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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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Entry Eight
I woke up early Saturday to do a walk around the block. I had a lot of running around to do, so I didn’t get in my regular five miles. I promised myself I would do them later on tonight. I do try to keep my body alright, even though it seems I will never lose the thirty pounds needed to push me down to a size ten, but c’est la vie.
The party store near my home was just opening up. I decided to grab a bottle of water and check it out since no one was in there. This very quiet Arab guy with bright blue eyes was behind the register. Unlike the majority of party stores in Detroit that had the counter covered in bulletproof glass, this one didn’t. That was mainly because this was a borderline store and because Eastpointe was a relatively safe city.
The Arab at the counter was about thirty in age. He respectfully nodded at me when I entered the store. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d never slept with an Arab guy before, though I’d grown up with them because the Metro Detroit area had the largest population in the United States.
There was a weird relationship between the blacks and Arab community. We don’t talk to them and they don’t talk to us. If we have to do business together, we just do business and don’t try to get personal. Bad things always seemed to happen when it became personal.
One exception was when the eastern blackout happened. I was in
Florida at the time, but my mother said that the Arab business owners stayed open in the community even though there was great fear that they would be robbed or looted.
Who knows? There might be another black/Arab exception today. And that’s a big might.
When I grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and looked up in the back mirror, I saw the Arab clerk leaning awkwardly over the counter to check out my “assets”.
I pretended to look at something at the bottom of the cooler. I took an abnormally long time perusing just to give him a nice long look at something he would never have.
When I returned to the counter, he pretended that he was busy putting price stickers on some items.
“Did you find everything you needed?” he asked politely with a slight Arabian accent. His voice was smooth and silky. Yes, he was very cute and I really liked his large blue eyes.
I didn’t look away from his direct eye contact. “Yeah, I guess. But I see you don’t have anything but diet grape Faygo.”
“That’s all you like?”
“That’s all I have to choose from.”
“I’ll see if I can order another kind, okay? What’s your favorite kind?”
“Peach, but if they have the red, I’ll settle for that.”
“Anything for my beautiful customers,” he said with a wink as he took my dollar for the water.
“My name’s Rahem,” he said, handing over my penny change and the receipt for the water.
“Sheryl,” I said.
Damn, he was getting cuter by the second.
I leaned over, aware that my low top (that I had just thrown on to go walking in) showed a slight amount of cleavage for him to look at. “So when will you have something that I like, so I can come back?”
He swallowed hard and forced his eyes back up to mine. “I-I could check my other stores.”
“You have another store?” I asked impressed.
“I have three stores. The other two are in Detroit. My father’s gotten sick and I’m running them now. If you come back tonight, I could have some diet red Faygo. I swear. Even if I have to run to Faygo to get it myself. I usually run the midnight shift, but I start about ten.”
“I’ll be here,” I promised with a wink and left out.
He was too cute for words and I was kind of turned on by the way he really wanted to help me out.
I recognized a long time ago that I had an addictive personality. I guess that’s why I never took drugs or made alcohol my primary drink (only on business occasions as light refreshment).
I try to carefully control the foods that I like by not having them in the house (or I’d be thicker than I already am, LOL). I also limit going to the malls because I know I’ll overcharge my credit card and not think twice about it.
Yet with sex, I can’t seem to not want to like it. I think it’s more than just sex. It’s man himself. I love the smell of him, the taste of him, the sight of him and I don’t know if I will ever get enough.
To stop myself from going back there and asking Rahem to come to my house instead, I went home, took a cold shower, and went to the nearest mall.
I found a nice Frederick’s of Hollywood store and decided to treat myself. There were two other black women in there. One of them was pregnant, but she was just tagging along. She looked ready to burst.
“You know I don’t know how you put up with that shit,” the one flipping through the racks said angrily. “If my husband was cheating-”
“I don’t know if he’s cheating, Angie,” the pregnant one replied. “I’m probably making a mountain out of a mole hill. Peter is such a caring man. He’s so good to me.”
“They always are, Lenecia.”
My ears perked up at the familiar sounding name. NO! This can’t be Peter’s wife in the store. What the hell? She’s still pregnant!
What the hell?! I reiterate to myself.
I pretend indifference as they continue talking.
“Look, Lee,” Angie turned around to face Lenecia, fully ignoring the fact that she was talking loud enough for anyone close by to hear. “I’m all happy for your jungle fever and shit, but that white man can be as devious as any black man.”
“It’s just me, Angie. Please don’t drag him through the mud.”
“Any man that won’t go down on me is bad in my book.”
“I never said he wouldn’t, he just doesn’t like it that much.”
“That means there’s something wrong with him.”
“Peter’s a great guy. He’s working for a great company. He’s a great salesman and he’s been giving me everything I’ve ever desire. I’m just acting crazy and I am so ready to get rid of this baby.” Lenecia looked like she really wanted to drop the subject.
I walked away with what I wanted to purchase, knowing that Peter manipulated me. Oh, he was going to pay. As soon as I could come up with a way to make him pay.
When I returned home, I saw that Lisa had left a text message on my palm.
Did you return that call to Mr. Patrick? He left a message late Friday and I just checked the voicemail this morning.
No, I hadn’t. I cursed myself for being so preoccupied. Digging through my notes, I found Mr. Patrick’s number and called, not knowing who the hell it was.
I reached a voicemail, so I left my name and number and then didn’t think twice about it again.
When I got home after running all the errands I needed, I decided to take a long bath and then watch some television while I worked on some office paperwork here and there.
Instead of watching the T.V., I found myself watching the clock. I knew I would.
Ten o’clock, I found a great dress and put my hair up in a ponytail. Then I decided to walk back up to the store.
Rahem was in there. He smiled brightly as I pretended to look around the store because other patrons were there. When they left, I came up to the counter. Rahem sent the other guy at the counter to go clean up around the lot to give us a moment alone.
The man wanted to help me because he liked what he saw, but Rahem said something very sternly to him in Arabic and the man left. Damn, I was very turned on by the way he used his power to get what he wanted.
“Hey, Sheryl,” Rahem said, finally addressing me. He looked very happy to see me. Those blue eyes were dancing around like crazy.
“Hello Rahem. I didn’t see my diet red Faygo.”
He laughed. “That’s because I only got a few and I wanted to save them all up for you.”
“Oh really? Where are they? All hot in the back?”
“No, I’m the only thing hot back here.”
I laughed this time.
“Would you like me to get them or would you like to get them?”
He was inviting me back there with him, wasn’t he?
My arousal was very evident. I licked my lips, preparing myself to answer his question….
…. To be continued…..
Diary Of A… (c) Sylvia Hubbard. All Rights Reserved 2010 | Published by HubBooks
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