Reflection

staring at my reflection in the ceiling.

Morning Coffee

Exiting Grand Central Station these last few weeks. I notice him. Standing in the Starbucks line, for the life of God, I cannot understand how people queue for coffee in a paper cup. He is always there, patiently waiting his turn, habitually reading the NY Times. On this particular day he is reading the travel section. God is this a sign? Even if it isn't I am going for it! “You should consider Barbados for your next trip” I quipped. He looks up, gives me the one over, smiles, looks me dead in the eye and responds “only if you join me.”

Georgia's celebration

I am 6'1, he must be 6'6; dark, slim built, handsome, smooth skin, white teeth, well-dressed, beautiful smile. He walks with a commanding stride, but he blends in. His spirit, warm and inviting. Dear God what a master piece you have created! Fingers are long, I wonder if he plays the piano? There is a woman sitting next to him, she does sit as if she is the queen to this king. Text the host in the middle of her party to inquire, she looks at me and burst out laughing. That is his wife! So my approach strategy just went belly up. OH WELL! lol lol lol

Choice

He is choosing locks instead of a weave, dark skin instead of light skin, 6 feet instead of average height, straight toes instead of bunions, supple breasts instead of a silicon chest. No acrylic, false eye lashes or tinted eyes; subtle makeup instead of a palette plate; scented oil instead of heavy perfume. He is choosing something different.

Scent of a woman

Spray perfume on my pulse points, so he can smell me before he sees me. Massage scented oil in my locks. Dust powder on my inner thighs just in case. He must never forget the scent of his woman.

Coffee Black

Thinking of having milk in my coffee; never had milk in my coffee. Always enjoyed it black with two teaspoons of sugar, but I have been convinced to try milk in my coffee.

Marks

Lying in bed, well-oiled, dark skin glistening from the glow of a dim light, dark skin smooth, dark skin supple and toned, long legs, tight ass, rippled arms, wet seat. Anxious! Waiting! Fuck! How many times have I envisioned this man walking towards me, naked, no, not quite - some skin covered - covered in marks; arms covered in marks, legs covered in marks, back of his shoulder, the nape of his neck and chest.He walks in.Goliath, Samson and Mandingo rolled in one. His shaft jumps at the sight of me lying in the bed. He says my name as a whisper. I cannot respond because the words are caught in the tidal wave that is storming in my crotch. He says my name again, this time it is response to the wetness he feels via his shaft that is well positioned between my legs. He calls the Lord's name, I whisper "this is not the best time to get him involved" he chuckles.I use my fingers to trace the marks I can reach. He must have every tribe depicted on his body... he has alliance to no one. The marks represent all Mother Nature’s offspring.He says my name again! “Yes!” I respond, finally finding my voice. “I want you to focus on me and not the marks,” he says. “But you are the marks and the marks are you,” I whisper.