If you go from boyfriend to boyfriend because you think you can’t be alone, know that there is a difference between being alone and being lonely.  Plenty of women are walking around in relationships, yet are lonely as hell.  It’s okay to take time off from being a girlfriend and figure out the woman in you.  You can’t do that if you stay manned-up.

Don't Save Me; I Don't Need to be Saved...

I’m a grown-ass, self-sufficient woman. I have outside interests, dreams and goals. I also have a job and pay my own bills. I, as you well know, don’t have the responsibility of children and I’m currently single by choice. When I’m ready to have a man in my life, I’ll go get one.


Any bad decisions that I’ve made in the past are decisions that I have made and have to live with. When said man enters my life (let’s call him Keith), I don’t expect him to have to deal with the messes I made before I met him. He shouldn’t expect me to deal with his. Hopefully by the time Keith has made his way to me, most of our pre-relationship excess will have been resolved so that we can have a fulfilling, rich relationship. They should be resolved so that we can get up to some foolishness together. And if they’re not, we should be able to deal with them like grown-ass people in a grown-ass relationship.


In other words, I don’t look for a man to rescue me from myself or my past. I don’t require a man to take on the responsibility of trying to erase my mishaps and make everything all right. I don’t have to be rescued. I don’t need to be saved. I’m perfectly able to manage my untidy life and handle the ramifications of the decisions I’ve made. I’ve learned from most of my mistakes and I do my best not to relive them.


A long time ago, I dated a man that wanted to give me a break from my caregiving responsibilities, work and the stress of graduate school.  He said to me, “When we get married, I just want you to take a year off and not do anything.” I knew he meant well, but he was in love with the idea of being with a woman who had to be strong enough to shoulder the weight of caring for elderly infirm parents on her own, not with me. Fair enough, because I wasn’t in love with him. Needless to say, I broke up with him not too long after he made that statement.


I was tired, but I wasn’t vulnerable. And I didn’t recognize at the time that his statement irritated me. I’ve never had the luxury of taking a year off, and I don’t know what I’d do if I did. I’m a better woman after having gone through what I did, and I wouldn’t be nearly as far along now if I had been susceptible to his need to try and rescue me.


I don’t need a man with Captain Save-A-Ho syndrome. These are guys who have emotional and relational deficits and can relate to women only on a superficial level. They need women who are beat down and/or weak in some respects and want a man around just because it makes them appear to be one of those “good” men. They need to be seen as a hero in someone’s eyes because they are lacking in other aspects of their life.


Case in point: A woman I once knew who confronted her husband’s mistress told me later that the woman suffered from a myriad of ailments, both physical and mental, and that she was with her husband “because he was a good man with a strong sense of integrity who took care of her.” Let’s not overlook the fact that the mistress knew he was married with a family. I asked, “Does she realize the fallacy of her thinking?” The woman told me that the mistress had self-esteem issues and that her husband, who suffered from an acute case of Captain Save-A-Ho (and was no longer a hero in his wife’s eyes; just a man), “made everything all right” by being with her. I had no response to that other than to think, “How fucked up is her moral compass?”


This isn’t the only story that I’ve heard or witnessed from women who feel like somebody’s got to swoop in and make their lives palatable or better by being in it. Ask a woman who’s been through some shit, got with some man thinking that, “Oh, I’ll be all right now,” and realize that the drama didn’t start until she hooked up with him. You’re the only one who can make yourself all right. You don’t need a hero. Be a s/hero.


This theme is pervasive in fairy tales and fiction. I remember as a child getting annoyed with the whole damsel-in-distress shtick and wondered why those women didn’t try to help themselves. Why in the hell did they need to wait for a prince to come along and rescue them with a kiss? A closed-mouth kiss, no less! None of the authors bothered to follow up with the couple after the rescue to see what their lives were like afterwards. Shitty, I’m sure. I bet those damsels wished they had stayed in the turret, remained asleep, or waited for their stepmother and stepsisters to die.  


I just don’t believe that most women need to be saved. I think that most of us who take care of ourselves, own our sexuality, and direct our own lives are perfectly capable of self-rescue. I know I am.

Selfish Bitch? I Don’t Think So!

This is an amended reply to a discussion thread on www.ankhesen-mie.net. 

When asked if I have children, my answer is, “I don’t want to have kids.”  Typically, the response to my response is, “You’ll change your mind.”

Let me be clear about this:  I have no desire to be a mother. I love the freedom of being single and kid-free. I love being able to do anything and everything I want without having to put others first. I love being free.  I have done my part and served my time caring for others and I do not feel that I have to devote the rest of my life (and any parent who tells you that you only have to put 18 years into raising a child is full of shit) to taking care of anyone else other than me. I don't give a fuck how that makes me sound.  Plenty of people—women, usually—will call me selfish for my refusal to reproduce.  I don’t think so.  I call it being responsible.

The people who are quick to tell me that I'll change my mind, or that a "good man" will make me want a family, are typically mothers who are unhappy and regret having children. The whole subtext about the "good man" changing my mind annoys the shit out of me. Like he matters in the grand scheme of things. Fatherhood isn't motherhood, and there ain’t a man alive who can talk me into carrying a child and going through hours of grueling labor while his ass sits back and waits for the result. Fuck that.

I happen to believe that women who know themselves and live their lives on their own terms scares other women. Perhaps it's because we find our security in other places and not in the anchor of motherhood.  That having kids isn't the pretty the media makes it out to be. From my viewpoint, motherhood is a messy, expensive, tiresome and thankless job.  I’m sure a lot of women will disagree with this assessment and call me selfish for not wanting to extend myself in that direction.  But I don’t think so.  I call it a smart decision.

A lot of the ladies I know who are mothers have lost their womanhood in the midst of motherhood. It's like they've forgotten that they were women first. They're scared to acknowledge it because they're afraid others may believe that they aren't good mothers. Some think that they'll become women again when the kids are grown. But as I've always been told, "if you don't use it, you'll lose it." Now that scares me.  When it comes to retaining my womanhood, you best believe I’m selfish.

I don't want to be a mother and I won't change my mind about it. Every woman is not meant to become a parent, and this world would be a far better place if they realize it. It pisses me off when other women try to force that shoe on my foot, as if they think I’m not an adult and can’t make my own decisions.  As if I don’t know what I want.  I ought to know that better than anybody.  

Female Necessities

Ladies,

What five items are absolutely essential components of your wardrobe?  These should be items that are always in your closet or on your vanity.  Are there one or two items that are the same across the board for all women?  Or is each list singular and unique?

Here’s my list:

1.       1. Hoop earrings.  I try not to leave the house without them, and if I do, I keep extra in my purse, in the car and in my desk drawer at work. 

2.     

     2.  Eye makeup.  My eyes are my best feature, and so I want to emphasize them as much as possible.  Black matte with plum and silver accents is my favorite look.

3.     

    3. Blue jeans.  A good pair of jeans can be worn with anything.

4.     

    4. Black suit.  Need I say more?

5.     

    5. Good pair of black shoes (heels, for me).

What’s your list?  Share it with me!

Teaser: "Sheila & K'avir"

The first time K’avir Velimir laid eyes on Sheila Stephens was shortly after her unplanned arrival on board the starship Vega.  The starship had just left SPACEnter Arcturus-12 on the planet Canutus and Sheila was in the mess hall, picking at a plate of food.  The ship’s chief medical officer, Richard Keller, sat in front of her, eating and talking animatedly.  Sheila was clearly not interested in conversing with the doctor and she looked very sad.

            Prince Hasani was in the mess hall, wooing a willing lieutenant from Engineering.  K’avir stood about four feet away, his back against a bulkhead, ever vigilant but his eyes on the beautiful woman across the room.  Sheila’s emotions were powerful: hurt, anger, pain, disgust, and shock and they rolled off her in waves.  K’avir studied her, taking in every detail of her appearance.  She was tall and her skin was the color of the bronze sand beaches near his home on Alvelar.  She had large, deep-set brown eyes and a shapely mouth with a full lower lip.  Her hair was fascinating; she wore it secured against her head and the strands were thick and twisted.  K’avir wanted to see what her hair looked like when it was loose.  He thought Sheila was easily the most beautiful woman on board the Vega, and Captain Matheson was not a man who recruited unattractive females to serve on board his starship.

            K’avir never sought her out, but knew her schedule.  She worked twelve-hour days in Medical Bay as Dr. Keller’s second, but everyone knew that Dr. Stephens was a far superior surgeon to her drunken, careless supervisor.  She had a gift for healing and a wonderful bedside manner that the crew quickly came to appreciate to the point that the women on the starship dealt with her exclusively.

            They officially met one late night in the gym.  Sheila, furious at her circumstances, took her rage out on the punching bag in the exercise room.  She had no form or technique, just pummeled the heavy bag until her fists hurt and her knuckles ached.  It helped her to sleep, even if only for three hours a night.   She never allowed her sore hands to take away from her dedication to her craft, for she loved being a physician and welcomed the opportunity to work in a large, fully-equipped medical facility.  Arcturus-12 was a tiny buttfuck of an outpost on the pimple-like planet of Canutus and its medical wing was sorely lacking.   Such could not be said of the Vega, one of the Alliance’s prized stellar-class diplomatic starships.  Anything Sheila wanted or needed, she could get.

            She had heard of K’avir and saw him every now and then in the corridors, always with the flirtatious Prince Hasani, the ambassador from Alvelar.  K’avir was the prince’s personal guard and he was never sick, so she never saw him in Medical Bay.  He rarely ate, so she never saw him in the mess hall.  So when he showed up in the exercise room one late night, she was surprised.  She didn’t see him right off; she was so into her punching.  It was when he walked by her and uttered a simple tip, “Keep one fist up to block and the other cocked to swing,” that she realized she wasn’t alone.  He did not stay in the room; just walked through it.  Sheila unconsciously took his advice.

            A couple of days later, K’avir walked through the gym again and offered up another tip:  “Square your shoulders and stagger your feet.” Again, she incorporated the tip and found that the new stance gave her more leverage.  If he noticed her bruises, he never said anything about it.  Soon, she was looking forward to hearing his advice.  There were never any more words than what he offered in the way of fighting tips.   He told her the best way for her to crouch, how to stick and to move, how to bob and weave, and even recommended that she start using the speed bag in addition to the heavy bag.   K’avir told her to start learning how to kick and use her knees on the heavy bag and suggested she start studying appropriate boxing techniques.  Sheila, ever angry at her situation, absorbed his advice and it started paying off.   She was learning how to fight back.  She was not going to let that bastard kill her.

Teaser: "Corruption"

She really wanted to fuck that young man, for he was an absolute babe and completely fuckable.  That he was probably twenty years her junior mattered not one bit; he wouldn’t be the first tenderoni she fucked and he would not be the last.  She liked them young; liked their strong hard bodies, liked their exuberance, liked everything about a younger man.  Dick control was an issue at times and she was loathe to let them give her head, but never let it be said that Mahogany couldn’t teach a tenderoni how to fuck.  An older man could do nothing for her except point her in the direction of his son.  Mahogany didn’t give a shit; she liked what she liked and she didn’t care what anybody thought about her sexual preferences.  She was grown.

The young man in question was the mail clerk.  He was friendly; at least he was to her.  He didn’t speak much other than to greet people; just dropped off the mail and kept on pushing the cart.  Even though Mahogany had a secretary, the kid always poked his head in to speak to her whenever her door was open.  Mahogany got to where she made sure her door was ajar whenever it was time for him to deliver the mail.  He was ridiculously prompt and his five-second visit tended to be the highlight of her day.  He was Japanese and he was beautiful in the way a young man could be; bronzed skin, well-built, dark almond-shaped eyes, silky black hair that he wore in a neat ponytail, and a pair of lips that she had imagined more than once against her clit, in spite of her reservations to the contrary.  He was neat and dressed well; he wasn’t inclined to wear excessively saggy clothes (it was against company policy, at any rate).  And his ears were oh-so-cute!  He smelled good; it was a scent she could not name, but it was sexy as hell.  On him, that was.  Mahogany didn’t think it would work as well on another man.

Oh, but she wanted to fuck him.  Mahogany didn’t know how she would get into a situation where she could entice him to her house and give him the night of his life.  It was the lure to the Venus flytrap that was problematic.  They did not run in the same circles.  The mailroom closed at 3:30 and Mahogany didn’t leave work until late most evenings.  She had no idea if she would ever see him in a place where she could get her considerable clutches into him.  It was playing hell with her sexual tension; it had been a while since she had a nice young tenderoni in her bed.  Once she figured out who he was, he would be a perfect little toy for her to play with for a few hours.  And then she would get rid of him.  That was her way.

Mahogany loved to read and tried to hit the bookstore three or four times a month.  She had an eBook reader on her phone, but she liked the idea of a book: the actual weight of the story, the snap of the cover, the smell of the paper and the words on the page.  It was against her religion to work at home unless absolutely necessary, so she read a lot on the weekends.  But oftentimes, her book trips were exercises in frustration, for most of the African-American section (that there was an actual “section” was another irritant) consisted of hood lit, and she was not a fan of hood lit.  She enjoyed a variety of subject matter and while she had no problems reading anything by anyone, she liked stories that featured people of color as protagonists, especially women, but quality reading on that was scarce at times.

Mahogany stood on one foot, absently turning the page of a novel and biting her lip when she heard, “Do you need some help?”

She snapped out of her reverie and looked up.  The book slid out of her hands and hit the floor with a loud WHAP!  The novel, a 500-page behemoth by her favorite author, landed on her foot.  She sported red open-toed stilettos and nearly swore when the book crashed into her toe. 

“Ow!” she cried.  Fuck, she thought.  It was him.  The tenderoni from the mail room.  His nametag read JORDAN and she could not believe he was standing right next to her, neat as a pin in khakis and a dark blue shirt.  The shirt was loose enough that she could not discern any specific chest musculature, but his arms hinted at marvelous goodies underneath the clothes.  She should have been focusing on her throbbing toe, but Jordan, the babe of her current fantasy, had her complete attention.

He looked at her and knelt to retrieve the book.  “Are you all right?”

Mahogany winced as she stared down at him.  He was looking at her feet and she sighed; her next breath was a squeak.  She mustered enough spit to speak.

“Um…well…yeah.”

“Good,” he said.  “Nice shoes.”  He stood up, holding her book and smiled.  “How may I assist you?”

Even his teeth were gorgeous.  Lord have mercy.  She so wanted to fuck him. 

“I was looking for…”  She averted her eyes for a moment, still trying to get her head around the fact that her prey was in the vicinity and she could not pounce.  He caught her completely unawares and that was unwise for a predator.  “I was hoping to find something decent to read.”

“What do you like?”

“Umm, well…I wanted to get some quality fiction from the Black section,” she made a tsking sound, “but it seems to be in short supply today.  Or maybe my standards are just a bit too high to get caught up in Tynesha’s difficult decision of choosing between her thuggish baby’s daddy and the drug dealer who gives her multiple-O’s.”

He laughed.  “I understand.”

“So,” Mahogany said, trying to get her bearings. “When did you start working here?  Am I to understand that you won’t be delivering my mail anymore?”  She prayed that wasn’t the case.

“Not at all.  This is a part-time gig.  And I’ve been working here for a couple of months.”

“Oh.  So you’re holding down two jobs.”

“Pays the bills,” he said, reaching past her to pick up a book.  The nearness of him combined with his distinctive scent made her head swim and she inhaled. 

“You smell so good,” she murmured, and then closed her eyes in mortification.  She was usually so much smoother than this.  First, a bruised toe and second, a total loss of cool.  She was definitely not her usual, suave, sexy self.

“Thank you,” he said.  “It’s patchouli.  And maybe you’ll like this.  It’s one of my personal favorites.”  He put the book in her hands.  She glanced down at it, barely able to read the title.

“Anything else I can help you with?” Jordan asked, not shy about staring her down.  Mahogany didn’t notice his casual perusal of her and it took her a moment to answer.

“Um, yes, I mean no, uh….”  She put a hand against her face.  “It’s just a surprise to see you here…Jordan.”

“Not for me,” he said.  “I see you here all the time, Ms. Carroll.”

“You know my name?”

“Of course I do.  Who in that place doesn’t?”

“Oh, it’s that bad?”  She had a rep for being a hard-ass, but it came with the job and the money.

“I personally don’t think so, but a lot of my colleagues would disagree.”  He looked her over once more. 

Mahogany shrugged.  “Oh well.  I’m there to stay, so they’ll get over it.”  She held the book with both hands and took another breath.  “Do you have any horror or sci-fi recommendations?”

 He smiled at her again.  “Follow me.”

She did so, walking around a number of crammed shelves, trying not to stare at his shoulders or his backside.  Jordan never wore anything fitting; no boy his age did, so she could not discern anything about his ass.  It didn’t matter; she had the feeling it was as firm and as tight as the rest of him.  In a matter of moments, he had two more books for her.  Mahogany didn’t bother reading the titles, but it didn’t matter because she was going to purchase them.

“I think you’ll like these, Miss Carroll.  It is Miss, right?”

She held up her hand.  “It most certainly is.”  Marriage sounded like a horrific nightmare and she wasn’t about to conform to any man’s standard for a wife.  She liked to fuck, and if she understood her friends and colleagues correctly, married people didn’t fuck.  That was not a lifestyle she was interested in.  Besides, she wanted it made clear that she was available.  “I’m a single diva, Jordan.”  She still didn’t look at the books.

“Aren’t you going to read the titles?”

“No,” she said.  “I trust you.”

“Okay,” he said.  He smiled again and took the books she held.  “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll carry these to the counter for you.”

She wondered if he was as attentive to all of his customers but it seemed as if he read her mind.  “I don’t usually provide such personal service, but I know who you are.”

Mahogany stifled a groan and closed her eyes again.  Dirty, nasty, freaky thoughts permeated her brain.  He could service the hell out of her if she could figure out a way to get him into her flytrap.  She took a moment to get herself together and then followed him to the counter.  Jordan was waiting for her and she smiled at him.  The clerk behind the counter smiled at him too, but he appeared not to notice.  His eyes were trained on Mahogany.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said and then flicked his eyes to the book on the top of the pile.  Then he walked away.  Mahogany watched him go, smiling, and then turned to the clerk, who was also watching Jordan retreat to the back of the store.  The clerk, probably no more than nineteen, ogled him as if he were her future husband.  Clearly, the girl liked the young man.

The clerk looked at Mahogany, blushing.  Then she leaned forward, as if sharing a secret.  “He is so sexy,” she said.  “I have been trying to get with him for almost two months.”

Mahogany replied with a nod of her head and smirked as she looked at the clerk.  “He is a cutie,” she said.  But the look on her face was clear:  Stay on the porch, young pup, because you can’t run with a big dog.  The girl was way out of her league.  She was no match for a grown woman on a mission. 

It was sometime later on that day before she actually got around to looking at the books he chose for her, and to her surprise, a hastily scribbled note was stuck between the pages of the book she dropped on her foot.

I want to have dinner with you, it read.

Mahogany closed her eyes and shivered with pleasure.    She was going to enjoy the hell out of the rest of her day.  She didn’t know when Jordan had slipped the note inside the book, but it did not matter.  He had made the first move and that was all she needed.  She could do the rest.  Mahogany was moist with anticipation; she was finally going to be able to fuck that delectable young man.

Definition of a Woman

What does it mean to be a woman?  I don’t mean the biological or physical aspect, but everything else.  What do we women possess that separates us from men?  I’ve read countless articles, stories and research that suggest that it is our emotions and ability to nurture and love which sets us apart from the male gender.  Some would go so far to suggest that it is our ability to create life which makes us unique. 

I don’t discount the aforementioned, but I think that it goes further and deeper than that.  The women I know who are wives and mothers ultimately come to realize that within the confines of being a wife and a mother, the woman gets lost.  Life gets in the way and the woman within a wife and mother suffocates.

Which leads me to the next question.  What do we women possess that separates us from wives and mothers? As a woman, I do have my own ideas as to what defines me.  However, I’m neither a wife nor a mother, so I cannot answer this aspect of the question.  But I am interested in knowing what other women think, be they wives and/or mothers.  What defines a woman?