by Zane
“Now.” She paused. “What should I say?”
Mo typed, “Well, hello there, Mr. Davies.” She giggled. “That’s stupid, Mo. I mean…talk about…stupid.” Maureen backspaced over what she’d just typed to erase it. “This is silly. Just plain silly.” Here was an opportunity staring her right in the face. An opportunity to say whatever she wanted to say to this beautiful man without running the risk of suffering any real consequences. “But it’s…childish and immature,” she said out loud. Well, yeah. It might’ve been childish and immature, but it definitely held a spark of excitement in her otherwise dull life. And knowing who this man was, only added to that excitement.
She braced herself, then started again.
Black Man,
You are absolutely—divine. Anybody ever tell you that? Well, you are. I for one find you breathtaking, beautiful, and—bomb! Why would someone like you feel the need to place an ad to find a woman? You’re very handsome, and your ad is charming. So why would a handsome, charming man need to go on the internet to meet women? Maybe, you’ve got the wrong idea about where to find this “soul mate.” Maybe, she’s right under your nose and you just aren’t paying attention. But I’ll bet she is. And I’ll bet she’s just waiting and hoping for you to ask her out to dinner. Flash that smile of yours in her direction, ask her how her day is. I’ll bet she’s at home right now, this second, trying not to think of you. In my opinion, you’re overlooking the obvious.
—So Interested
Before she had a chance to reconsider, Mo hit the send button and cast her response out into the cyber ocean of no return. Marijuana is a mind-altering drug with the power to affect any reasonable woman’s sensibilities. Maureen stared at her email, which slowly faded into cyberspace to be replaced by the words “Your message has been sent.” What in the world had she just done? Panic tried to set in, but all that weed she’d smoked wouldn’t let it.
“Mr. Davies. Got an ad on the net. What is this world coming to when a brotha like that’s got to put out an ad to get a woman?” Mo shook her head. Not to mention, what had this world come to when she found herself answering personal ads on the net? Damn! Things sure had changed a lot in three years.
Mo finished off the last of the joint, then crawled into bed. She felt so good. And not because of the weed either, though that definitely had something to do with it. But she felt—like she’d taken a deep breath for the first time. She felt good enough to even be a little horny. Images of Kevin Davies flashing across her mind didn’t help. She closed her eyes and recreated him in her mind. “I wonder…if he’s a good kisser.” She giggled like a school girl. “He had some big, pretty lips. Brotha can probably kiss the hell outta somebody.” His hands were nice too, big and strong. Sleep was beginning to override horny. See. That’s why Mo never liked weed. She could never stay awake long enough to enjoy it. She knew one thing. She’d definitely have to do this more often. Wonder if Troy could get some more weed?
Oh Lord. He answered. Curiosity beckoned her to her PC before the sun even came up and Mo immediately opened her in box.
[email protected]…RE: Black Man
Hello So Interested,
Thanks for responding to my ad. I’ve been called many things in my lifetime, but never “divine.” I put up the ad on the advice of a friend. He promised that women would come out of the woodwork to respond and he was right. They have. I’d hoped to find one who I might explore long-term possibilities with, but that hasn’t happened. Your response is flattering and very mysterious. The flattery, I like. But the mystery? I’m not sure. Your implications about my soul mate being someone that I might know intrigue me. Have we met? Do I know you? Who are you?
Who are you? Well, last night she’d been a lonely woman, extremely high on an illegal substance, living out a brief, but invigorating, fantasy on the internet involving flirting and innuendos with a handsome man she hardly even knew. And today? Today she was Maureen Beckman, who had laundry to do, a house to clean, a car that needed washing, and a budget that still wasn’t any closer to being finished then when she committed herself to working on it last night. She was no one very exciting at all. That’s who she was. Maureen was a lonely woman looking for something extraordinary with a man she hardly knew. The end. Was that a desperate cry for help welling up inside her? Sure sounded like it. The tiny voice inside her begged, Please. Please, Mo. Do something before it’s too late. Spoon me up something besides this rut you’ve been force feeding me all these years. Give me something to look forward to. I’ll pay you back, Girl. Her tiny voice sounded pitiful and it broke her heart to have to listen to it, which is why she ignored it most of the time. But not this time. This time, her tiny voice warned, If you keep ignoring me, eventually I’m going to stop talking to you, Maureen. Not cool, she thought to herself.
Mo thought long and hard before responding to Kevin’s email. She had to be careful not to reveal too much or too little about herself. She thought about telling him something that resembled the truth:
I’m the director of a community center, lonely, widowed, 37 year old, mother of one, who has no life outside her child and work, which was an answer capable of squashing even the best wet dream. Or she could spice it up a bit. Mo thought carefully, then opted for the spice:
MizMOcha
I’m thirty-something years old, single, adventurous, and uninhibited. But I’m bored with the typical dating scene and have opted to try something new. Something more exciting. I was surprised to see your picture on the internet, but I’m glad I found it. I’m glad I found you. Yes, we’ve met before. I like the excitement of mystery and I like having the advantage. You have no idea who I am and I find that exhilarating. Don’t you? Rest assured, however, I’m harmless. Not a stalker or crazed lunatic looking to run amok in your world. I’m an admirer. Nothing more. Nothing less. I’ve been looking for a way to tell you how I feel, but the opportunity hasn’t presented itself, until now. You’re a delicious man, Kevin. Eventually, I’ll reveal myself to you, but for now, I prefer to leave you guessing, wondering. Use your imagination, Kevin. This might be fun. And who knows? Maybe we’ll even get the opportunity to fulfill some wild fantasies of lust, love, and living happily ever after. Do you think that’s possible?—Mo
She finished typing then quickly clicked the SEND button on the screen. Suddenly it hit her. What wild fantasies?
“Damn!” Ron said, after Kevin finished reading Mo’s email to him over the phone.
“Naw…tell me what you really think, Man?”
“What do I think? Man…I think you got yourself a damn psycho on your hands. That’s what I think. But then, you know that’s what I think about all females lurking around on the net looking for men. All of them are psychos, if you ask me.”
“She says she knows me.”
“Which makes her crazier than the rest of them. She knows you, but instead of telling you straight up, ol’ girl decides to get Houdini on a brotha. Poof! First you see her, then you don’t.”
“I don’t know any ‘Mo’s’, Man. I know a Mona, a few Moniques, maybe a Monica…”
“I’m telling you, Bro’…delete that email and block that ass. Mo’s probably a four hundred pound sumo wrestler with pimples all over his ass. You don’t wanna mess with no shit like that. Your ass comes up dead, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You need to take your damn picture off the internet. That’s what you need to do.”
“Took it down this morning, Man. But she’s still got my email address.”
“Yeah, well…don’t play with no shit like that, Man. Let it go. Hell, if she’s all that interested, she’ll let you know.”
Ron Sanders. The voice of reason. Everything the man said made sense, but the little bit of optimism Kevin had left drowned out all of Ron’s reasonable argument. It was only email, and if he did end up finding himself face to face with a four hundred pound sumo wrestler, instead of some beautiful, exotic woman he’d hoped for, he’d just sic medium built, three hundred fifty poun
d Jennifer on his ass. He wrote back:
manhattan245
I believe the possibilities are endless and I’m looking forward to exploring with you even more. I can appreciate a good mystery as well as the next man, but I’ll be honest. I also like to know what/who I’m dealing with. You might appreciate having the advantage, and for the moment, it’s yours. Eventually, I plan on having an advantage of my own. As for fulfilling fantasies, I prefer reality. I prefer satisfying all my senses and hers. I hope you aren’t content with just teasing a man, Mo. I’m looking forward to finding out who you are. And I can be relentless.
Kevin
Sometimes a man’s got to give it one last chance before letting go. He couldn’t explain it, but Kevin had a feeling about this one. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, but he was definitely curious about who was on the other end of that computer. Of course, curiosity had killed that damn cat. Hmmm….
Chapter Six
Normally, she’d have beaten herself up for being late for work, but lately Mo found her usual level of motivation waning and she strolled into the office like she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Good morning, Mo,” Sheila said, looking unnecessarily concerned. “Everything alright?”
Mo smiled, which was rare before coffee. “Morning, Sheila. Everything’s fine. Why?”
Before Sheila could answer, Kevin walked through the door loaded down with boxes. Maureen’s mouth fell open at the sight of him. What was he doing here? It wasn’t Tuesday evening at six o’clock. That’s when he was supposed to be at the center. That was his time. This…Monday mornings…this was her time. He wasn’t allowed in her time and suddenly, she resented him for something that was absolutely not his fault.
“Hey ladies.” He smiled.
Mo stood frozen. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since the first time they’d met. Of course, his picture was burned onto her computer screen at home and tattooed on her brain from staring at it so much. But somewhere along the line, she’d lost sight of one very important fact. Kevin was real. The man was a walking, talking, bag of fine that breathed, ate, and slept like everybody else. And now, here he was standing in the same room as she was, sharing—air.
Mo’s speechlessness made Sheila entirely too uneasy and she quickly hurried to his rescue. “Let me help you with some of those, Kevin.” She grabbed the smaller box from the top.
“Thanks,” he said. “I was afraid I’d lose that one.”
The words flowed from her mouth like diarrhea and Mo was sure she sounded just as foul. “What are you doing here?”
Kevin hesitated for a minute and the corners of that beautiful smile fell off his face for a moment. But he quickly gathered them. “Well, I had some extra equipment just gathering dust in my garage and I figured the kids could get some use out of it here.”
“That’s a great idea,” Sheila said with her enthusiastic self. “We never turn down donations. Do we, Mo?”
Mo felt her body sway slightly, as she wallowed in a boat load of uncomfortable and it took every ounce of energy she had to look like she had herself together.
“No,” she said trying to feign a smile. “We never do. Thank you, Mr. Davies.”
“I thought we agreed you’d call me Kevin?”
“Yes. Well…thank you, Kevin. We certainly appreciate your generosity,” Mo said coldly. “Sheila will give you the necessary forms to fill out for tax write-off purposes.”
“Oh, that’s really not…”
“Nonsense,” Mo said quickly. “Sheila, make sure Mr…Kevin understands how to fill out the forms.”
“No problem, Mo.”
“You’ll excuse me. I’ve got to get to work.” Mo went into her office, closed the door behind her, and collapsed in her chair. She wanted to laugh and cuss all at the same time, but first, she had to wait for that knot in her throat to dissipate before it strangled her.
“That was totally uncalled for,” she mouthed silently. Why had she been so cold to him? He hadn’t done anything. It’s just that seeing him face to face like that made her feel—defensive. As long as he was a fantasy, he was cool, but the minute he put on some skin, suddenly he was a threat. The kind of threat that could unfold and make her look like a complete and total fool. Surely, he had to be able to see that on her. Foolishness. Yep, she wore it like a skin tight outfit.
“You’re making such a fool out of yourself,” she whispered. Lord have mercy. She wondered if Sheila could see it too. Mo pulled her compact out of her purse and grimaced at what stared back at her. Lonely, desperate, foolish, and definitely not woman enough to tell the man, “Hey! I think you’ve got it going on and let’s do this!” Now, she felt like crying.
Kevin went to the classroom and quickly started setting up his equipment. Where in the hell did that come from? he wondered while he worked. “That” meaning attitude from Mrs. Beckman. He hadn’t imagined it. Mrs. Beckman, who’d been so warm and receptive a few weeks ago, had turned into the Ice Queen all of a sudden and he just didn’t get it. The expression on her face when he walked in nearly screamed, “Oh my God! It’s you!” But he played it off, figuring that maybe she didn’t remember him and with all those boxes he was carrying, maybe she thought he was selling something. It didn’t take him long to figure out that ol’ girl definitely had a problem with him. Only thing was, he had no idea why. As far as he knew, things were going great with the class. He hadn’t had any problems with the students and he didn’t think they’d had any problems with him. So what was up with that demeanor of hers? Once again, his theory had proven true. Women were a trip. A man just couldn’t get comfortable, where women were concerned. One minute everything was cool and the next…Kevin decided to come back later to finish setting up. He’d make sure to show up after hours from now on. Better to do that than have to face Sybil again anytime soon.
Chapter Seven
He’d written her half a dozen times and still no word from MizMOcha. Kevin had decided that she was indeed lost in Cyberspace when finally, she answered him.
MizMOcha
Kevin, I’ve been a bad girl, and you have to punish me. I tried saying I’m sorry by meeting you at the door in the sheer, black teddy, garter belt, and silk stockings you bought me for my birthday. Remember how excited you get whenever I wear that? But, you’re still so disappointed in me. You order me into the bedroom. “Lay down!” you scold. Obediently, I lay across the bed. “Turn over! I want you on your stomach.” I do as I’m told because I know how angry you are with me. I try pouting, but it doesn’t work. Where did you get those, Kevin? Handcuffs. You take each of my wrists, and cuff them to the posts on the headboard. I don’t like this. I’m powerless and this excites you. Whap! You smack my ass with your open hand. “You’ve been a bad girl, Mo. A very bad girl and I have to punish you.” You go over to the dresser and pull out the gift I gave you last Christmas. Three black, silk scarves. I thought you’d forgotten about those. You spread my legs apart and tie me by my ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed. Then, you use the last scarf to blindfold me. “Are you going to hurt me, Kevin?” I ask. My excitement drips between my legs. I’m totally at your delicious mercy. You’re undressing. I can hear you. I lick my lips in anticipation. “You’re a freak,” you growl. “You’re my freak, baby.” I feel the cold, hard steel of your belt buckle against my back, dragging down to my ass, then finally resting between my legs. I squirm against it. “Yes, baby,” I whisper. “I’m your freak. I’m all yours, Kevin.” “Shut up!” you shout. “I didn’t tell you to speak.”
You slap the leather against my ass. “Kevin,” I whimper. “Please, baby. Please?” I beg, and this time, you’re the one who’s obedient, Whap!, and you do it again. “It hurts, Kevin.” You can’t see them because they’re hidden behind the blindfold, but there are tears in my eyes. Tears from the pain, and tears anticipating you. You lean down to kiss me where it hurts. “I’m so sorry, baby.” I can feel you crawling on the bed, kissing my ass again and again and I raise it up t
o meet your beautiful, full lips. Lips that eventually find their way between my legs. You lap up the juices like a thirsty man, sending my hips spiraling against your face. “Ohhh!” I moan. I want to hold you, to wrap myself around you, but I can’t touch you. That pisses me off. That excites me. I feel the weight of you on top of me, Kevin. You enter me from behind, and with your hand, you massage my clit. I’m wiggling beneath you like a snake. “Be my freak, baby,” you whisper in my ear. I throw my ass at you, meeting you thrust for thrust until finally…
That was good for me. Was it good for you, Kevin?
“Damn,” he mumbled, reading Mo’s email. Kevin looked down and noticed his hard-on bulging against his pants.
manhattan245
Mo—call me. 303-555-4445
Chapter Eight