by Ross, Janice
I.
Jezebel’s hair spread across the red satin pillowcases. Bare skin shone under a couple of specks of sunlight, giving her a polka dot design. The dark blinds were raised, while the drapes carried heavy circular designs that changed the ambiance of the room. Even as she considered her houseguest, she was comfortable in her loneliness. There was no need to rush about, preparing breakfast or gathering a household for Sunday brunch.
This five-bedroom home was all hers, a major fixer upper. Her father had purchased it for her because she didn’t want a typical manufactured one. They’d spent just over a year making it flawless and inhabitable.
Jezebel’s mind drifted to Jason Marks. Jason had helped every step of the way. He was always concerned with making her happy, as Jezebel was always concerned for his happiness. He was the sort of guy that you had no choice but to admire. She adored his brilliance and determination. He had become successful by channeling his love of music and the music scene into a serious entertainment company, Jay Marks Promotions. Whenever there were concerts to be promoted on the East Coast, Jason pulled together the greatest team of experts to exceed every client’s expectations.
Jezebel had to admit that he was quite a catch; with the exception of one annoying detail . . . Jason was rough.
Seriously rough around the edges.
He was born into a difficult life, but through hard work and perseverance, he made an exceptional name for himself. Unfortunately, at twenty seven, he hadn’t grown out of that pesky roughness and lacked some refining qualities. Many people disregarded him on first appearance, but she accepted and loved him for simply being her Jason. Clarification . . . her very good friend Jason, who might become more someday. She was willing to try again, just in case this day would be the day.
Jezebel sighed, turning to the open space on the bed. Last night she had banned him. He was now in the guest room. She was funny that way. This room and this spot, was her haven. Her sanctuary, sacred. Very few could get in, especially in that way. Getting too comfortable, or rather too freaky, was unheard of.
She threw off the sheets and swung bare limbs from the bed. As she stood and walked to the door, a voice encouraged her to let her guard down. She hadn’t been with a man in two years. The desire was no longer there; moreover, she had grown tired of the emotional stress of relationships. Jason had always been there to assure her that she would find the one someday, even interjecting himself at times. The love she had for their friendship was too important. And then there was the issue of his unrefined behavior.
But now she was starting to feel bad . . .
“Jason?” she called out before entering the basic bedroom two doors down. He was still half asleep and grunted in response. He had on the same white tee and gray boxer briefs from the previous night. His body was somewhat exposed, like provocative molasses flesh and muscles waiting to be taken advantage of.
“You wanna try this again?” Jason asked in a raspy voice, his head hung low. He appeared to be purposely avoiding eye contact with Jezebel.
She cleared her throat, remaining at the center of the room. The swivel mirror to her back exposed the caramel flow from neck to calves. She flipped around, pausing several seconds to silently critique her medium-sized breasts.
“Jez.” He flipped onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. An overeager bulge stared at her. On his lips sat a wicked grin.
Did he know that I would come? Jezebel wondered. “We can,” she replied, repeating a mantra to “live free”. After all, this was a man she trusted with everything. Standing in front of Jason, in the nude, wasn’t disheartening but quite comfortable. Jason was one of the few people she could expose to her insecurities, physically and emotionally. He knew her depths, as well as her simplicities. Much of what she was showing had been displayed years ago. So she moved to the bed, drawing down on her friend for morning playtime.
Jason reached to the ground for his jeans pocket, pulling out a silver wrapper. Jezebel smiled. When their eyes connected he nodded down to the jolting of his growth.
“Sexy, you gonna let me in?” he asked as she rested her hands against his chest. She threw her right leg over his lap. His hand slipped across her moisture. “Jez, why are you the only one without clothes on? Strip me, girl.”
Jezebel was picky.
Easily annoyed.
Jason knew this. He was trying not to do the street slang thing. She made note of the effort. That was a plus because she wasn’t crazy about Ebonics.
At least he didn’t cuss, she considered. And even as her mind replayed his normal way of speech, she rolled her eyes. She refused to be critical any longer. Not today. Jezebel told herself that she needed to focus on Jason, and at least give him a shot.
Jezebel ran her palms down the tight ridges of his chest, tucked her fingers beneath his top, and slowly unwrapped his upper body.
“Damn girl! You wet off this?” His fingers deepened inside her.
She cringed.
“Jason, I don’t mind you talking dirty to me but please do it right.” She paused at the elastic of his snug underwear.
He blew out steam. Jason was no dummy, Jezebel squinted and twisted a warning that she was on the ledge, just like she did last night. He nodded in defeat.
Her right hand moved into his boxers. She stiffened as the corners of her mouth tightened. Next her nostrils flared. Still, Jezebel forced herself to touch and ravish, rubbing her free hand past his nipples. They were small and hard. He was ready for her. Probably still from the night before. But when she looked at his face, his head was extended down, focusing on his valued member.
“You gonna take it deep, sexy?” his words broke Jezebel’s concentration.
Her fingers gripped his erection and she noted the fullness in her palms. She rubbed along the smooth base, squeezing gently from the shaft up the full length. At the tip, her fingers teetered around the edge.
“Would feel even better with your mouth,” he encouraged.
This was one woman that believed within herself that she would never go there. She allowed his words to mull around. After brief consideration, she didn’t bother to change that part of her, nor did she respond. In fact, she was somewhat pissed.
Jason knows me better than that! I’m not doing that to him. Never have. Never will. Well . . . at least, not until I meet my future husband.
“Girl, you and your rules.” Jason knew her well enough to pull out the specific thoughts. Moreover, she had always been vocal with those feelings. “Just climb on!” he demanded, reaching down toward his groin. Jezebel knew he’d wanted this long before, his body showed his eagerness.
Jason eased up. She removed his boxers and ripped open the package so that he could wrap it up. This was further than they had gotten last night. She bit her tongue in an attempt to stop the thoughts rushing out of her mouth. She coaxed herself, warning against moving too quickly . . . be careful.
Before she could get situated, he got up in her face. His lips touched hers, but she refused to open up.
I don’t kiss, Jezebel wanted to scream. Jason apparently didn’t feel her contract and freeze up. He only continued to slobber on her neck. She fought to convince herself that it felt okay.
Jezebel’s mind was further stressing over his buddy, yes the one that had darn near doubled in size since she touched it. Or maybe the boxers had hidden it?
Next he kissed her breasts, while she enjoyed the stiffness of nipples against his tongue.
This too felt decent . . . better.
He trailed down to her belly button and stuck in his tongue. To Jezebel it was a formality. She knew what he was after—the goodies!
Once he found her inner thighs, his mouth felt tender and innocent.
“Jaaason.” She gave him that much since he really was trying. There was a tingle, a building sensation. His tongue flickered, plunged, and sauntered.
“Ohhhhhhh!” she yelled, considering that she might let him spend the day, another night.
“That’s what’s up, girl,” Jason declared, and leaned up on his elbow.
Does he think I came? she asked herself and was on the verge of asking him the same question.
“I got skillz. Flip over so I can hit it from behind.”
Her eyes rolled just before swiping over the length of him.
Jason flashed it off.
“You either break me off or let me take it from the back.”
No need for consideration, Jezebel turned.
He palmed her curves and slapped each side, then tried to enter.
“Ahhhh!” She wanted to explode, even welcomed the idea of death. What the heck is he trying to put inside of me?
“Yeah girl! Ah shit! You fat like that?”
Now, she didn’t mind talking dirty but was getting annoyed with Jason. Before she could scold him, there was more pain. Too much. She pulled away, slipped sideways, and leapt to her feet.
“You can’t dig into me like that, Jason. I’m a lady.”
“Jez, are you for real? You’re tryna break my flow?”
“I’m serious, Jason! And no, I’m not trying to break your flow.” She emphasized the words because he was pissing her off.
“Don’t belittle me, Jez!”
Belittle? Where did that come from? Jezebel blinked. She lifted two fingers and waved in his direction. Let me try again.
“Sorry,” she offered, turned away, and then shoved her backside against him.
He held onto her waist, plunging in deep . . . too deep.
“Not this one,” Jezebel yelped, pressing him away. She kicked toward his groin, but missed. Hopping up on the bed, she was livid. “You aren’t going to brag about making me walk bow-legged. You’re not even going to scar my insides by digging up my tenderness.”
“Girl, cut out that foolishness. Women love this stuff. Be screaming out my name. Begging daddy to make them feel it. Give them their medicine.” Pushing up in her face he added, “Want me to stamp my name all up in there?”
“Then you know what?” Jezebel scrambled away. Grabbing Jason’s clothes, she flung them at him. “Jason, I’m not gonna let you ruin me for my future husband. When other women are walking around the place dropping organs from out of their crotch, I plan on keeping it tight. You know why?”
Although Jezebel had become confrontational, Jason ignored her. Her words seemed to have little effect. She wasn’t even sure if he was paying attention. Jason focused on getting dressed, taking to his slacks both legs at once. His manhood was still firm and bumped against the zipper. He flinched.
“Jason, I will not be the one to lose a man because he’s dropping out of me. Furthermore, men like you aren’t spoiling my insides. Let my future husband do that.” This was a sentiment Jezebel had voiced time and again.
“Damn Jez. It’s me, your boy . . . Jason. I’m not some man.”
“Then why are treating me like I’m some woman?”
Jason shook his head. He then nodded upward and headed for the bedroom door. He hadn’t yet put on his sneakers and his slacks were loose.
Jezebel ran to her room. She grabbed a tiny cami and shorts, pulling them on as she caught up and followed behind, in silence for the time being as they raced down the stairs.
“I’m leaving. You don’t have to patrol me.” Jason stomped to the exit. “Jezebel, I’m done with you. I’ve been your friend for how many years now?” The sun’s rays barreled down from the ceiling spotlight, touching Jason’s close-cropped head. For a moment, Jezebel wanted to touch him and smooth away the pain of their fifteen-year-old friendship gone wrong.
He’s my Jason, my friend. A comfort at times. An excellent listener. I thought that I could make it more, especially since he’s been smitten by me for all these years.
“We’ve been friends forever, Jason. I don’t want things to end over this.”
“Jez, you’re worried about losing a follower. F U Jez.”
“Whatever Jason. You can’t even cuss me all out. F U too, my friend.” She grabbed for him. He sensed the movement and spun around.
“Let me clear this up.” His eyes were bloodshot and brows furrowed. “You’re dogging me out, but it’s all good. I won’t disrespect you. But leave me the hell alone. Wish you all the best with finding Mr. Perfect . . . Mr. Pencil-Ass-Dick-So-He-Can-Keep-It-Tight-Perfect.”
Jason left.
Jezebel stepped out of the door with near nothing on. She had few neighbors. This was an extension of her zone.
Jason’s music blasted on. He turned it louder, while the chorus for Talk Dirty to Me by his namesake filled the front yard. He screeched off. Smoke and dirt swirled at Jezebel. She didn’t duck away or try to hide, but instead stood there in defeat. Jason sped up the path and out of her life indefinitely. Wiping away a teardrop, Jezebel tried to shrug off her misgivings.
She remained outside, not wanting to return inside right away. She loved feeling the sun against her skin. Strolling down the steps, she sighed.
Jezebel wanted to believe that relationships were meant to be good. They appealed to her. What didn’t help was going through the drama of meeting someone, only to find out that they were phony. As for Jason, she knew he was genuine, although a complete mismatch. She spent the remainder of the morning sulking in the front yard, gathering flowers and reasoning through the mistakes of another failed attempt.
II.
Monday morning, as an extension of her lonely life, she traveled to work in what she saw as a boring city. Jezebel was running close to her usual early arrival time of 7:30, although everyone else didn’t usually arrive until 8:00. In her haste she took to the pavement as if walking a runway that was carved out to Grace Insurance.
She silently repeated her mantra: I am Jezebel Jones, all woman. She had to remind herself of her importance because, with the exception of an impressive position and remarkable home, she felt useless. Even her appearance caused doubt. Her naturally silky cinnamon tresses were pulled into a bun at the top of her head. She avoided the pastimes of lipstick, choosing instead fuchsia lipgloss and a light brown liner. Makeup was avoided at all costs, since she hoped to maintain natural features. This was one woman that turned heads wherever she went. The problem was that Jezebel was either hellbent on finding fault in those that dare feast on a beautiful woman or doubting that she was worthy.
Today however, a stranger caught her attention as he was gulping her down. She approached a set of buildings, and he stepped out of a brownstone storefront office, reaching Jezebel’s glide in two easy steps. Maintaining the speed, she tilted her head to acknowledge his intrusion.
His tongue brushed across slender pink lips. He smiled.
“I love your walk,” the man offered.
She blinked, considering her next move or remark. Any other time she could have pressed forward. Not now. He was there, or rather right here.
Jezebel stood about 5’3”. He reached just under 6”, maybe 5’11”, and was slender with a slight build. There wasn’t much of a bulge under his blue button down.
“Not going to respond?” Her companion eased over to her right.
Jezebel nodded up, looking into stormy gray pupils.
“Really, beautiful?” He had a pleasant tenor that carried a friendly rhythm.
She halted and twisted her left leg to him. He stopped slightly ahead but paced backwards.
“You’re keeping me from work, all for a pickup line?”
“No way . . .” He fumbled the words. “Can I have your name . . . please?”
“What’s yours?” She fought with all of her might, not wanting to pay attention to the illumination that had settled above his head. The very light that brushed against his warm beige skin was sending subliminal messages, trying to convince her that they were the only people occupying the earth. Jezebel had to swallow hard to stop a gasp.
He stepped closer into her space. “You badly want to smile—I see it in your eyes.”
This man didn’t know how badly Jezebel w
as fighting the battle. Then she considered how much worse she must have looked for her efforts. And so, she did. Not just a hint of a smile. She allowed her face to shine for this man that she didn’t know, just because he came at her in a proper way. And because his aura enticed her.
“My name’s Aidan Broder,” he said, matching the span on her lips.
“I’m Jezebel.” She drew out the words, anticipating a slick type of remark, which was customary when introducing her name. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem shaken.
“Do you have a last name, Jezebel?”
Why does he need a last name? Why isn’t Jezebel good enough? Not that his request was unreasonable, but she was having a difficult time moving past a simple meeting with a member of the opposite sex. She nibbled on her upper lip.
“I’d like to know more about you, Jezebel, more than just your first name. More than even your last name—much more.”
A drop of moisture trickled from her back. She could feel it racing down until her blouse soaked it up. The likelihood of her melting into his arms and clinging for dear life increased by the second. Her mind went blank as she searched for common sense. When it appeared, she was reminded that she was a fool for no one. But still she couldn’t think of a sassy comeback. Couldn’t continue looking around at the buildings or locals because Aidan Broder was commanding attention. There was no other option than to approach the distraction head on. And when she did, their eyes locked in an out of body waltz.
Monday morning?
Work?
Lateness?
For the first time in Jezebel’s life, she lost focus on her obligations. Aidan was staring into her soul—not at the top of her breasts, nor molesting her body with beady eyes. No, his gaze was fully directed at Jezebel. These two appeared to be in deep, thoughtful conversation, relying on a new form of visual directions. In fact, Jezebel was mesmerized as never before. The sparkle from his irises revealed the same of him.
“Do you have plans for lunch, Jezebel?”
“I typically don’t take a lunch break.”