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About book -Sensual Noir/Romance/Erotic Intrigue

Sheryl Banks started this diary of …(well, she doesn’t know yet, LOL). She just knows she has this fascination about being wickedly sensual all the time.

Join her to find what every woman wants: a man. A good man! 

Her life isn’t that exciting, but she thinks it’s sure to keep you on your toes.

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The Author asks that you be 18 or over if you’re getting ready to read below. Thank you.

Diary of A….

Transposed by Sylvia Hubbard for for Sheryl Banks

Author’s Notes to Readers

First I’d like to thank three special people in my life. My children. They are the encouraging fire that gives me the ability to get my butt out of bed. I think the formula for the fountain of youth is not somewhere in this world, but to have three children of various ages and genders.

They keep your mind young and your reflexes sharp and “their ceaseless in entertainment” according to my mother. (I think she’s just being sarcastic and having fun watching me pay for what my siblings and I did to her.)

As for writing this book, this was my first novel in first person. I’m more of a third person kind of writer and I had to fool myself to do a first person. Hence, I made it feel as if the main character, Sheryl is writing her story in a journal and you, the honored reader gets to read it. In her head, Sheryl doesn’t mind you reading her inner most thoughts because she wanted to tell someone, just not someone close. A girl’s got to have some secrets and Sheryl doesn’t tell business to just anyone.

Just a warning to readers of my previous work, you will meet Lethal Heart in here. Yes, I know that gets you excited (if you’re an old reader). And yes, he’ll have his day soon, but this is just to suffice until I can bring that story into fruition.

Enjoy,  Your Author: Sylvia Hubbard

Entry One

I don’t know if I would call myself a whore. Maybe a freak, though it all just seems so nasty to admit, but not nasty to be one. LOL.

I wasn’t always like this. Matter of fact, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-one, around my birthday and it was with my best friend. Rick and I had been best friends since sixth grade. He even dated my first best friend, Monica.

Their relationship ended once we all graduated from high school. Monica chose to leave the state and go to Spellman, while Rick and I had a variety of scholarships to go to Michigan State University. I had taken a lot of accelerated courses and overloaded myself in high school, so I received my bachelors by the time I was nineteen and a half. 

Rick and I moved in together by our third year of college in a one-bedroom apartment to offset the costs. Our parents were cool with it. Matter of fact, my mother thought for sure Rick and I would eventually get married.

He was damn handsome. Without the moustache, Rick could have been Morris Chestnut’s younger brother and I was the envy of the campus. Yet our relationship stayed platonic. Not because I wasn’t attracted to him, but because I think we both feared that if we took it further we might mess up a really good friendship.

I don’t really know how it all happened. The day before my 21st birthday, I turned in my master’s thesis and knew I was done with college. I was so elated that Rick and I went out to celebrate. Though I wasn’t a drinker and Rick was just a social drinker, we still knew how to have a good time together.

Next thing I knew, we were lying on his bed, back at our apartment, kissing. I think we kissed for two days all over each other’s body, avoiding the sexual parts.

By the third day, we had progressed to deeper oral. Rick was such a good teacher. I wasn’t drunk anymore with alcohol and I wanted to take our relationship to the next level. Rick didn’t mind at all.

“Take it slow, Sheryl,” he gritted out, so aroused by not having any relief.

I was taken aback when he erupted in my mouth and almost choked. Yet by the fourth day, I could swallow not only his essence, but I was deep-throating like Linda Lovelace.

That was also the day I lost my virginity. Rick guided me to straddle him and I slowly lowered down, filling myself up with his thickness. I was so aroused and wanton, but also terrified and scared.

It hurt only briefly due to my moistness and as I used my weight and was able to control the strokes, I felt more confident in the whole matter.

He tenderly edged me on; caressing my breasts, whispering my name, instructing me on how to give him pleasure and receive it, , as well.

I don’t know any woman I’ve ever met that said she had an orgasm on her first time, but I did. Matter of fact, I had multiples! Rick was a wonderful lover and he spent a summer teaching me everything there was to know about sex.

I was offered a job in Florida and it was an excellent opportunity for me career-wise. We had a long talk about it and Rick said to go ahead and take the job.

There was the phone, and since we were such good friends before sex, we found a great deal to speak about. We dealt with the separation sexually a little at a time until we were back to friends again.

I was even comfortable with Rick telling me how he was dating and sleeping with other women. I understood. I had no ties to him. It was okay with me that he didn’t have any ties to me.

I found myself using men for pleasure while I devoted most of my time moving up in the company I worked for. Truthfully, men were just time passers, where I could get that inch scratched at will. I never took any of them serious while I worked in Florida. Nor did I pick up any really close girlfriends because I was such a workaholic. I mean, there were co-workers that I hung out with from time to time, but no one that I could really open up to about my personal life. 

I’ve always felt that black people, which is what I am, spent too much time trying to make friends at work. I feel that if you don’t sign my paycheck, why the hell should I share what I’ve been doing in my free time with you? I go to work to get a check and that’s it. Nothing more and nothing less.

 Anyway, so Rick not getting jealous about me sleeping with this guy and that guy made our relationship kind of cool. It was definitely helpful that I could talk to him about stuff like that. And like I said before, it was all-cool when he went into details about his lovers, as well.

That is until he called me two years after I had been in Florida and told me that he was getting married. That kind of got under my skin.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

He sighed, but answered, “Cassie.”

“How do you like her?”

“I love her.” He sounded sincere.

“She’s cool, Sheryl. You’d like her. I think you’d both make good friends.”

“Does she make you happy, Rick?”

He teased, “Never like you, Sheryl, but she’ll do.”

We laughed about it. When we got off the phone seven hours later, I was okay about everything. Thank gawd for free nights and weekends.

Of course, Rick asked me if I was seeing anybody, but there was never a permanent guy in my life. Only others. Rick was one of my best lovers. Not just because he was the first, but because he genuinely knew how to make love to a woman. I was positive his wife would never have a problem with his bedroom skills.

In Florida, before I got into a high-level supervisory position, my co-workers and I loved to go to Thursday Ladies Nights at all the clubs—free admission until eleven and free drinks, as well. Since I still was not a drinker, I was usually the designated driver for everyone. So, of course, I was treated to a lot of things and used to being pampered all the time.

When the company I worked for made some major changes, they asked me to move back to Michigan to oversee a key project three months after my 30th birthday. I would get a great salary and, of course, they would fund my move and a company car of my choosing. I chose a light gray Chrysler 500. It was art on wheels and just getting into it the first time made me moist.

I found a great house in Eastpointe, Michigan, only minutes from Detroit. It was a three-bedroom ranch-style house with a pool and a big backyard.

The neighbors recommended a person to help with the landscaping. Chris was even a great “fixer” around the house. He reminded me of an older version of Colin Farrell without the accent and all the cursing.

Like any white man, Chris was all business with me and I was all business with him. A white man didn’t intimidate me like they did my girlfriends. I worked with them all day long.

I was good at my job and taken very seriously.

Being only five foot four, I was stuck on stupid heels with everything because I was short. Thickly built at a size twelve – fourteen during Aunt Dottie’s visits – with a small waist at a hundred and forty pounds. Even though I worked out, I was thick-boned and just accepted how I was built. I kept my hair very short in an Afro, curly cut, and just recently dyed in a dark honey brown that brought out the honey brown in my flawless skin tone.

With an angelic face, big brown sultry eyes, and sensual dark pink lips, I knew I looked good. I had a nice butt and a medium size chest – not too busty but enough to say, ‘Hey, I’m woman. Hear me roar, mother-fucker!’

Coming back to Detroit, I was reunited with my high school friends.

Rick and I had always kept in touch, but he liked keeping his marriage life separate from me. I understood his position and didn’t want to ruffle any feathers in his nest. We mostly communicated through emails, text messaging or long phone calls back and forth to work. I always sent him something for his birthday to his job, making sure I used either a plain white envelope or something from the store for a gift certificate or pass. Every once in a while, we got together and had a cup of coffee somewhere discreet, talking and enjoying each other’s company.

Now that I’ve caught you up, I can tell you why this blog is called Diary of A…. Well, I don’t even know yet, but you decide.

Diary Of A… (c) Sylvia Hubbard. All Rights Reserved 2010 | Published by HubBooks

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